
Acquisition and Preservation

The 5 Star Law Part 2

By M. Findley

Published by Artistic License Publishing, LLC  
Copyright: 2020 by M. Findley. All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please buy a copy for yourself. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional.

The copyright laws of the United States of America protect this book. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

# Table of Contents

Forward

Prologue

Casey: July

Casey: May

Lottie: May

Casey: June

Casey: August

Lottie: May

Casey: July

Casey: June

Lottie: July

Casey: June

Casey: July

Lottie: July

Casey: August

Casey: July

Lottie: August

Lottie: August

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

Glossary of Terms

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Contact Me

Other Works

# Forward

Welcome! Welcome!

Well, it's 2020, and this year, I am trying something new. I am releasing all my eBooks as _Pay What You Think It's Worth_ stories. My goal is to get my book into my reader's hands. The fact you are here warms my heart, and I hope you enjoy my story.

Please consider buying me a coffee at https://Ko-Fi/mfindley

Without further ado, here is _The Five Star Law part 2: Acquisition and Preservation_.

# Prologue

"Dead." Casey shivered and shifted his weight. He wrapped his arms around his knees, letting his thoughts drift like dandelion fluff captured by a breeze. "They're dead... Oh, Lottie," he whispered, no longer remembering why he needed to be quiet.

He ached all over. His back. His face. His ribs.

He touched his side and winced. The skin burned, and he knew without seeing it, that there was a spectacular new bruise forming over the ones that already peppered his skin.

"Assholes deserved to die."

Wincing, Casey dropped his hand to his ankle and rubbed. It hurt too. The skin felt hot and puffy under his fingertips, and he wondered if he broke it.

"Doubt it," he mumbled.

If he allowed himself to think differently, he wouldn't be able to continue. And if he did that, then how would he get back to Lottie and Greysen?

Leaning back, Casey rested against the cement. Cold runoff water trickled over his feet, and he shook uncontrollably from fatigue. A deep intense fear loomed, threatening to overwhelm him. What if he couldn't make it back to them? What if _they_ found him?

Tilting his head, he tried to see out the small hole above him. All he saw was dark sky and stars—lots of stars.

Somewhere out there, the squad of Unit Translocation and Retention soldiers, dedicated to bringing him to Fort Twenty-four, would be searching for him. Being found was unacceptable. They would finish their mission.

Casey couldn't go to prison.

No way.

His wife and son needed him.

He had to go home.

"Lottie," he breathed through teeth clenched tight to prevent their chattering.

She said she loved him. Said she needed him.

They'd made love.

_If only I had known_.

He had to get back to her.

Rubbing his aching jaw, Casey fidgeted and yelped when pain shot up his leg from his ankle, and a fresh shudder racked him from head to toe.

_So weak._

Giving up, he rolled to his side, pillowing his head on one arm while the other covered his ears and eyes.

He needed rest. He was so tired.

So tired.

He tugged at his hair.

He wouldn't let them find him.

He wouldn't let them find them.

_No_.

The army couldn't have Lottie.

Never again.

He wouldn't allow it.

Aching darkness consumed him, and Casey submitted to its cruel embrace.

# Casey: July

"Staff Sergeant Huxley," the young private addressed him and saluted. "First Lieutenant Green will see you now."

Casey slapped his hands to his thighs and rubbed away the sweat on his palms before he pushed himself upright and followed the private down the hall. The private pulled open a door and held it for Casey. Casey stepped into the conference room, the same one where he'd received each of his promotion pins. It hadn't changed, and Casey shoved the fond memory aside. Sitting at the table, waiting for him, was First Lieutenant Green, and the man looked pissed.

Casey strode toward him, snapped to attention, and saluted.

"Staff Sergeant Huxley," Green greeted him.

"Sir," Casey replied.

"Do you know why you are here, Huxley?"

"No, sir."

Green tapped his pen against a pad of paper. "Have you ever heard of Project Catherine of Sweden?"

"No, sir."

"It's a high honor to be invited. A very prestigious program."

"Oh?" Casey asked, curious. Maybe this meeting wasn't about what he thought. "What is it?"

Green dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair. He clasped his hands and rested them on his stomach while he studied Casey. The look Green gave Casey made him feel small and insignificant. He locked his knees to keep them from knocking together.

"You have been invited to a top-secret research facility in northern Missouri," Green told him.

Casey blinked, doing his best to school his features into neutral.

_Gates?_ Fear clawed at his heart and closed his throat.

"It appears," Green went on. "That a Private Forrester's"— _Lottie?_ —"test results have singled you out as a compatible donor for her, and the FAR has prepared a special invitation for you to join this program. After your term as a donor, they are promoting you to,"—Green glanced down, seeming to confirm—"Master Sergeant. Two paygrades above current." Green's gaze was piercing.

The ringing in Casey's ears made it hard for him to concentrate, and his mouth went dry. He had to clear it. "Private Forrester, sir?"

Green leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with interest, and Casey wondered what he'd said—or didn't—to make his superior look at him that way. "Charlotte Lindbergh Forrester AKA Lottie Forrester. An asset that was recovered by _you_ last September, correct?"

Casey felt a trickle of sweat drip along his ribs. "Ah, yes. I remember now. What about her, sir?"

"She has deserted her post," Green replied.

"Deserted, sir?" Casey's hands clenched at his sides, and he had to force them straight.

"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"No, sir," Casey responded.

_Deny everything_ , repeated on loop in his head.

"I see."

Casey swallowed hard.

Green didn't believe him that much was clear. Had Casey answered too quickly? Had he not responded quickly enough? What went wrong?

Green flicked open a file that sat on the table. "It is curious that the asset you recovered should go AWOL only five months later."

"Sir?" Casey asked. _Play it cool_. "My report did say she was a flight risk."

"That it did. That it did. And the FAP at the facility had her in solitary confinement and under full guard."

_Oh, Lottie!_ Casey's heart ached for her anew.

Green sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his slightly receding chin, and stared at Casey. It took every ounce of Casey's willpower not to fidget. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. "Sir?"

"I believe you are lying, Staff Sergeant Huxley."

"Lying, sir? Why, sir?"

Green looked at several sheets of paper and set each one in a line in front of him. "I've been studying this case for a little over a month and have noticed something quite disturbing." He paused and pinned Casey with his stare. "Did you know that not only did this asset desert, but she managed to suborn five others?"

Casey waited. Not sure how he should respond.

"They need to be returned."

"Sir—"

"—According to your report,"—Green said, cutting him off and pointing to a document—"You recovered and detained Miss Forrester in September. You then followed protocol to get her into custody—I expected nothing less from you. You are one of the best in the field, after all—Yet, the reclamation team noted in their debriefing, that at the time, you held a level of reservation about the transfer that you normally do not exhibit when submitting a recovered asset."—Green pointed to another sheet of paper and read from it—"Subject shows physical signs of past pregnancy. When confronted, the subject denied the possibility but later confirmed it."

Green looked at him as he set the document down. "Now, it wouldn't be the first time an asset conceived, delivered, and lost the infant while not under government control. But it is rare."

_Fuck!_ "I don't understand," Casey replied, even though he did, he absolutely did.

He was so screwed.

"At first, I thought the worst. You wouldn't have been the first Staff Sergeant to abuse his power and father a baby on an asset you captured in the field. But it was made clear in the report that the asset in question had not had physical relations for an extended amount of time. And then I got this." Green waved his hand toward a third document.

When Green didn't elaborate, Casey asked, "May I?"

Green nodded.

Reaching forward, Casey picked it up and began to read. He felt the blood drain from his face. Oh, it was not good. Not good at all.

Fort Sutton detained and housed an asset matching that description two years ago. She delivered a son and spent the allotted eight weeks at Base. I raised several objections at the behavior I perceived as contrary to our mission here at Fort Sutton and indicated my concerns to my superior, Staff Sergeant Huxley. He assured me there was nothing to worry about, that he had everything under control, and when he escorted the asset back to Fort St. Louis, I let the subject drop.

"It is clear from this report by Corporal Joplin that the asset in question conceived outside of your control and that you had—by all appearances—followed procedure. But then something went wrong. Do you know what that is, Huxley? What went wrong?"

Casey felt frozen. His gaze glued to the report in his hands, willing himself not to shake, and knowing he failed miserably.

"Why did you hide her?"

His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. Anything he said would incriminate him further.

"What is more perplexing to me is why you turned her in," Green continued, drawing Casey's attention from Lincoln's report in his hands. He lifted his gaze and caught Green staring at him.

"Why go to all that trouble, Huxley? You had a good thing going for you. At first, I thought maybe you did it because you were tired of fucking her,"

When Casey flinched, Green paused and added as an aside, "It happens—but then I pulled records on the other assets that deserted the Catherine of Sweden program when she did. Three of the five women appeared to go on their own volition, but one of the unaccounted for is her biological mother. And another has former ties to one of your soldiers—a Private Bell—from before he was ARA."

Green glared at him. "Now it looks suspiciously like the reason Forrester submitted to being detained was to remove her mother and this other woman from the facility. Possibly at your orders." Green shook his head. His disappointment etched in his face. "Your involvement cannot be overlooked."

Casey cleared his incredibly dry throat. "My involvement, sir?"

"I mean," Green stressed. "If this had come to light and she was at the facility, you would have been demoted and transferred out of ARA for willfully disobeying orders. _But_ you would have been given some level of control over where you went. CPS maybe, or IPD."

"And now?" Casey asked. He'd always known hiding Lottie would end his career. It had only been a matter of when.

"Now, Bell is facing a formal inquiry to determine his involvement in Forrester's disappearance. _You_ are being stripped of your rank, given a Bad Conduct Discharge, and incarcerated indefinitely. _And_ since we believe you know exactly where these missing assets are, you will take us to them."

"If I refuse?" There was no way Casey would lead the Army to the women who relied on him for protection.

"You're already slated for Fort Twenty-four, Huxley. Don't make this any worse."

_It doesn't matter,_ he thought _._ _I won't tell you where they are_.

When the silence dragged on for more than five minutes, Green sighed. "I had such high hopes for you, Huxley, high, high hopes, and you threw them all away."

Green shook his head, pushed away from the conference table, and stood. He walked to the door and pulled it open. "Brown, take Huxley into custody," he barked and opened the door wider.

This was it.

He was going to prison.

Casey's stomach turned, nausea burning in his gut, and pivoted to face his fate as two CPS marched in and looked down their noses at him. Their gazes sweeping him from head to toe, and the taller of the two men ordered him to turn around.

"You are under arrest for..." he hedged.

"Treason," Green replied, though Casey knew he wasn't obligated to answer the lower-ranking man's question.

The CPS soldiers' expressions showed contempt when they huffed in acknowledgment of Green's statement.

"Turn around," the first man repeated more forcefully.

Casey nodded curtly and complied. If it meant Lottie and Greysen were safe, then he would do it. Gladly.

The cold metal closed around his wrist and then the other, securing his arms behind him. He tugged at his bindings. His heart pounded at the immobility. How many times had Lottie suffered through being cuffed? More than twice on his watch alone. The admission brought a new sense of shame. Why she loved him after how he treated her? He didn't know.

"Changed your mind?" Green asked.

Shaking his head, Casey kept it high and made sure to meet Green's gaze without flinching.

Green clucked in disappointment, reached out, and yanked Casey's pins of service from his breast. "Take him away."

Casey swallowed past the lump in his throat.

He'd worked hard for those recognitions, and as the CPS dragged him backward, he knew he would never forget the sight of his life work sitting in Green's single brown hand. Everything Casey had worked for, reduced to nothing more than metal wrapped in colored thread with a piece of fabric from his coat dangling from one of them. 

# Casey: May

The muscle in Casey's jaw twitched.

"Was he good to you, at least? Gentle?"

"Who?"

"Da?" Greysen cooed and patted him on the cheek.

Casey rubbed him on the back but otherwise ignored the toddler "The donor," Casey answered, unable to disguise his contempt.

Animals.

Lottie's brows drew together, forming a frown. Casey wanted to rub his thumb over the creases, soothe away her worry. He was eager to kiss her, but her answer to his question was more important, so he refrained.

At last, understanding dawned in her expression. Her blush—which had been receding—renewed itself. "Artificial insemination."

Relief crashed through Casey, and he squeezed Greysen tight, eliciting a squawk. It was so much easier to accept his new son's existence, knowing he came from a no-name, faceless donor's sperm. Smiling down at her, he shifted Greysen in his arms and said, "Good."

Her answering lopsided grin was as bright as Greysen's had been when he spied his new ball for the first time.

An intense pleasure washed through Casey, making his limbs feel tingly and shaky.

He tightened his hold on them both.

Everything would be all right.

They would be all right.

Unwilling to ignore the impulse a second time, Casey bent to kiss her. Her lips were sweet and inviting under his. When they broke apart, she was breathing heavily, and he had to school his expression to keep from smirking.

Lottie smiled a bit shyly and threaded her fingers in his. While she gazed up at him, he saw her happy grin grow distant, and he wondered what she was thinking. His curiosity wouldn't be satisfied because, as she returned from where ever she went, she pulled his hand away from her stomach and said, "Come on."

"Where?" He resisted, needing to feel the baby move under his palm some more. It was fascinating.

"Don't you want to meet everyone?"

Embarrassingly enough, after the hoots and hollers had died away, he'd forgotten that there were even people watching them. Not willing to admit his lapse in attention, Casey nodded and let Lottie lead him towards the central fire where all of the women were congregating.

He set Greysen down, fished around in his pocket, and handed Greysen his multipurpose tool. Standing, he waited as Lottie began her introductions, though he had a pretty good idea of who was who already. Noah had briefed him, after all.

"You know Katie," Lottie said, then pointed to another with light brown skin. "This is Nyah."

"Hi," Nyah said, flipping her carrot red hair over her shoulder and grinning wolfishly at him. Casey would bet his life that she was the one who'd done the majority of the catcalls and whoops. She had that 'shit disturber' look about her.

"And Maggie," Lottie said, introducing the next woman she'd helped rescue.

A petite woman with bushy brown hair and hazel-green eyes waddle-bounded around the fire and pulled him into a hug. Her firm pregnant belly pushed against him, demanding room, and forced him to bend to accommodate her. He glanced at Lottie, worried about her reaction, but she just smiled at him indulgently, clearly unfazed about him touching another woman. Casey relaxed and returned the hug.

Breaking contact, Maggie grinned at him. "Thank you for this."

"Excuse me?"

"Giving us a home here," she answered. "I never expected to be... well, free."

He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say, so instead of something profound, he self-deprecated with a shrug. "Don't mention it."

Maggie flashed him a huge smile, stepped back, and quickly pushed another heavily pregnant woman forward. "This is Ally," Maggie said. "She's also thankful to be free from Gates."

"Hello Ally," Casey greeted the woman with soft brown hair. "Glad you could make it." _Glad you could make it?_ What was he doing, hosting a fucking tea party? Lottie must have thought something similar for she snickered.

"Hi," Ally whispered. Her brown eyes grew shuddered, and she shrunk in on herself, piquing Casey's curiosity. Was she shy, or was there something else going on?

"This is Zoe," Lottie said, drawing his attention away from Ally and to one of the women Lottie had purposely set out to save.

"Welcome," he said, his voice cracking like a pubescent boy, and he swallowed hard, knowing he was staring, but damn! Casey grabbed and squeezed Lottie's hand. Tristan never said Zoe was gorgeous. She was clearly of mixed ancestry with her light brown skin, brown-blue eyes, and tightly curled auburn hair. The color combinations were unusual, and he didn't think they would generally work, but on her, they made her look positively stunning. He flicked his gaze back to Lottie. How did she feel about someone so beautiful living in her camp?

Lottie let go of his hand, disappeared behind Zoe and Nyah to tug an older woman forward. He knew undoubtedly that the woman in front of him was Maddy. Not only was she the last one to be introduced, but aside from having blue eyes, instead of brown, she looked exactly like Lottie, only older.

"And this is Grace."

_Grace?_ Casey inclined his head once in greeting. "I'm pleased to meet you, Grace."

"Likewise," Grace replied.

The silence stretched between them to the point Casey grew uncomfortable. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he opened his mouth to say something—anything—but Nyah beat him to it.

"Awkward," she singsonged, and the group burst into laughter.

It must have been a cathartic release, though, for once everyone's guffaws, snickering, and embarrassed twitters subsided, the tension had also disappeared.

"Come on, Casey," Grace said and waved him toward one of the fire pit rocks and logs serving as chairs. "We were getting ready to eat dinner."

"You're settling in then," he asked as he walked. The women parted around him as water does around a rock in the river.

"Mostly, yes. We are defining roles, but it's been easier than I expected since we had to do some of that on the way down here."

"Was the escape hard? Noah didn't elaborate, and I didn't get a chance to ask Javier."

"Not too bad," Maggie replied, patting Ally's hand and helping her to sit before Maggie sat also. "We stayed out of the woods for the most part." She patted her bulging stomach. "And for obvious reasons, we"—Maggie indicated herself and Ally—"were able to move faster on pavement than through the trees."

"But aside from that one time," Lottie interjected, "when Ford was nosing around and searching for _what wasn't right_ , we didn't encounter anyone else. Not a soul." Lottie gasped, then made an excited squeal and jumped to her feet. "I forgot! Excuse me!"

Raising an eyebrow in question at her abrupt departure, Casey watched as she left the fire, and disappeared into a tent.

He waited for her to reappear.

Snapping fingers brought his attention back to the group. "Loverboy. Over here," Nyah said with a smirk and handed him two bowls of soup. "I hope rabbit stew is okay." His stomach gave a painful lurch and growled loudly. "I'll take that as a yes," Nyah said before he could reply.

"Casey?" Lottie called.

He turned toward her and shook his head in denial. _A guitar_! He couldn't believe it. She found a guitar! He hastily set the soups down on a stump-seat.

"Javier and I picked this up on our way here. I hope it's playable."

So did Casey.

He took the guitar from her. He brushed his fingers over the strings. Steel. Probably nylon core. Acoustic. He hefted the body. It was a decent size, sturdy, and there was a stamp of the word Seagull between the tuning pegs. He flipped it over, finding a serial number etched into the wood. Someone paid a pretty penny for this guitar at one time.

"Da?" Greysen asked, then chanted, "Da. Da. Da." as he orbited Casey and Lottie like an exuberant puppy.

_Speaking of puppies?_ "Where is Kingpin? And for that matter, where is Jaesen?" Casey asked.

"He's hunting a feral pig," Nyah answered.

Casey's hand dropped to his gun, holstered at his thigh. Feral pigs were nasty. Jaesen might need help, but before he could ask where Jaesen was hunting, Nyah added, "He saw some tracks yesterday too close to camp. Don't want the babies hurt."

"Babies?" Casey shook his head, dismissing that question, and instead, asked the more pertinent one. "Which way did he go?"

All the women shrugged collectively, and Casey swallowed back a growl of frustration. His soldiers would have known. Hell, his soldiers would have formed a mission detail and took out the threat.

Much like Jaesen was doing.

Casey grunted in a mix of satisfaction and residual irritation. The irony of his thought hadn't escaped him.

His silence appeared to bother Lottie since she wrapped her hand around his forearm and turned her concerned gaze his way. Of course, the women wouldn't know where Jaesen was hunting. They didn't have the same training as his soldiers, nor should they.

Casey patted her hand and smiled at her, trying to convey his acceptance of Nyah's answer. "I'm sure Jaesen has the situation in hand." After all, he was doing what Casey expected of him, and rather than dwell on his inability to hunt pork with Jaesen, Casey repeated his first question, "Babies?"

Maggie patted her stomach again. "We're due in less than a month."

Casey's throat worked to swallow past his immediate sense of panic. Unless he brought the women to Fort Sutton, there was no way he could attend any of them as they delivered. Casey frowned. He'd known deep down, that this would be the case, but facing the inevitability of it, left a sick feeling in his stomach. He wanted to be here for each of them, but it was impossible regardless of how he felt. His next scheduled day to visit the camp was in June, seven long weeks away. Anything sooner, and Lincoln would notice.

"Easy, soldier," Nyah said with a smirk. "This isn't our first rodeo." She walked around and put her hands on Ally and Maggie's shoulders. "We know what to do. Right, ladies?"

Several of the women chirped agreements. "See," Lottie murmured. "You don't need to worry. We'll be okay."

Casey squeezed her hand, then bent and lifted Greysen, situating him on his hip. Greysen squirmed, reaching for the guitar.

Casey pulled it away and asked, "Hungry Kiddo?"

"'Gree, daddy," Greysen agreed, giving Casey's question lip service since his attention was clearly on the guitar.

"Well, let's fix that, shall we?"

Greysen nodded solemnly, his tiny hands grasping for the neck of the guitar.

Hugging him close, Casey set the guitar on the ground behind his spot. Casey then handed one of the cooled bowls of soup to Greysen. Greysen cupped it in both hands and took a careful sip.

_Greysen's getting so big_ , Casey thought, as he sat on the stump. Surely Lottie felt a similar sense of pride at how well Greysen was growing up. Glancing at Lottie, he grinned. Yep. Her pleased smile for Greysen proved she felt something similar.

Sounds of lips smacking and a satisfied 'ah' drew everyone's attention. Greysen held up his bowl. "'Ore, Daddy."

"Here, I'm done. I'll get it," Grace offered.

"Thanks," Casey acknowledged, handing her the empty bowl, and as Grace served up Greysen's seconds, the supper conversation returned to typical mealtime subjects.

Sitting there, listening, and eating, Casey let his mind float contentedly, not abiding by any one particular topic but letting the cadence of the women's voices wash him along. As he grew full, he noticed his gaze drawn to Lottie more and more. She laughed easily, so much more carefree than when she went to Gates. He wanted to hold her, to brush the hair from her cheek, and tuck it behind her ear. His distraction was so complete that he was surprised when she stood and dusted her hands on her pants and announced, "I'll clean up."

"I will, too," Casey offered, earning a snicker from Nyah. He ignored it. There was no way Casey would let Lottie be off on her own now that he had her back. Casey had waited too long for her return.

"Thanks," she said. "We brought some water earlier and left it to heat at the other fire pit. You want to help me carry the dishes over there?"

"Sure," Casey agreed readily and began collecting the used bowls while Lottie left his side. She disappeared into the shed, emerging a moment later with a large wooden tub.

A bowl tapped against his arm, and he dragged his attention from Lottie's rear end. "Forget something," Nyah asked with a wink.

Casey shook his head, feeling his neck warm.

"No," he grunted and took the bowl from her. Nyah's chuckles followed him as he finished collecting the dishes and crossed the clearing. Dumping them in the washtub, Casey asked, "Why do you wash dishes here?"

"Debris."

"Debris?"

"Yeah, the food waste. We have a midden pile over there,"—Lottie said, and using her thumb, she pointed over her shoulder—"due to the scraps from butchering. It's easier for us to lug the tub to it from here than from the cook fire."

"Ah."

"There's a leather dishtowel over there. For drying," Lottie said, indicating the direction with her chin as she began washing. "It's not as good as the cotton ones Noah had, but it'll do."

Casey silently agreed and went to retrieve it. Once he had it in hand, he returned to her side and took the freshly washed bowl from her. Shaking off the excess water, he asked as he dried, "Tell me about it. Was it bad?"

Lottie glanced up from her task, raising her eyebrow in question. "It?"

"Gates."

She shrugged. "It wasn't as bad as I expected, but it wasn't fun either. There wasn't much to do besides sleep, eat, read, and do chores. Every woman there had a half-hour a day of free time where you were allowed to go alone to the library, gym, activity room, or walk the courtyard, et Cetra, without supervision or repercussions, otherwise, all downtime was spent in your room."

After a pause, she said, "Although, if you were desperate for company, you were encouraged to seek out the donors. The surgeons didn't restrict that contact, only the ability to talk to the other women. And after those first few weeks, I didn't even see the guards more than once or twice a day while they supervised our comings and goings."

Lottie brushed the hair from her eyes with the back of her hand, then grabbed a new bowl from the depths of the tub and started to scrub. "There was a ladies night once a week where we were able to meet in the library with the others. We'd play games and talk. And plenty of us would use our free time to visit the women ill in the infirmary. With twenty-seven of us, it seemed like someone was always using an infirmary cot for one reason or another."

"Did you ever need it?"

Lottie grimaced and nodded.

Taking the cleaned bowl from her, Casey wrapped it in the leather and rubbed. "Why were you there? There's nothing in your file about you being sick."

Lottie frowned. "I wasn't sick." She added air quotes to the word sick, splashing herself with soapy water from the tub, which she then wiped away with the back of her hand. "I had a panic attack when Zoe miscarried right in front of me during one of our chores."

Her expression turned pensive. "At first, I thought she caught me stealing seeds and was going to tell the guards, but then she started gasping for breath and then the blood." Lottie shuddered, and Casey wanted to put his arm around her. "Blood everywhere. Probably the scariest thing I lived through while at Gates."

She was silent for several beats. Casey assumed she was reliving her time at the facility. Keeping quiet, he waited for her to continue. With a small smile, Lottie said, "For all their effort at keeping the women apart, we still managed to form bonds. Everyone over there"—Lottie pointed to the central fire—"except Ally—were my closest friends in that place."

Turning to look at him, Lottie handed him another bowl. "Last one."

Good. Casey had wondered if the pile would ever run out.

"Anyway," she went on, submerging her hands once again. Casey groaned. What else needed washed?

"Spoons," Lottie said after chuckling at his reaction.

She resumed her story, "Two other women planned to come with us—Lisa and Valery—but they backed out at the last minute." She handed him the clean spoons. "We were leaving to meet Leo"— _Who was Leo?_ A stab of jealousy hit him hard in the chest—"when we heard them coming down the hall dragging Ally between them."

"Why did they change their minds?" Casey asked.

Her eyes shown with unshed tears. "They have daughters in Fort St. Louis. They wanted to wait for their girls to get to Gates." Lottie paused, staring at the campfire where a few of the women were sitting and laughing.

Greysen, Casey could see, was perched on Grace's knee as she bounced him up and down. His squeals of delight carried across the clearing.

With emotion choking her voice, Lottie said, "I promised them I would find a way to get them and their daughters out."

Casey knelt, pulling her into his arms. She wrapped wet hands around his back, saturating his shirt, but he didn't care. She needed him. "You don't have to. I'll do it."

She gave him a watery laugh. "Good. Glad you agree since I already told them you'd help."

He smiled. How had Lottie known he'd be willing? He patted her back.

When she spoke again, his shirt muffled the words. "We'll both do it, and Noah too." Her breath hitched, and he was sure she was crying. Casey ran his hand through her hair. He didn't know how they would succeed yet, but those women wouldn't have to suffer any longer.

He'd make sure of it. 

# Lottie: May

"You going to fuck him?"

"Nyah!" Lottie gasped, looking over her shoulder to her tent where Casey'd disappeared earlier with Grey. "He might hear you!"

"So? He probably wants to know, too," Nyah asked. "Are you?"

"No. It's not like that between us."

"Pah-lease," Nyah drawled. "I saw how he looks at you, and you look at him, you both want it, so what's the problem? Go ahead and act on those hormonal urges."

Lottie's hands dropped to her stomach, pressing against the small bump made by her growing baby. Would it be so bad to have sex with Casey? _She could do a lot worse_ , Lottie thought and grimaced. At least she loved him, unlike those others. She glanced at the tent again, thinking of Grey. Her son with the bright green eyes and black curly hair. The spitting image of that nomadic band's leader who had attacked her.

Nyah seemed to know the direction of her thoughts, for she said, "You know Huxley's not like those men—the ones at Gates or the earlier ones."

"I know," Lottie said. Her shoulders slumped.

"Then what's the problem?" When Lottie didn't answer, Nyah added, "Go fuck 'im already." Lottie's heart lurched, and she made a high-pitched squeak. Nyah chuckled and bumped her on the shoulder, ignoring Lottie's distress. "I won't listen. Much."

"Nyah!"

"What?" she asked in all innocence. Sobering, she added, "He loves you, you know. He'd be gentle. I know he would."

"I know."

Sighing, Lottie shifted on her stone perch next to the dying fire and shot Nyah a piercing gaze. Her friend looked at her calmly, waiting for her to respond as she came to a decision. Exasperated, Lottie said, "That's just it! I mean. I know why _I_ love him, but why does he love me?"

"You're brave, loyal, independent, the mother of his child—"

"—Not really," Lottie interrupted.

"You know what I meant," Nyah said. "What isn't there to love?" After a slight pause, Nyah added, "After all, that's why we all love you. Just a little bit. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here."

"Yeah, you would," Lottie argued. "You insisted from the very first that you always planned to escape. It took me showing up to make you act."

"Bullshit!"

Lottie's eyes widened in surprise. She very distinctly remembered that conversation.

"How many new assets do you think came before you, you ever think of that? And I never tried—not even once—to leave with any of _them_." Nyah took a deep breath, seeming to collect herself. "None of them tried to leave either."

Both women were quiet for a bit, watching the coals glow a deep orange every time the breeze blew across them.

Nyah broke the silence, "Why do you love him?"

"Captive syndrome," Lottie said. She didn't even have to think about it.

Nyah's eyebrow twitched up. "Like Stockholm?"

"Yeah! I barely know him."

Scoffing, Nyah said, "You're telling me, that you love Huxley because you were his captive and grew to sympathize with his position related to draft dodging assets?"

"Well..."

"Did you love that asshole who gave you Greysen?" Nyah pressed.

"No."

"Wardell? Underwood?"

Lottie shook her head.

"Cobb?" Nyah asked.

"No."

"Kensie?"

"No. But—" Lottie tried.

"—But nothing," Nyah interrupted. "You were as much a captive to them as you were to Huxley. And by that reasoning alone, you shouldn't love Huxley. Or you should love all of them."

"But..." When Nyah put it that way.

"Why do you love him?" Nyah repeated.

"He was nice to me. He took care of me. It made me feel safe."

"You told me Javier did that too," Nyah said. "Do you love him?"

"As a friend."

"See? What you feel for Huxley isn't Stockholm. It's something else."

Lottie pondered what Nyah'd said. "What about his 'knight in shining armor rescue the damsel in distress' tendency."

Nyah snorted. "Doesn't exist."

"Of course it does. Why else would he save me? Or Katie? If it wasn't for the fact, we needed saving?"

"How many assets did he hide away before you?" Nyah inquired.

Lottie tapped her finger against her lip, finding a rough spot next to her nail. She nibbled at it, delaying her need to answer.

When she didn't say anything, Nyah confirmed, "None, right?"

Lottie nodded reluctantly in agreement.

"And after you?" Nyah asked.

"One."

"That means something, right? A change in the way he used to think?" Nyah glanced down at the coals. Her red hair looked like flames around her face. "You sell yourself short. Why can't he love you for the same reasons we do?" Nyah asked, indicating the tents around the small clearing. "You lived on your own for over a year. You provided for yourself. How many of the rest of us can claim that? I'll tell you. None. Your knowledge was invaluable during our escape. If it had been the five of us, we'd be dead by now."

"Not likely."

"Likely," Nyah contradicted. "I don't know how to hunt. Neither do any of the others. And I never had to butcher a deer before you showed me how. I can't make leather and can barely keep the fires in the smokehouse lit."

"I didn't always know—"

"—No," Nyah said, her tone softening. "Maybe you didn't. But you do now. And? Well?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you were selfish and ran away from Fort St. Louis when you did."

Lottie snorted.

"If you hadn't, I never would have met you," Nyah added.

"You would have. I would have gone to Gates at eighteen when I enlisted."

"But I wouldn't have met you," Nyah said, pointing at Lottie's chest and glaring at her. "I would have met the Lottie that played at fantasy in the communal home playground with her friend. The one who pretended to be strong. _That_ Lottie wouldn't have been the same one I met last winter."

Lottie grew quiet, contemplating Nyah's words. She stared at the dying embers until Nyah patted her on the arm.

"I think there is more to your love for Huxley and his for you than you realize. Think about it. And when you realize I'm right, go give him that boom-boom-shake-a you both are so desperate to enjoy with each other."

"Nyah!" Lottie cried exasperated.

"Goodnight," Nyah whispered with a ghost of a smile on her lips. She pushed to her feet and strolled off to her bed.

Lottie sighed and returned her gaze to the fire.

# Casey: June

_So soft,_ Casey thought and smiled to himself as he brushed his thumb over Lottie's areole, making the skin pucker in the wake of his light touch.

She was amazing.

Her body was amazing.

And she'd shared it with him.

Him.

Peace, contentment, love, those were a few of the emotions vying for his attention. Casey blinked rapidly and swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. He felt too much, too intensely.

Letting his hand drift away from her breast, he pressed his palm against her heart for several beats before trailing down her sternum to her stomach, where he stopped.

No firm bulge greeted him. There were no soft kicks. Tears of sadness pricked the back of his eyes. He'd looked forward to meeting the new son she'd carried when she fled Gates.

But it was not to be.

She'd lost it nearly two months ago, and Casey felt the familiar twinge of guilt knowing he hadn't been there for her in her moment of need.

Maybe sensing his pensive mood, Lottie turned her head to look at him, but Casey couldn't look at her. Not yet. He didn't want her to see the tears in his eyes. She'd already suffered so much, and he didn't want to add to her pain.

His fingers tightened on her belly, and their fingers intertwined.

A new thought teased at him.

Waiting until his emotions were in check, Casey glanced up, and when their gazes met, Lottie gave him a tight smile, searching his expression? For something. He didn't know if she found it, but she opened her mouth to speak. "It's okay," she whispered. "If it happens, I wouldn't mind it since it would be yours."

His gaze left hers and traveled down her naked body to his hand.

If it happens?

The figment of an idea grew stronger, dancing on the edge of his consciousness, teasing him by flitting about right out of reach.

"Casey?"

The base of his spine tingled. It was only the second time Lottie had ever used his name, and hearing it from her lips made his skin tight and his heart light. He would never tire of hearing her say it. "Yes?"

"Are you okay?" He looked up and caught her worried expression. _Okay?_ Before he could ask, she hurried on, "I mean... Is it all right? If it happens? There are herbs I can take if it isn't. I'd rather not, though." Her fingers tightened around his, conveying her anxiety.

"What?" No sooner had he asked, than her statement made sense. Casey's cheeks flushed. They had made love, and, so lost in the feel of Lottie's body and his reaction to it, he'd done nothing to prevent pregnancy.

Chagrin dampened his euphoria, and he squeezed her belly again. A baby. One of his blood and hers. He grinned. His mental censure was rapidly fading as the happiness of possible fatherhood overwhelmed him once more. "Another son? Nothing would make me happier."

A relieved smile tugged at her lips. "Good. But what about a daughter?"

A daughter? He could do that.

"It's a possibility," she said, hesitating when he didn't reply.

He leaned down and kissed her nose before saying, "That would be good too."

Lottie chuckled, releasing his hand to run her fingers over the stubble on his jaw. He fell silent, studying her as she touched him.

"Casey?" she started after they'd been quiet for several minutes.

"Yes."

"I thought a lot about what you said."

Her words sounded rather ominous, and Casey wasn't sure he wanted to hear what she had to say. "Oh?"

"While at the facility," she started and then stopped. Lottie's thumb brushed over his lip. "I realized that I love you, and I promised myself that when I got out that I would tell you."

His eyes widened in surprise. Casey wasn't sure what he'd expected, but that admission hadn't been it.

Lottie bit her lip before adding, "I love you, Casey."

His heart throbbed in his chest, and he dragged her into a hug, crushing her tight to his chest. Eventually, Casey released her. He leaned down to kiss her carefully as if he was afraid she'd break.

She loved him!

Casey deepened his kiss. When they broke apart, they were panting.

She loved him!

Her eyes sparkled. Was that mischief Casey saw lurking in their depths? "What," he said, wary all over again.

She didn't leave him in suspense for long. "Wife, huh?"

Groaning, he flopped onto his back and covered his eyes with his forearm. "It sounded good in my head." Lottie snickered, and Casey peeked at her from under his arm. "Are you mad?" She didn't sound it, but he wanted to be sure.

She shook her head and leaned in to give him a peck on the lips. "No. I'm flattered."

_Did that mean?_

Resting her head on his shoulder, Lottie asked, "Did you want Noah to hold a ceremony? Make it official?"

"Can he do that?" Casey asked with trepidation as he wrapped his arm around her back.

The thought of Noah's involvement made his sweat bead on his skin. He could imagine several ways that _man_ could ruin his happiness with one well-timed word.

"He's higher ranked than you, right?" When Casey nodded, Lottie said, "Then technically he could."

"Does he have to?" he asked with a groan. Casey knew he sounded a bit childish, but Noah seriously annoyed him.

"No."

"Good," Casey said, relieved at her answer. He lightly scratched her back.

"Are you sure," she asked, humor coloring her tone. "Because he's in the clearing right now watching Grey, and I'm sure he'd be willing."

Casey disrupted her to roll to his side and brace his head on his arm. He scowled at her, making her laugh out loud. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. He tried to hold it back, not willing to react to her teasing.

"Do you want something more official?" he asked in all seriousness. He didn't need it. Lottie was his. She'd just confirmed it, and Casey didn't require a ceremony to prove it, but if she wanted one, he would do it for her.

After a few beats, Lottie sobered. She played with her fingernails. "I don't know what they do in Fort St. Louis, and, well? Out here, it's a bit of a moot point, but did you want to do something else? I don't know? To distinguish the bond?"

She did want something.

"I don't need anything. I know here"—Casey tapped his chest, right over his heart—"that there isn't anyone else for me, but if you want something," Casey trailed off, curious at what she might say.

Lottie brushed her thumb along his cheekbone. Sliding her fingers into his hair, she pulled him down to her and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Then, I don't need anything either." Letting go, she lay back, resting her hands on her stomach. "It's official. We're married. Husband," she giggled a bit on the last word, and Casey frowned good-naturedly. "So, Husband," Lottie began, her tone light. "Why are you here? We didn't expect you for a few more weeks."

"The sex," Casey said, earning a snort from Lottie.

"You didn't know you'd get that."

"True," Casey said. "But a soldier always hopes."

He brushed her hair from her cheek, enjoying the feel of the strands between his fingers as he tucked them behind her ear.

She smiled up at him. "Yeah?"

Sitting up, he rubbed a hand through his hair, the already hot tent now stifling. He needed to pace.

Getting up on his knees, he crawled to their discarded clothes by the door and rooted around for a second until he found his pants. Pulling them on, Casey turned. "Let's talk out there," Casey said, indicating their fire pit with his thumb and handed her the clothes she'd shed earlier.

She nodded and took them from him.

He watched as she dressed and smiled with warm contentment.

As her head cleared the neck hole of her shirt, her gaze caught his. Her eyebrow quirked up in amusement at his staring.

"What?" Casey asked with a shrug. "You're beautiful, and I like looking."

Lottie shook her head in bemusement, a blush coloring her cheeks.

Once dressed, she shuffled forward, unzipped the tent, and left. Casey followed after her, grabbing his canteen as he exited.

Standing, he took a swig and handed it to her, then he stretched.

The cramped quarters of his travel tent didn't lend itself to proper mobility.

"So?" Lottie asked after finishing her drink.

Casey popped the button on the uniform pocket, which held his orders. He pulled them out and handed them to her.

Lottie unfolded the document. Her eyes scanned down it. "A mission? Why? I thought you didn't do those."

"I don't."

"Do you think it is about our escape?"

Running a hand through his hair, Casey turned, staring off into the woods. "Na."

"But—"

"—There's no reason for them to think I had anything to do with it," he said, cutting her off. "I followed protocol."

"Okay." Lottie didn't sound convinced. He heard her step forward, and a moment later, she rested her head against his back, her arms wrapping around his stomach. He clasped her hands in his, holding her tight. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

He felt her nod. "And you'll come back to me?"

"Of course," he vowed.

Nothing would keep him away.

# Casey: August

Casey's head rocked backward as he tried to absorb the blow to his jaw.

"Hold him, Lanny," Stewart said, popping his knuckles.

As Lanford hoisted Casey higher, Casey's head lolled forward, and he spat blood at Stewart's feet.

"Filthy pig traitor," Stewart snapped, pulled his arm back, and before Casey could brace himself, Stewart punched him in his stomach.

Hissing in pain, Casey slipped out of Lanford's grasp and collapsed to his knees, gasping. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to the ground at Stewart's feet and hoped he didn't throw up.

"You want a turn?" Stewart asked.

"Yeah," Lanford replied.

Questioning his decision not to fight back, Casey whimpered, unable to suppress the sound knowing a boot to his ribs was eminent. Lanford did not disappoint. His army issued steel tip boot connected with Casey's already tender ribs, and Casey 'omphed' from the impact.

With tears leaking from the corner of his eye, Casey drew his knees up and rolled to his side. As Casey huddled there trying to protect his vital organs, he waited for the next blow and thanked the sky above that two of his four guards were gone. Where they went, Casey wasn't sure, but he didn't care. It meant there were two less UTR at camp tonight to beat the living shit out of him.

After a short reprieve, a hand fisted in Casey's hair and yanked his head off the ground, pulling him into a kneeling position. Casey opened a partially swollen eyelid revealing a grinning Lanford. Casey tucked one of his arms around his side protectively and let the other drift down to cup his crotch. Usually, they left that part of him alone, but he wasn't going to take a chance. They seemed particularly violent tonight.

"Fucking traitors." Lanford chuckled a low and evil sound. "A waste of space."

"Don't I know it," Stewart agreed. "Take a swing, Lanny. Make it a good one."

Casey flinched and ducked, trying to dodge Lanford's fist, but he didn't have enough warning to avoid it entirely, and Lanford landed a solid blow to his eye. Flashing lights superimposed themselves over a blackness crowding out his vision and leaving him gasping.

He had to do something. If they kept at him like this, Casey wouldn't live to see Fort Twenty-four.

Shaking his head to clear the stars, Casey discarded his pacifist approach and tried to focus on the two men in front of him. Of the two, Stewart was the closest. Pushing to his hands and knees, Casey panted, hoping he appeared beaten. Casey sure felt like it, but for his plan to work, he needed them to let down their guard.

Casey's eyes widened, and he dropped to the ground before rolling away, narrowly avoiding Lanford's kick. Lanford, realizing he missed, grabbed for him, and caught him by the back of his shirt. As Lanford lifted, Casey tucked his chin and rolled his shoulders, making his shirt ride up his ribs and back to bunch at his neck. When it was high enough, Casey slipped his head free, twisted his arms, and turned, creating an armlock that bound Lanford's wrists temporarily. While Lanford struggled, Casey kneed him in the back. Lanford hadn't expected the attack, and Casey succeeded in knocking him off his feet.

They landed hard.

Casey wrenched the shared bindings tighter and struggled to kneel. As he righted himself, Casey punched Lanford in the head before pinning Lanford's trapped wrists to the ground with his knee. With his target temporarily neutralized, Casey's gaze fell to the gun strapped to Lanford's thigh.

He had to get it.

Holding tight, Casey withstood a fresh barrage of kicks to his side from Stewart who was screaming obscenities at him the whole time, but after a couple of blows to Casey's stomach and ribs, he was unable to withstand another strike. He rolled to his side, pulling Lanford along with him. When he came to a stop, Casey scrambled back to his knees and reached for Lanford's gun. Stewart seeing Casey's goal, yelled a warning and pounced on Casey's back, knocking him flat.

While they tussled on the ground, Lanford freed himself from Casey's discarded shirt and yelled at Stewart to get out of the way. It took some effort, but Stewart broke free of Casey's chokehold. Before Stewart could stand, Casey hooked his fingers in Stewart's waistband and yanked backward, slamming Stewart to the ground once again, but this time, Casey thought with satisfaction, he was behind Stewart.

Stewart twisted and thrashed, trying to break free, but couldn't shake Casey's single-arm hold. Casey rolled to his back, pulling Stewart with him. Stewart attempted to elbow Casey in the side, but the angle was wrong, and all Stewart managed to do was smack his funnybone against the ground. Ignoring Stewart's efforts, Casey dropped his hand to the man's thigh, slipped the stabilizer clip up on Stewart's holster, and pulled out his gun.

The familiar feel of the firearm in his hand calmed Casey's racing heart and steadied his nerves. With the ease of years of practice hunting game and doing drills, Casey flicked the safety off, sighted down the barrel, and shot Lanford.

_Damn_ , Casey cursed at his poor aim. He'd meant to get Lanford in the head.

Lanford looked at him. His eyes wide with surprise before falling to his knees. His gun, which Casey hadn't noticed before, fell from Lanford's slack hand. Both Stewart and Casey watched as Lanford touched his chest at his throat. His fingers came away coated in blood. Lanford studied them for a moment, apparently unable to process what happened, and then pitched forward.

Landford didn't rise again.

Casey's attention returned to the man he held tight to his chest. Stewart was too calm. Casey, knowing this might be his only chance, shifted the gun to Stewart's temple. Stewart swore as Casey paused for a steadying breath, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

Stewart's body went slack above his.

It was over.

Casey was free.

Pushing the dead man off him, Casey struggled to his feet and staggered back. Wiping his face with his free hand, Casey glanced at the gun then the two dead UTR guards.

He had to get moving.

If the other two guards from Casey's detail found him here?

Flicking the safety on the firearm, Casey dropped to his knees next to Stewart and set aside the gun. He needed Stewart's clothes. Casey's prisoner's garb was too conspicuous. He proceeded to ignore the blood and the hole in Stewart's head to get to the other man's boots, pants, shirt, and jacket before Casey stripped down himself. Pulling on the other man's clothes, Casey took a moment to decide if he should keep Stewart's boots as well. Thinking that they would come in handy, Casey tied a knot in the laces, wrapped them around his neck, and stood. After a moment of deliberation, Casey grabbed Stewart's thigh holster. After strapping it on, Casey shoved Stewart's gun into it and went to work on emptying Lanford's pockets of anything useful.

He took Lanford's extra ammo, multi-purpose tool, and his wind-up flashlight. Once finished, Casey took Lanford's holster also. Strapping it on his other thigh, Casey shoved Lanford's gun into it and strode toward the tents. He didn't know how much time he had left before the other UTR came back, but Casey had to get a few more items for his survival. Otherwise, he'd never make it.

Unzipping the closest tent, Casey grabbed a canteen and mess kit, solar-powered water purification pouch, additional ammunition, and a field issued backpack. Loading up the items, Casey rounded out his collection with Stewert's other uniform, two blankets, and the food rations bag which sat on the other side of the tent. He was about to close up his pack when Casey saw the gun cleaning kit. Stuffing it into a pocket, Casey stood and marched to the fire. He took the evening's meal and stuffed it in his bag. Casey looked around the campsite for anything else he may need. Not finding anything, Casey shouldered the pack.

He was ready.

Glancing around the camp one more time, he turned on his heels and ran. If Casey's luck held, he'd put enough distance between himself and the dead guards before the other two UTR—Diador and Jenkins—came back from where ever they had gone.

He had to hurry.

# Lottie: May

"We're gathered here today," Jaesen began. "To honor the lives of Maggie and Grant, two wonderful people who were taken from us too early..."

The soft mewl of Maggie's newborn infant cut into Lottie's heart. The sharp pain of it left her gasping for breath, and she thought she might bleed out in front of everyone. She'd never forget staying with Maggie. Lottie had refused to leave the other woman as the end drew near. She had held Maggie's hand and told her it would be all right.

Lottie couldn't believe she'd uttered such a horrible, ugly lie.

Maggie had died right there in Lottie's arms, with Maggie's newborn son, lying on the ground beside them, practically forgotten. Ever-absent, God, it was unfair. Maggie's son would never feel the touch of his mother's embrace, never receive her kiss.

A fat tear slid down Lottie's cheek. Her pulse beat in an erratic rhythm, and her chest felt too tight to breathe. _It's not fair,_ Lottie thought, staring down at the piles of dirt and rocks at her feet. In her hand, she rubbed the rough stone she'd picked up from her son Grant's grave. Her thumb felt raw from the constant abrasion, but she couldn't stop. The pain kept the numbness away. It gave her something to focus on besides the two hastily dug graves in the shaded woods.

Sniffles surrounded her, and Lottie knew she should care about the women gathered around her—they were also hurting—but Lottie couldn't muster up enough energy to do so. It was all she could do to take care of Greysen and herself, let alone help the women grieve.

"Lottie?" Looking up, she blinked, finding it nearly impossible to focus on Jaesen standing right in front of her. "Lottie, do you want to say a few words?" His expression was sympathetic and expectant. How long had he been trying to get her attention?

She shook her head and looked down at the small mound, then to the larger one a few feet away. What more could Lottie say? They died.

Nothing she could say would matter.

Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Nyah, who gave her an encouraging smile while patting the bottom of Maggie's four-day-old son. Next to her stood Grace. Grace gazed back at her. Her eyes were full of sympathy. Her mother patted Greysen on the head and took his hand, holding it firmly.

_Greysen_.

Lottie's heart ached for her son.

_Sons_.

Greysen didn't understand why Mommy cried, and he looked from her to his grandmother and back again. His little lip quivered. Lottie brushed a tear from under her eye and let her gaze drift to Katie. The young woman's hands were clasped tightly in front of her stomach as if a sheer act of will could hold in her baby. It was a false hope. Nothing Katie could do would stop the inevitable should it happen to her. Lottie wanted to go to her. Lottie ached to tell Katie that she cared about her and her baby, but it was too much effort.

Lottie dropped her gaze, unwilling to look at the other new mother of their group—Ally—or her newborn daughter. _It's so unfair! Why couldn't she have died instead of Maggie?_

"Lottie?" Jaesen prompted.

Lottie looked up at him, confused. What had he asked her?

Her stomach hurt.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Give her a minute," Zoe said as she pulled Lottie into an embrace, and fresh tears coursed down Lottie's cheeks. "She's lost a friend and a son."

Lottie's second son.

They had buried him under an unassuming mound of dirt at her feet. Grant had been so small. Perfect. She'd held his tiny body in her palm. His hand had gripped her finger in those final seconds before he died.

"It's not fair," she choked out through her tears.

"No, it isn't," Nyah agreed from right behind her.

Lottie sniffed and pulled from Zoe. Bending down, she deposited the rock she held on to Grant's small grave. "Rest in peace, Grant. Know I love you."

Standing, her mother handed her Greysen and then pulled Lottie into a hug, sandwiching the toddler between them. "Live. Grey needs you," Grace said, then pulled away.

Lottie nodded. Grace was right. Lottie had to be strong for Greysen's sake. If not for everyone, then at least for her son.

"Mommy?" Greysen asked, his voice thick with unshed tears.

"Yeah, Grey."

"'Gree, Mommy."

She gave him a watery smile, doubting very much that he needed to eat. Most likely, he wanted reassurance. He felt the oppression of the sadness and negativity in the clearing, and he wouldn't understand why.

"Too early for lunch, baby," she told him. "Wanna go play with your ball instead?" He nodded and popped a thumb in his mouth. Putting his cheek to hers, Lottie hugged him close. "Okay, let's go do that."

Turning, she followed the rest of the women back to the settlement. 

# Casey: July

Pulling a cloth from his pocket, Casey wiped his forehead and neck free of sweat. The day's heat, reflecting up at him from the pavement. It wore him out and made him sleepy. Taking a long pull of lukewarm water from his canteen, he grimaced and swished the bottle to determine how much was left.

Not enough to pour on his head and have a drink.

Casey sighed and ran his hand over his hair. The strands were wet and hot to the touch, so were his ears. He groaned. They were sure to blister if he stayed out in the sun much longer, but he didn't have a choice. This stretch of road into Fort St. Louis was devoid of vegetation any taller than his waist.

Quickening his pace, he broke into a slow jog. The sooner he crossed the next ten kilometers, the better. Running with determination, Casey barely spared a glance at the familiar sights of dilapidated buildings and abandoned homes. If he hurried, not only would he get to Base sooner, but he'd also have time to enjoy the festivities.

Four kilometers in, Casey no longer cared about celebrations or seeing people he knew at Base, and instead, began setting mental goals designed to keep him going.

One goal achieved, he thought as he ran down the old highway onramp and came to a stop under the shade of the first tree he encountered. The shadow was small, barely six feet in length from the trunk to tree crown, but it would do. Collapsing to the grass, Casey drank the last of his water, kicked his feet out in front of him, and leaned back on his hands. Sitting there, Casey watched the old traffic lights sway in the slight breeze.

Breeze?

Casey hadn't noticed it before, but there was a light wind picking up. He wondered if a storm was brewing. He sniffed the air. _No ozone, yet._ If there was a storm coming, he hoped it would hold off for a few more hours. Tilting his chin up, he let the wind caress his cheeks and cool his heated skin. The buzz of cicadas serenaded him, lulling him into a light doze and reminding him of the tree frog songs he was missing back home.

After a while, he straightened and pulled his knees up to his chest. Casey wrapped his arms around his legs and clasped his fingers together, relaxing. It didn't take long, though, before his toes began to tap. He wanted to get moving, to go to the Fourth of July fair. Pushing to his feet, Casey walked to the road, which would take him to the Base. Hopefully, someone would have the tools he needed to carve Greysen some more winter solstice toys. And maybe, if Casey was lucky, he could find something for Lottie too. The thought cheered him, and Casey picked up his pace.

Forty-five minutes later, he walked into the fairgrounds.

It was as he remembered. Colorful. Bustling. One of the only days during the year that the army loosened its stranglehold on the soldiers and let them embrace their individuality. The men and women strutted about in non-regulation garments guaranteed to catch the eye of the opposite sex.

He walked down one of the aisles, looking at everything and nothing, noting the sounds of carefree laughter, the smells of food cooking, and a bright yellow sundress fluttering about the legs of a proprietress in one of the booths.

Casey stepped closer. Would Lottie like a dress? He could get her one. Surely he had enough currency to buy one of the homespun garments.

"Hello, soldier," the proprietress greeted. "You here on leave?"

He shook his head as he touched the hem of a light blue dress hanging on a rack. It looked made from old sheets. Soft, well used but not threadbare. The fabric slid through his fingers as Casey replied, "Deployed."

She murmured, "Shame."

He dropped the skirt and looked at her. "Why?"

The woman blushed lightly. "I work tonight. And you're cuter than most."

Casey took a step backward, surprised by her proposition. He clasped his hands behind his back, disguising his shaking hands in the familiarity of military posture. "I ah..."— _have someone_ —"appreciate the thought, but can't."

She looked disappointed, but then shrugged. "If you find yourself on leave or change your mind, I'm stationed at the State-run on the corner of Big Bend and Delmar."

"Thanks," he said, and stepped out of her shop.

Turning on his heel, Casey marched away, eager to put as much distance between himself and the retired asset.

_Asset?_

His ire rose, furious at himself. He'd callously dehumanized the woman. That _asset_ —as he'd so rudely thought—had a shitty life, forced to adhere to government policy, and required to service asshole soldiers whenever those assholes wanted. It was wrong what she was required to do, but Casey felt helpless. He couldn't fix it, and it made Casey feel sick. Casey couldn't save the world. He couldn't change years of military doctrine.

But Noah could.

Casey stopped and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. Glancing back the way he came, his heart filled with pity. He didn't even know her name.

Taking a deep breath, Casey kept walking, and his heart wasn't in shopping anymore.

He was about to exit the grounds when a bit of reflected sunlight caught his eye. Stopping, he moved closer to see it. A small woven metal band glinted in the light. Casey plucked it from the display. It was simple in design, but the three braided strands made him think of Lottie, Greysen, and himself. He slipped it on his pinky. It looked goofy on him, but it would be perfect for Lottie. Without looking up, Casey asked, "How much?"

A shadow came between the glint of the ring and the sun. "What do you have?"

"Cash or seeds for several different varieties of spices."

"Seeds?" the man asked. His voice sounded excited.

"Yes," Casey replied. He had yet to pull his gaze from the ring on his finger. "Dill, cilantro, basil, mint, and?"— _What was the other one? Oh, yeah_ —"Thyme."

"How many?"

"Of each seed?"

"Yes," the man replied.

"Enough for a few plants each."

"I'll trade that ring for some of the dill and cilantro."

It was a steep price. Casey knew the value of what he had to offer, but he wanted this ring for Lottie. "Done," he said, retrieved the two applicable packets from his pocket and handed them over.

"Excellent," the man said. "Do you want a velvet bag?"

Casey nodded and slid the ring from his finger. The man plucked it from Casey's hand and dropped it into a small black bag. "Here you go," the man said as he handed it back.

"Thanks."

"Good luck," the man said.

Tucking the prize into his pocket next to the seeds, Casey nodded. He didn't need good luck. He already had the girl.

# Casey: June

"Daaaaaaadddddddyyyyy!" Greysen wailed, making Casey snort. He wasn't even in sight of the settlement yet, and already, Greysen knew he was near. "Daddy!"

A moment later, King bounded down the path and circled him, barking excitedly. Casey mock growled at the dog, batting at it playfully. Noah would have a fit if he saw the casual way Casey interacted with one of his prized pooches, but Casey couldn't find it in his heart to care. Honestly, he thought with a smirk, Casey was pleased that King didn't act like Bix or Mira. Noah's dogs were friendly enough, but not approachable like King. "Come on, pup," Casey said to the overeager dog. "Let's go home."

King barked in agreement.

Moving the last few meters, Casey emerged from the trees where he was greeted to the sight of Greysen running pell-mell toward him, bare as the day he was born, and Lottie following after, shaking something and yelling about needing a diaper.

Casey covered his mouth to stifle his laugh.

"Daddy," Greysen screeched, arms raised, eager for a hug.

When Casey drew close enough, he obliged Greysen. "Hey, pants-less bud," he said as he scooped Greysen up and give him a tight squeeze. "You giving Mommy trouble?"

"'Rble, Daddy." Greysen nodded. "Stay?"

"For the night kiddo. Then I have to work," Casey said and bopped Greysen on the nose.

Greysen pouted at the news, but a second later, he brightened and began cheerfully babbling, telling Casey something. Casey wasn't quite sure what, but the story involved a lot of explosions and raspberry noises.

"You don't say," Casey commented, playing along.

"Uh-huh!" Greysen replied and launched into a fresh barrage of bomb sounds. His hands twisting and balling together and then yanked apart.

Chuckling, Casey hugged Greysen close and watched as Lottie came toward them. She looked beautiful. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun and secured with a small stick. He wanted to run his fingers through her locks, though he knew she had it up off her neck for a reason. It was hot. The heat of the day also explained her choice in clothes, for she wore a faded sage green tank top that he recognized as the one he gave her last summer. He swallowed hard. It hugged her curves, and she looked so much better in it than he had. His gaze slid lower, noticing she'd sacrificed the leg fabric of the old cargos she wore, making them into shorts. As she drew near, Casey frowned. Not only was her tell-tale lopsided smile missing, but she also looked tired. No, not just tired. She looked exhausted, bordering on unhealthy and thin. Way too thin.

What happened? "Hello."

At his greeting, she gave him a weak smile, and in a soft voice said, "Hey." She paused and then handed him the diaper she held. "You think you can get him into it?"

Casey took it from her, concerned. He'd expected her to be happier to see him. "You okay beautiful?"

"Yes," she replied, then shook her head. A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye before tracking down her cheek. "No."

"Come here," he murmured and put his arm around her, pulling her into his embrace.

"Mommy," Greysen said sadly and patted her on the head. "Ow."

Something was seriously wrong. Casey had never seen Lottie like this. He'd seen her scared to the point of tears, yes, but never so sad.

"Tell me," Casey urged. Lottie sniffed once, twice, then broke into sobs. Her arms encircled his waist, pulling him tight to her while she cried. Casey's heart pounded. What the hell had happened? "Tell me," he begged.

Lottie took a big, shuddery breath, and said, "I lost the baby."

If Casey hadn't been holding Greysen and Lottie tight to his chest, he would have staggered. As it was, he had to lock his knees to keep himself upright.

"Say again?" He hoped he'd misheard her.

"I said," Lottie said through her renewed sobs. "I lost the baby."

_No._ Lottie couldn't have. Casey's throat felt tight, and his chest ached.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He had to clear his throat. "Sorry? Why?"

Lottie sniffed and buried her nose in his chest. "Because... Because I didn't have my antihistamine shot anymore."

Casey pulled her away, confused. Looking down, he searched her eyes, trying to understand. She had a hard time meeting his gaze, but that didn't stop her from explaining. "The shots are supposed to help keep us from miscarrying. When at the facility, it was a requirement to keep one on you at all times."

"Where was yours?"

She glanced at him and then looked away again. "Maggie went into labor a few days after you left." Casey didn't see the connection but didn't interrupt. She was trying to collect herself so that she could continue. She pinched her lips tight together, and a fresh tear streaked down her cheek.

"It didn't go well. Maggie started convulsing and—and—we thought—I thought—using our shots would help." Lottie stepped away from him and hugged herself.

"Mommy?" Greysen called. "Ow?"

Casey shifted Greysen in his arms. He understood Greysen's distress, for he felt it too. He patted Greysen on his back and wished he could comfort Lottie.

"I take it the shots didn't work?" Casey asked.

Lottie shook her head. "We tried hers first, and when that didn't fix it, I gave her mine." She lifted her pain-filled gaze to his. "I think I killed her."

Kill her? Was Maggie dead?

"Aw, Bean," Casey said, slipping into his earlier endearment for her. No wonder she looked so sad. She had to be devastated. "You didn't kill her."

Pressing her fist to her lips, Lottie shuddered to hold back her tears. "I did. You see, the first shot didn't work because it wasn't a miscarriage—it was labor! If I hadn't given her mine, she might be alive."

"You don't know that," Casey said, collecting her in his arms. Lottie dissolved into a fresh round of tears. He hated asking, but he needed to know. "Did Maggie's baby die also?"

Sniffing, Lottie shook her head. "No. He survived the birth, and Ally adopted him."

He hugged her closer. "Good. I'm glad he survived."

"Yeah," she murmured. They were silent for a few moments, but after a while, Lottie continued, "The stress of Maggie's labor and death triggered Ally's, and she had a little girl a few days later."

"A girl?!" Casey couldn't believe it. A girl!

Lottie gave a watery chuckle. "Yeah, a beautiful little girl." Lottie stepped away from Casey and took Greysen from him. "I didn't attend Ally's delivery. I was too weak."

"Why..." Casey started to ask but then realized Lottie must be referring to her own experience. "Was that when you lost the baby?"

She nodded. "I think the stress of losing Maggie triggered my labor and Ally's. And after watching Maggie die, there was no way I'd use a shot on myself even if I had one to use." She looked up, caught him staring at her, and lowered her gaze to the ground once again. "We only have two more shots anyway. Not enough for everyone."

Stepping away from Casey, she moved to the edge of the woods. After a moment, her shoulders firmed, and she said, "This way," and then disappeared into the trees.

Casey snapped his fingers to get King's attention and then followed after her. They circled up and around the camp and came to a stop at a small, extremely shaded clearing north and west of the settlement.

"We buried him there," she said, pointing to a small mound of stones next to a bigger pile.

"He?"

"The baby I lost," she said as she patted Greysen on the back.

_So it was a son._ Casey's throat felt thick, and he swallowed.

"Jaesen held a funeral."

Casey nodded, unable to trust his voice. Turning back to the tiny grave, he staggered forward and knelt. He touched the stones, letting his tears fall freely, mourning the son he'd never get to meet. After a bit—Casey wasn't sure how long—Lottie rested a palm on his shoulder, comforting him in his grief. Gripping her fingers in his, Casey pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips before letting go. Standing, Casey walked over to Maggie's grave.

Looking down, he said, "I didn't know her well. But the few interactions I did have, showed she was an easy woman to love. I'm sorry you passed, Maggie, and I promise to help raise your son to the best of my ability."

"Thank you," Lottie whispered and wrapped a free arm around his waist.

Casey put his arm around both Greysen and Lottie and hugged them tightly, taking solace in the fact they were alive.

# Lottie: July

"Mommy?"

"What is it, baby?" Lottie glanced toward Grey, who was sitting a few feet away and pointing into the trees. She hoped it was Casey coming back from his summons to Fort St. Louis. "Is it Daddy?"

Grey shook his head. "No, Daddy. 'Sstn. Iz 'Sstn."

_Sstn?_ Lottie didn't know what that word meant. She set her knife, sling template, and fresh leather off to the side and pushed to her feet. A wave of vertigo made her vision swim, and Lottie had to brace her hands on her knees a moment until her vision returned. Once steady, she walked to where Grey played and squatted down next to him. "Sstn?"

He nodded, popped a thumb in his mouth, and resumed pointing at the trees. "'Sstn," he repeated.

"What's an 'Sstn', Grey?"

Grey removed his thumb with a wet suction noise, and a trail of spit dribbled down his chin, forming a thin saliva string from his lips to the damp digit he was no longer sucking. Lottie closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She wasn't usually bothered by Grey's thumb-sucking habit, but today seemed to be different, and she thought she might vomit.

Pushing her fingers tight to her lips, Lottie breathed deep, trying to reclaim her hold over her stomach. She felt downright ill. Maybe Lottie would take Grey to Grace in the garden and see if her mom could watch him while Lottie took a nap. Finally, in control of her rebelling stomach, she opened her eyes and looked in the direction Grey pointed. Movement caught her eye. Someone was coming through the trees toward them.

Her heart skipped a beat and resumed at double its regular rate. _Casey?_ Grey said it wasn't, but she hoped.

"Ow! Kin'pin!" the person in the trees yelled. "Ow! Knock it off. Ow! Ow! Ow! Damn dog. Stop it! You know me, Kin'."

Lottie swallowed back her snicker, scooped up Grey, and headed toward Tristan, who had stepped from the tree line, dragging a mostly grown German shepherd behind him by the cuff of his pants.

"Tristan?" she called.

"Hey, Momma," he said when he caught her eye from across the clearing. "Ow! Kin', le' go!"

Lottie whistled, and King, who'd been tugging on Tristan's pant leg near his boot, promptly let go and bounded toward her. "Sit," she ordered, and King dropped to his haunches. "Good boy." King wagged his tail at the praise, and she ruffled the fur behind his ear while Tristan finished traversing the clearing.

"Case here? I need to talk to him."

"No," Lottie answered, nerves fluttered in her belly.

Tristan frowned. "What 'bout Noah, he here?"

"Sort of. He's with Jaesen at the river. One of the moorings broke loose, and they're trying to fix it."

"Damn," Tristan mumbled and looked in the direction of the river platform as if he could see it through the trees. He shook his head. "I'd hoped to have built it sturdy enough to hold."

"I'm sure it was sturdy enough, normally, but we had a bad storm yesterday, and it came loose when the river rose." Tristan nodded, but it was evident he barely heard her. His distraction made her nervous. "What's wrong? Why are you here?"

Tristan fished in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He looked at it, then handed it to her. The addressee was a Private Tristan Louis Bell of Fort Sutton. _Another army dispatch?_ She shook the envelope, calling attention to it and cocked an eyebrow in silent question. Taking Tristan's nod as permission, she lifted the flap, pulled out the document, and began to read. "You've been summoned to Fort St. Louis."

"Seems so."

"Why?"

"That's what I was hopin' Case could tell me. But you said he isn't back yet."

Lottie shook her head. "I expect him any day, though."

"Doesn't help me right now," Tristan said with a deep sigh. He ran a hand through his short blond hair. "I'm goin' to go find Noah. See what he has to say 'bout it."

"Okay," Lottie said to Tristan's back as he left her side without waiting for her agreement. A shiver of unease tickled her spine, and the hairs on her neck lifted. Two summonses back to back dragging both Casey and Tristan to Fort St. Louis? It didn't look too good. Both men held a vested interest in her, the settlement, and the women who resided here. It made her wonder if their CO knew something about them all.

"Shall we find out what Noah has to say?" she asked Grey.

"'Ampa 'Oah," Grey murmured in agreement. "'A."

"That's what I thought," she said and trailed after Tristan.

She had yet to reach the tree line when Ally yelled, "Lottie?"

Changing direction mid-stride, Lottie went to Ally's side, concerned. "You okay? Does Max or Cody need something?" Lottie asked as she shifted Grey in her arms to make it easier for her to squat down next to Ally and the infants.

"Who was that?" Ally asked. Her arms held Maggie's son Max tight to her.

"Tristan."

Ally's mouth dropped open, and she glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the orchard where Zoe was working. "Tristan? As in _the_ Tristan?" she asked after dragging her gaze back to Lottie.

"One in the same," Lottie said. "I thought you knew him. Weren't you enlisted the same time as Zoe?"

"Yes."

"But, you never met him?"

"I wasn't in the same medical tower. I never met Zoe before going to Gates."

"Ah." Lottie didn't know what else to say.

"Is he here for Zoe?"

"Um," Lottie stalled. Tristan had been a FAP soldier during Zoe's enlistment, and their love affair was practically a legend at Gates.

"It's something else?" Fear flashed in the depths of Ally's eyes.

"Yes," Lottie admitted. She was never a good liar. The best she could do was refrain from speaking.

"Are they after us?" Ally shuddered and squeezed Max tightly. He mewled in distress, but Ally didn't hear him. Her free hand dropped to Cody, her daughter, sleeping on the ground beside her.

"I don't think so." Lottie shifted a squirming Grey in her arms. He was bored and wanted down. "He's been summoned to Fort St. Louis like Casey."

Ally nodded. "And it's not about us?"

"I need to go," Lottie said, ignoring Ally's question as she stood. "Find out what Noah thinks."

"Oh! Yes. Go," Ally agreed quickly. "You need to be there."

"Thanks," she said over her shoulder as she hurried away. The path to the river took ten minutes, usually, but Lottie thought for sure she made it five. Popping out of the trees, she came to a stumbling halt. Noah, Jaesen, and Tristan were standing in a tight circle, reading the summons. Lottie's labored breathing sounded loud and overlayed the men's quiet murmuring.

Noah glanced at her and waved her over. "Any news of Huxley?"

Lottie shook her head. Her feet felt frozen, and she squeezed Grey tighter. Noah nodded and turned back to Tristan. "You have no other choice—unless you wish to go AWOL right now—you need to go to Fort St. Louis and appear before Green."

"But if it's about us," Lottie trailed off with a squeak.

Noah left the knot of men to put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. "That, Child, is why I will go with Bell. If we leave today, we'll get there before his summons date. I'll talk to my contacts, find out what—if anything—happened to Huxley. And if something _did_ happen. We'll abort Bell's summons and come back here to discuss our next steps."

"Momma," Tristan said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know Case's usual route to and from Fort St. Louis. If he's on his way back, then we'll meet up with him. I'll make sure he knows you're worried."

Lottie swallowed but nodded. She hated being powerless to help, but trying to find Casey in Fort St. Louis would be a personal disaster. Lottie kissed Grey on the forehead. If she were discovered anywhere near the Fort, she would have to go back to Gates, and she couldn't do that. Not again.

"I can leave right now," Tristan said, pulling her back from her dark thoughts. "If you're ready, Noah."

"I need to pack," Noah said. "I'll meet you at the Arrowhead in thirty."

Tristan acknowledged Noah with a nod. "I'll meet you there."

When he made to move past Lottie and Grey, she gently touched his arm, stopping him. "Are you going to say hi to her?"

He shook his head. His expression pained. "I can't."

"Why not?"

Tristan ran a hand across his face, then stuffed it in his pocket. Rocking on his heels, Tristan said, "You know I have to go to Fort St. Louis."

"So?" Lottie asked, prompting him for more. "That shouldn't keep you from her. She's been waiting a long time to see you again."

"Momma," Tristan said, his tone anguished. "If I go? If I see her? I'll never want to leave." A pulse of pain flared in Lottie's chest at his words. "I can't risk it. Not today. Not right now." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "If I see her, I'll never be able to lie to First Lieutenant Green. He'll see right through me. I..."

Lottie squeezed Tristan's forearm.

"He can't know about you... Or her."

She nodded. "I understand."

"'Sstn?"

"Yeah, squirt?"

"Stay?"

"Not this time, squirt."

Grey popped his thumb in his mouth and sniffed, making Lottie pat him on the back. None of the men he knew and loved seemed to stay, and she wondered what that did to him. She hoped Grey would bounce back from each loss, but sometimes she had her doubts.

"Come back as soon as you can," Lottie whispered.

"I will," he said. And with a final pat to her hand, he left her side.

A moment later, Lottie slapped her hand over her pounding heart when Jaesen put his arm around her, his hand ruffling Grey's hair. "It'll all work out. You'll see."

"I hope so, Jaesen. I hope so."

# Casey: June

Soft billowy clouds floated overhead, and a warm summer wind blew off the bluffs ruffling the grass around Casey's head and tickling his ears. He loved this time of the year. The heat was building, reminding him of long days and short nights.

Sitting up, Casey reclined on his hands and looked down the hill toward the central cooking fire where he could easily see Tristan's blond head bent over the large soup pot hanging over the flames. Javier, with his darker locks, disappeared around the bend in the path, only to reappear moments later with dinner supplies in his arms. The sounds of their laughter drifted on the breeze, and Casey smiled. The only way things could be better is if he could be with Lottie and Greysen.

Casey worried about how she was doing. He remembered the feel her tears through his shirt as he held her that night she showed him their baby's grave, but by morning she'd seemed more melancholy than depressed.

Shaking off the thought, Casey let his focus drift over the other members of his squad. August was coming, and although he could receive a summons from First Lieutenant Green to discuss next year's personnel, he didn't expect to hear from his superior. None of his men would be turning thirty any time soon, and unless Noah made good on his promise to Javier, Casey didn't expect any of his men to be rotating out of his command.

Flopping backward, Casey closed his eyes and covered them with his forearm. He lay there, breathing in the sharp tang of river water and the musky scent of recently scythed grass.

"Staff Sergeant Huxley?"

Casey snapped awake and sat up abruptly.

"Yeah?" he asked inarticulately as he blinked at the backlit figure before him. The bright sunlight not only disguised the speaker quite effectively, but it also made Casey's eyes burn and water. He ran his hand over his face, brushing sleep grit from the corner of his eyes.

"Hot-damn, Huxley, you're a Staff Sergeant. I never saw that coming. When'd it happen? Last time we talked, you were a grunt, kickin' it under Kerner," the figure said, then asked, "Can I sit?" After a slight pause, he added, "Sir."

"Yes," Casey said, unsure who stood before him, but at his approval, the soldier sat, and as the sun shifted from being behind the speaker to illuminating his face, Casey recognized who had spoken. "Cameron." He snapped his fingers. "Cameron Busch?"

"Yep."

The two exchanged an elaborate handshake. "The hell you doin' here?" Casey asked.

He hadn't seen Cameron in years, not since they both had a week of leave back in Fort St. Louis years ago. That weekend was when he earned his promotion. Warmth and fondness for the day tickled through his limbs, making him savor the memory. It felt so long ago. "PGD send you out to me?" His heart jumped at the thought of a better power source installed at his Fort.

Cameron's lips turned down in a frown. "Power Generation didn't send me." The bitterness in his tone was undeniable. "I'm Innercommunication Preservation and Distribution now."

I-Comm?

"Voluntary?" Casey couldn't disguise his surprise. Cameron had loved PGD.

"No."

Casey shifted so he could focus on Cameron better. "No? What happened?"

"Sergeant First Class Merril is what happened."

He whistled. "Shit."

"You're telling me."

"When?" Casey asked.

"Last October."

"What'd you do?"

"Stole some hooch from Merril's private stash. Got caught. Spent a few nights in Fort Fenton's lockdown next to a blonde hottie,"— _Lottie?_ —"then visited my superior for reassignment at Merril's request."

"Ouch," Casey said in sympathy.

"Yeah."

Casey wanted to know more about the blonde hottie, but before he could ask for details, Cameron said, "You're telling me." Cameron's gaze raked Casey from head to toe. "Authority suits you."

The back of Casey's neck prickled with embarrassed warmth. It had been negligent of him to be taking his daily leave out in the open where anyone could see him napping. It looked unprofessional. Casey should have been in his tent.

He shrugged. "What brings you here?"

Cameron shifted his focus, overlooking the camp. "The usual. Dispatch from HQ."

Holding out his hand, Casey said, "'kay, hand it over."

"You mind if I stay here the day? Clean up. Do laundry?" Cameron asked as he fished in his pocket for the notice. Finding it, he extracted it from the depths of his pocket and passed the wrinkled paper to Casey.

"Thanks," Casey said as he took the document. "Stay as long as you need."

Cameron nodded and leaned back.

Opening the envelope, Casey took out the dispatch, and after unfolding it further, he began to read.

"...collecting wiring and turbines or panels they may have missed."

"I'm sorry?" Casey interrupted, realizing Cameron had been speaking while he was reading.

"I said, I wished they'd assigned me to this new branch of PGD that they created, instead of IPD. The job sounds like fun. They're patrolling—"

"Patrols?" Casey asked, clarifying.

"Yeah, near the Fort,—" Cameron answered

The tension in Casey's shoulders relaxed. He didn't have to worry about the women. They were west of Fort Sutton and should be safe from discovery by these new PGD patrols, but he'd have to remember to tell Noah or Jaesen about it when he saw them next.

Without missing a beat, Cameron continued, "—for power supplies that weren't collected or turned in proper-like when they were supposed for whatever reason. Then, if they find something worthwhile, they note its location on a map, and when the team gets back to Fort St. Louis, they report on it. Good ole First Lieutenant Volpe sends out a collection team to bring that shit back." Cameron snorted. "That job doesn't sound nearly as appealing. But hikin' around. Lookin' for the shit in the first place? That's? Well,"—He huffed a wry laugh—"They'll never let me back into PGD. I guess I-Comm's not a bad substitute, all things considered. I get to hike around the countryside, lookin' for soldiers instead of solar panels."

"You're doing all right with the demotion?" Casey asked.

Cameron shrugged and sat up. "Ain't got no choice now." He glanced at Casey. "Don't ever try Merril's booze without him knowing, no matter who says it's okay. Don't do it. Ain't worth the punishment."

Patting his friend on the shoulder, Casey said, "I'll keep that in mind."

# Casey: July

The ring of braided metal was body warmed and felt slick in Casey's hands as he turned it over and over. Did Lottie know of his arrest? Would she try to rescue him?

He snorted. Casey wouldn't put it past her, but hopefully Jaesen or Javier or Tristan—Ever-absent God! Was Tristan already in Fort St. Louis? Hell, he could already be behind bars here at headquarters! Granted, Casey hadn't heard anyone down here with him except his jailers since his lock-in, but that didn't mean it hadn't happened.

Casey pinched the band between his thumb and forefinger, securing it before dropping his head to his hands. He rubbed his eyes. What was Casey going to do? How was he going to get out of this mess? Straightening, he looked at the ring again. Casey slid it onto his pinky, twisted it, and pulled it off.

"Seeds?" Brown asked, surprise coloring his tone. "Seeds!" he yelled over his shoulder. "Not only is he a traitor, but a rich one too!" Brown looked up, pinning Casey with a glare. "That why you're here? Theft?"

Casey held his tongue. He didn't owe Brown any answers.

Brown opened the little black bag that held Lottie's gift. "Got you a fancy ring, too. You're full of surprises, ain't'cha."

Longing thudded in Casey's chest at the sight of the ring. "Give it back."

"Nuh-uh. No personal effects, remember," Brown reminded him as he tossed it in the air. Casey's eyes tracked the ring as it soared high, peaked, descended, and was caught by Brown, who, in turn, eyeballed it as it rested on his palm. "What do you need a ring for anyway? A woman?" Brown huffed a bitter laugh. "What makes you think the State-worker you're fuckin' would want an asshole like you? You ain't special. Just one of many nestled between her legs."

Casey clenched his teeth. He'd rather forfeit Lottie's ring than tell Brown about her. Brown lifted his eyebrow in silent reproach.

"God, these assholes are all the same," Brown called over his shoulder to his partner. "Acting all high and mighty, better than thou bullshit," Brown said, addressing his partner.

Brown refocused on Casey and held the ring inches from Casey's nose. Spinning it, he said, "I got news for you, buddy. She don't want it." His fingers closed around the ring, one by one. "Not only does she not want this shitty 'declaration' of your love, but she also doesn't want you."

Giving Casey a nasty grin, Brown raking his gaze over Casey from head to toe. "You know what that leaves you? Hmm?" Brown didn't wait for Casey to answer, not as if Casey planned on responding in any case. "Jack-fucking-shit." Brown turned to face the glass partition but addressed Casey, "You ain't got shit. Not anymore. No rank. No ring. No whore. You're a lowlife-fucker with a whole lot of ass-kicking ahead of him down at Twenty-four." Brown shook his head. "Fuckin' traitor. Ought to kill you instead of keeping you."

Squaring his shoulders, Casey refused to acknowledge Brown's words. He'd fight his way out before accepting execution.

"Get undressed," Brown ordered.

"Here?"

Turning, Brown planted his hands on his hips. "Of course here, where else? You ain't got shit, remember? Not even privacy."

Casey unbuttoned his dress uniform coat and slipped it from his shoulders. He took a moment to stare at the fabric tear where his pins had rested. His chest felt tight. Swallowing his emotions, he stuffed them deep inside where no one would see them, then proceeded to fold his coat and set it on the floor. Brown tapped his foot in impatience while Casey yanked his undershirt over his head, folded it, and placed it on the jacket.

"We ain't got all day, shit-for-brains. Move it."

Glaring at Brown, Casey finished stripping and stood naked before him, awaiting Brown's next instruction. "Through there," Brown barked, indicating the only other door in the room.

Casey turned on his heel and marched to it. Pulling it open, he entered a small shower stall.

"Scrub down. Dry off. And put this on," Brown said, pointing to a white prison uniform resting on the bench next to the shower. "You have ten minutes."

Nodding, Casey dismissed Brown from his thoughts and turned on the spray. He showered quickly.

Once finished, Casey dried himself with the threadbare towel left for him by Brown. When he reached for the uniform, Casey blinked in surprise. There, on the top, was his ring, the one he bought for Lottie. Casey looked to the door, but Brown wasn't in the room, and the door was firmly closed.

Casey picked up the ring.

He wanted to thank Brown for giving it back to him, but figured it was in his best interests to ignore Brown's kindness—if that is what it was—in favor of securing his treasure before anyone else saw it.

Sliding his identification tags from around his neck, he quickly unclasped the chain and added the ring to it before putting them on again. Casey fingered the cheap metal, punched with his name and date of birth that rested on his chest over the ring. They didn't lay as flat as they once had, but he doubted anyone would notice.

Noise at the end of the hall alerted Casey that his jailers were coming. With practiced ease, he slipped the ring on the chain, clasped it, and dropped it over his neck before the CPS guard arrived at his prison door. Casey could see an eye study him through the small window above the food tray slot.

"First Lieutenant Green wants to know if you've changed your mind."

"No."

The guard shrugged, at least that's what it looked like to Casey from what he could see through the small slat in the thick metal door. "Suit yourself," he said and marched away. The sound of his footsteps fading until the door at the end of the hall rattled open then closed again, announcing the man's exit.

Casey pulled his tags from his chest and flipped them over to reveal the ring. 

# Lottie: July

A deep-throated growl woke Lottie from a sound sleep. Her hand slipped out from under the covers, and she patted King's chest. "What is it?"

The dog's growl deepened, and Lottie sat up abruptly. Her skin slicked with nervous sweat, and she whispered, "King?"

The huffing bark did nothing to calm her nerves.

She glanced down at Grey, sleeping peacefully, one arm over his head and the other bent so he could suck on his thumb while he slept. Slowly, she slipped from the blankets, tucking the edges around Grey's chest before she grabbed her knife and got to her knees.

"Let's go, King," she whispered.

She would never let Grey talk her into allowing King to sleep in their tent again. The guard dog belonged in the clearing, precisely as Noah had insisted, and if King had been in the yard, he would have been free to take care of the threat that stalked her settlement instead of having to wake her first.

Unzipping the tent, Lottie slipped outside with King right behind her. His growl made her shiver, he sounded so menacing, and she could feel his fur standing on end. His skin twitched and rippled, and Lottie wished she could see better, but the moon had yet to rise, and the night was new-moon dark.

She shivered. She hadn't been afraid of the night in years, but with King's hackles raised, her nerves were raw. "Come on, King," Lottie urged. "Show me what's wrong."

He woofed softly and pressed his warm body against her knees, guiding her forward. At the central fire, there was a pile of gear that had not been there when she went to bed. Inching forward, she tried to find any identifying marks— _Was someone stealing from them?_ —but the red glow from the banked coals proved ineffectual to the task.

Spinning, she slashed with her knife, striking at her attacker before what he'd said registered. He tried to jump back, but she caught him before he could do more than block her blade with his forearm. "Fuck," he yelped as the edge went through the fabric and made contact with his skin.

"Tristan!" Lottie cried, dropping the knife and lunging for him, trying to keep him from staggering and falling into the fire. "Ever-absent God, Tristan! I'm so sorry!" She felt tears well and cascade down her cheeks. "I didn't mean it." She sniffed. His hot blood poured over her fingers. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry."

Tristan's silence made the sick feeling in her gut worse.

"Jaesen!" Lottie whispered fiercely. She didn't want to wake the others, but she needed help. The cut was bleeding profusely. "Sit," she urged Tristan. "Jaesen!" she cried louder, guiding Tristan to one of the logs they used at mealtime. She helped him down and squatted by his side.

"It's—Damn, this hurts, Momma."

"I'm so sorry, Tristan! I didn't mean to cut you." She sniffed. "Jaesen! Help."

The volume of her pleas ended up bringing more than Jaesen out from his tent.

"What's going on," Nyah asked, her head poking out of the screen door of her tent.

Lottie could see Ally and Katie staring at her from theirs.

"Are you okay?" Nyah asked.

"No. I cut Tristan. Bad. Can you build up the fire while I take care of him?"

Zippers rasped in the night as the women came out of their tents to help.

Jaesen dropped to his knees next to her. "Let me see," he ordered.

Lottie sat back. Jaesen had more experience with field injuries than she did, and she gratefully relinquished control of the situation.

"Help me with his jacket," Jaesen ordered. Lottie nodded, sliding it from Tristan's shoulders.

When she reached the gaping wound in his forearm, she waited for Jaesen to ease the sleeve off.

"You're damn lucky you were wearing that jacket," Jaesen growled at Tristan, his nose so close to the injury he practically touched it. "It's almost eighty out tonight, why are you wearing it."

Tristan did not answer. Lottie searched his gaze, fearing his lack of response was due to shock. The warm glow of the fire flickered in his eyes. Tristan wasn't looking at her. He was looking over her shoulder. She turned to see what captivated him. Zoe knelt, one leg in her tent and one out, frozen in place, staring back at him. Lottie's heart thudded in her chest. She'd hoped their first reunion after eight years would have been more romantic and with a lot less blood, but they didn't seem to notice the lack of the former or the copious amount of the later. They only had eyes for each other.

"Tristan, why were you wearing a coat?" Jaesen prompted.

"I—" Tristan shook his head. With effort, he focused on Jaesen. "Case's been arrested for treason." _No!_ Lottie's legs gave out, and she sat down hard. "Sent to Fort Twenty-four. Noah stayed behind to learn more, and I booked it back to Fort Sutton. I gathered what I could carry and came straight here without stoppin'."

"Casey's arrested?" Lottie whispered, her throat hot and tight. Hands rubbed her arms, but she didn't know who and couldn't muster up enough energy to find out.

"Noah knows where he's goin'," Tristan said. "and decided to stay in Fort St. Louis to check on a few thin's—namely Brad—who's going to help out here, and to find out when Case will be shipped off to Twenty-four. He'll be back here as soon as he can."

"Casey's arrested?" She couldn't believe it.

"Yeah, Green knows all about your escape from Gates. He wants Case will tell him where you are hidin'."

"Did you see him?"

Tristan shook his head. "When we learned of his detention, I turned around and headed back. The only reason why I reenlisted was for Case. I wasn't gonna retire 'til he did, but now that he ain't goin' back, I'm not either."

"You're AWOL?" a soft voice whispered, drawing Lottie's gaze to Zoe standing a few feet away. Lottie sighed. Even with wild-looking bed hair and noticeable baby bump, the woman was gorgeous, and Lottie couldn't entirely suppress the small sting of jealousy that flared in her chest.

Swallowing hard, Tristan nodded.

"So, you're not leaving?"

He shook his head.

Placing a hand on Tristan's knee, Lottie asked, "But, you're going to go get Casey, right?" She felt light-headed and ill.

Tristan turned his gaze to her. "He'll come back," he assured her.

"How?" she wailed. Fort Twenty-four was a high-security prison camp, where the worst of the worst went. They'd never break him out.

"I don't know, but Noah'll have a plan," Tristan said.

She swallowed hard. "But..."

"Can you help me?" Jaesen growled, interrupting her.

Lottie turned to him. "What?"

"I need to stitch this," Jaesen said, his tone conveying impatience, and Lottie felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment. Jaesen was right. Casey was okay for the time being, but Tristan needed care right now. "Can you help, or do I need to get someone else?" Jaesen barked.

Lottie glanced down at the wound. It was at least four inches long and gaped open obscenely. "You're damn lucky you caught him on the outer forearm and not the inner. You only sliced through muscle and not an artery." She blinked at Jaesen's harsh tone. Jaesen never sounded so angry. He bumped her shoulder with his. "Remind me never to get in a knife fight with you. You're brutal." Lottie exhaled. He didn't seem as hostile now. Jaesen asked, "What did you use?"

She grimaced. "My butcher knife."

"You sterilize it recently?"

Lottie shook her head. Why would she? She only ever used it to slice up their game.

Tristan gulped, and Jaesen shifted his focus to the injury. Jaesen said, "We'll let's hope it doesn't get infected."

Turning her sympathetic gaze to Tristan, she whispered, "I'm so sorry. King was growling and—and—you surprised me. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know, Momma." He patted her on the shoulder with his uninjured hand. "You're forgiven."

Tears that felt like hot needles pricked behind her eyes, and Lottie blinked rapidly to hold them back.

"Ready?" Jaesen asked them both. He had a needle and thread in hand. She assumed he got it from one of the sewing kits she'd stolen from Gates.

"Yes," both Tristan and Lottie replied at the same time.

Jaesen acknowledged them, bent his head, and began stitching Tristan's arm by firelight.

# Casey: August

_That small town was ten klicks northeast of camp._ Casey panted as he ran. _Cut northwest, then due west. Maybe go as far as the border. No, not the state line._ The Perimeter Control Enforcement division was worse than the UTR, and Casey had enough of being beaten for his mistakes. _Not west, then. North?_ He wasn't sure which direction was best. South was out. That's where Diador and Jenkins—the two other UTR goons—would be coming from once they returned to camp and found Lanford and Stewart dead. But then again, maybe heading south was the right answer. The UTR wouldn't expect him to do that...

Casey stopped running to think. His side screamed in protest. He'd grown accustomed to the constant ache during the initial burst of adrenaline needed to escape, but now that the buzz was wearing off, his ribs hurt.

Bad.

He cradled his side, trying to ease the pain that radiated from them. _Keep going,_ Casey urged as he resumed his limping run across the uneven ground of the open field. He desperately wanted to stop, but couldn't. Casey needed every possible kilometer he could get.

Stumbling, Casey ran toward the dusk shrouded tree line ahead. "Trees are good," he murmured, knowing he could disguise his trail in their depths.

Bursting past the first line of trees, Casey slowed, his labored breathing shot spikes of pain through his chest. He wondered if Lanford or Stewart had broken his ribs when they kicked him.

"Feels like it," he gasped and slowed again, but they probably weren't. _Otherwise, you wouldn't be running._ Casey tripped. Sucking in a sharp breath, he pressed his hand to the injured spot and looked to the ground, and confirmed his misstep hadn't left an indicator of his passage. He'd need to be more careful. Even the slightest broken branch could be a flag pointing the direction of his flight.

At least the ground is dry.

His feet carried him forward, maybe two hundred meters when the woods abruptly thinned, opening up once again to a large field. Wincing, Casey resumed his jog. Being out in the open made him uncomfortable. He imagined a giant bullseye on his back aching to be targeted by either Diador or Jenkins. _All right, maybe not my back_ , Casey thought with a grimace. They'd aim for his thigh, incapacitating him. _Can't bring a dead man to trial for murder._ And now that he'd killed Lanford and Stewart?

Shaking off that thought, Casey spotted a decaying farmhouse across the field and ran toward it. A dwelling this far out in the sticks didn't mean much, but maybe there would be a paved driveway he could jog on besides the uneven ground. It wouldn't help the pain much, but at least he'd lessen the chance of twisting his ankle in a hole disguised by the long shadows of twilight.

_Is it a full moon?_ He tried to remember.

Full moons, though great for seeing your surroundings in the darkest of night, brutally distorted the shadows, and Casey would have an easier time traversing the uneven ground once darkness fell. In the meantime, he'd try to stay on the pavement. There were fewer chances of injury that way.

_Ah-ha!_ Sure enough, when he came within a few yards of the home, he spotted a winding path that had to lead to a road. Within moments he'd run the remaining distance of the field, and now his feet pounded on coarse white gravel. A hundred feet down the line, Casey came to a fork in the driveway. The right side emptied onto a road that turned south, but the left faced west for some distance yet. Choosing the left, Casey pushed on, forcing himself to continue.

The gravel lane led him to another road running east to west. Casey's feet left the gravel, and now one pounded on the asphalt as he chased the setting sun. He stumbled along for a few more kilometers every step shot fresh fire up his spine. It was only his sheer determination of will that kept him going.

_You can make it to that tree._ Casey nodded to it as he passed. _Good. That rock_ , he encouraged, _that's it. That bent sign. Excellent._ Each small victory kept Casey going until he encountered a cross in the road. _North? South?_ He debated. In the end, he chose to go north. Heading south didn't feel right, and he didn't want to continue heading west.

Casey hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

Trudging forward, Casey kept up the internal monologue of reassurance. _You can do this. You've run farther. Yeah, but not with busted ribs._ Casey held his arm tighter against his torso. The ache was bordering on unbearable. He needed to walk, to rest. He couldn't keep going like this. Time lost all meaning as Casey forced himself to take each step. _I have to keep moving. Diador. Jenkins._

Surprise made his mouth go slack when he crested the small hill and found himself at the edge of an abandoned superhighway. Casey stopped and looked right then left. The six lanes of trafficless pavement and the waist-high cement median seemed too daunting to cross.

"You shouldn't have stopped," he chided. Casey knew the despair he felt was a natural reaction to fatigue, pain, and the collapsed runner's high he'd been riding earlier.

After a fortifying breath that made him wince, Casey forced himself to jog alongside the median.

He'd run another few klicks when his ribs said no more, and Casey had to come to a stop. Bracing his hands on his knees, Casey took shallow gulps of air. Each panted breath made him whimper. Once his breathing slowed enough for him to stand upright, he put his hands on the cement barrier and hoisted his leg over the edge. His toe touched the ground on the other side, and he pivoted, allowing his other leg to join the first. Once free of the median, Casey headed straight for the trees and disappeared into their depths.

_One foot. The next. Keep going_ , Casey chanted. His vision felt hazy, and the landscape seemed darker around the edges than the time of night would indicate. Climbing a hill, Casey crested it and stopped abruptly. He looked down at the creek burbling six feet below and wondered how he'd get across.

Looking over his shoulder, Casey confirmed no one followed, and then sat on the lip of the dirt embankment. Once he planted his butt cheeks firmly on the ground, he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, breathing heavily.

Casey studied the water. It looked like a shallow feeder creek. As he contemplated the stream, his pain riddled mind wandered, easily recollecting Lottie and Greysen's faces. He wondered what they were doing right now. Eating? Sleeping? Playing? At least when he saw them next, he'd be able to stay with them for good.

His hand gripped his identification tags, and his fingers gravitated to the braided ring that rested there. Twirling it, Casey thought about all it stood for. Love. Life. Partnership. He couldn't wait to join Lottie. He was eager to be a proper husband and father. The thought cheered him, gave him strength. The ability to be with her forever was one of the benefits to his discharge—no more work to keep him from their side.

Sighing, he focused on the water below. He didn't see any big rocks sticking out of the creek that would impede his progress, but Casey didn't want to take that chance. Rolling to his stomach, he eased himself down until his boots touched the surface then let go.

"Ow," he growled as he landed with a small splash. His arm wrapped around his side. "Not deep at all," he muttered.

The cold water barely covered the top of his boot. Gingerly Casey turned and made his way across the stream. He stepped out and shook one foot then the other. The water hadn't been deep but still managed to get into his shoes.

At least you didn't fall. That would have sucked.

He walked up the hill away from the creek. At the top of the watershed's rise, Casey encountered thick underbrush. He sighed and hoped there wasn't any poison ivy. That would be adding insult to injury.

Pushing the shrubs to the side, he ducked and entered, letting the branches swing back to conceal his trail. Casey moved slowly. The nearly pitch black of the woods made his way more complicated, and he hoped the think underbrush would thin soon. As Casey expected, the honeysuckle and other water-thriving scrub brush died away as he left the creek behind.

Stopping, Casey put his hands on his hips. His rest at the stream hadn't done a thing for the aches of his body. _Can't stop yet_ , Casey reprimanded, and as he took his next step, he slipped, landing hard on his rear.

He moaned. Roots and rocks dug into his back, and hot tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. "Fuck!" Casey growled. He couldn't move. His ribs were on fire. His back screamed. His tailbone ached, and he could hardly breathe from having the wind knocked out of him. Tears burned a trail from the corner of his eye to his hairline. He wondered if he should give up, but Lottie's voice came to him then, "If it happens, I wouldn't mind," Lottie had said. He groaned and rolled to his side. The image of her belly, large with his child, gave him strength. He had to get back to her. What if she was pregnant? It wasn't likely, but there was a chance.

Casey pushed to his knees, and he bit his tongue to hold back a scream.

_What the hell happened to my ankle?_ Casey thought as he stopped trying to stand and instead fell back on his ass. Casey ran his fingers across the focal point of pain. It was evident he'd injured his ankle when he fell, for it was hot to the touch and already swelling.

"Shit. I do _not_ need this."

It took all of his willpower to force himself to stand, and he tasted blood on his tongue from where he bit it to keep from crying out. His wish of creating distance between himself and the UTR evaporated as he took a step.

His stomach roiled at the intense pain.

_Do not vomit!_ Casey commanded. It didn't take a strong imagination to picture how painful heaving would feel with his damaged ribs and sore back.

Using the trees, he hobbled his way forward. Casey needed shelter. Now. Or he'd fail.

"Move it, soldier," Casey commanded.

Each step brought fresh tears to his eyes, and he could no longer keep them inside. He felt his cheeks grow hot in embarrassment. He couldn't remember the last time he cried.

Casey didn't know how long he stood there, leaning up against a small tree and staring at the dark, uniformly shaped hole in the hillside before his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing, and he nearly whooped in excitement.

Shelter.

Now, all he had to do was get inside the drain.

# Casey: July

The word traitor, which had begun as a whispered question, passed from one soldier to the next. Those murmurs soon grew in volume and intensity until it was hurled at Casey from all sides as if it were a weapon bent on destroying him where he stood.

He firmed his shoulders and stood tall, refusing to be intimidated by the growing crowd of enlisted men standing in the courtyard in front of headquarters. They screamed for his blood.

Shifting his shoulders, Casey attempted to ignore the burn of his new 'discharged for bad conduct' tattoo as he faced the crowd. He would not let them nor his tattoo sully his determination. Casey had to keep Lottie's location from First Lieutenant Green.

"Make room!" the lead CPS soldier yelled at the crowd pressing in from all sides. "Get back! Let us through!"

Casey clenched his fists, and the subsequent bite of his metal handcuffs pinching his skin helped him focus on something other than the crowd at the foot of the stairs. He vowed to show no remorse, no weakness, and no embarrassment, no matter how loud they screamed.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Casey descended the stairs behind the phalanx of CPS soldiers. The unruly crowd jostled and shifted, trying to get closer to him. Hands reached through the spaces created by the CPS guard, while others pushed and shoved.

"Don't you have work to do?" one of the CPS yelled to the crowd at Casey's right, and Casey turned his head toward the disturbance.

"Traitor!" the soldiers' chant continued, growing louder and more insistent, each utterance of the word cascaded over its predecessor until all semblance of meaning became lost to a deafening roar.

Casey swallowed hard.

"We're going to need more men," a soldier yelled to the lead man.

"We don't have 'em. Keep going."

"Damn," the closer man said. "You'd think they've never seen a traitor before."

"Have they?" Casey asked.

In all the times he had been to Fort St. Louis since Basic training, he'd never even heard of someone getting arrested for treason, let alone seen someone taken away for the crime. The CPS soldier glared at him. Casey shrugged and resumed facing forward. He thought it was a valid question, even if his guard didn't agree.

Harrumphing, the soldier shoved at the crowd again. "Make room," he yelled in unison with other members of their party.

Eventually, the group and Casey made it across the paved plaza in front of the Asset Recovery and Acquisition building. As they reached the street, the crowd began to thin, and Casey took a deep cleansing breath. It was easier to hide his unease without the crush of spectators.

He hissed in pain when a well-placed shove between his shoulder blades made contact with his new tattoo.

"Move, Traitor." Casey nodded and quickly fell into step with the men around him, losing himself to the rhythm of their march.

He wasn't sure how far they'd gone—maybe two kilometers—when the hairs on his arms rose in a subconscious warning. Someone _watched_ him. Shifting his focus farther afield, Casey searched for the threat.

He didn't see anything suspicious.

There?

Casey froze.

Noah!

"Dammit!" the CPS behind him growled. "Move."

Casey stumbled as the man pushed him forward.

"I said, move!" the CPS ordered.

Noah?

Casey craned his neck, seeking his link to Lottie. His gaze locked with Noah's. Seconds which felt like hours passed, but then Noah nodded, and Casey let out the air he hadn't realized he held. Noah knew of his plight. He would take care of Lottie.

And with that knowledge, the tension Casey harbored, melted away. 

# Lottie: August

Sitting back on her heels, Lottie used her forearm to wipe the sweat from her brow, smearing deer blood across her forehead. She was so close to done that Lottie could almost taste it.

_Actually_ , she thought with a grimace. She could.

The stench of old blood was thick, like a paste coating her tongue. Curling her lip at the awful smell, Lottie couldn't wait to finish, but stopping was one of the things Noah'd cautioned her not to do. If you stopped cleaning the hide before removing all the connective tissues, you ran the risk of having the skins decompose prematurely or even fall apart during tanning. She couldn't let that happen. They needed the leather.

Sighing, she leaned over and resumed her scraping of the fat from the inner membrane.

_Finished!_

She tossed the fleshing knife in the wash bucket. Now she could get that bath and play with Grey as she'd promised. Looking up, Lottie spied him on the other side of the clearing, playing with King near Ally and the infants. King nudged Grey with his muzzle, earning a squeal of glee from the toddler. The dog then ran a few steps and stopped, waiting. When Grey drew close enough, King nudged him and bounded away again. Lottie snickered. Grey loved King, and if their game of tag was any indication, then the feeling was mutual.

"Grey?" she called as she stood.

Grey and King froze and swung their heads toward the sound of her voice. King barked, at the same time, Grey yelled, "Mommy!"

"Ready for that bath?"

"'Ath!" Grey agreed. His game with King abandoned, and he took off in a stumbling run to get to her faster.

Laughing out loud, Lottie met Grey halfway across the clearing. Swinging him in the air, she spun him around before dropping him to her hip. "Should we take King?" she asked, bopping Grey on the nose.

Grey giggled. "'Ing 'ome wish'us."

Barking and bouncing around her feet, King let her know of his agreement to their plan.

"Great," she said.

Calling to Ally, she asked, "We're off to the river. Need anything before we go?"

Waving, Ally shook her head. "No. They're sleeping, so I'm good."

_Great._ Lottie didn't want to wait another minute before getting clean.

"Come along, King," Lottie ordered and left the clearing for the river platform.

They were halfway there when several things happened all at once. First, the hairs on Lottie's arms lifted into goosebumps, then she felt the distinct sensation of being watched, next King began growling and slowed to a stop with hackles raised, and finally Grey popped his thumb in his mouth, nuzzling into her neck with a whimper.

With shaking hands, Lottie retrieved her sling and stone from her pocket. After fumbling with the weapon, she finished loading it and tensed, ready to let the projectile fly at the slightest indication of a threat. Slowly, Lottie scanned the area, crooning to Grey under her breath, trying to keep him quiet.

If a wild animal were stalking them, she'd spot it as soon as it moved. Of course, if it was already on top of her—Lottie lifted her gaze to the trees, checking—then she might not have enough time to spin up her sling and launch the stone. Lottie let out the breath she'd been holding. There was nothing in the canopy above them.

As if sensing her relief, King's growl stopped, and he sat on his haunches, tongue hanging out.

"What is it, King?" Lottie whispered. She hated it when he did that. His abrupt canine moods were more than a tad unsettling, especially when he'd been threatening the empty path before them.

King swallowed a bark, and at the same time, Grey lifted his head from her shoulder. "'Ampa "Oha?"

"Lottie?" That call had come from the settlement.

Pivoting on her heel, Lottie hurried back. Her heart pounded, and she patted Grey as she hustled down the path.

"Lottie?!" the voice— _Ally?_ —called again.

Covering Grey's ear, she yelled, "Coming!"

Turning the corner, Lottie nearly ran over Ally and the two babies who had come to meet her. Their collision upset Cody, and she began to cry. Her hand fluttered in front of her face for a moment until her fingers landed in her mouth. Her whimpers leveled out as she sucked. Max, on the other hand, blinked at Lottie owlishly, clearly unfazed by his sister's tears.

Lottie touched their heads and addressed Ally, "What's wrong? Why were you yelling?"

"There's a man at camp"—Lottie shouldered past Ally as she continued to speak. Lottie snapped her fingers, ordering King to follow her—"Says Noah sent him, but Noah's not here, and neither is Jaesen. I didn't know what to do."

Motioning her to be quiet, Lottie set Grey on the ground. "Stay with Auntie Ally, all right?" Blinking, Grey tucked his head and popped his thumb in his mouth. His arms wrapped around Ally's knees, and he nodded at Lottie.

"Good boy, Grey. Mommy'll be right back."

Standing, Lottie gave Ally a tight smile. "I'll let you know when it's okay to come out."

"Be careful."

"I will. King? Come with me," Lottie commanded, confirming her sling was ready. Stepping from the trees, Lottie noted the dark-haired man who sat on a log next to the fire.

He must have been listening for her, for he stood and turned her direction the moment she exited the woods. His blue-green eyes were startling, and her breath caught in her lungs. Lottie's vision wavered, and sweat popped along her brow. _It's not him. It's not him_ , Lottie chanted to herself. Even though her sight told her she was safe, her heart didn't believe her.

King growled, low and deep in his throat, reminding her of the potential threat.

"Hands up. Where I can see them," Lottie said, cursing under her breath when her voice wavered.

The stranger complied. "Are you Private Forrester?"

His voice, though husky, had a slightly scratchy quality to it, almost as if he had a cold and was about to lose his voice.

Lottie's fear faded further. He didn't sound like her attacker, and she sincerely hoped he was always hoarse, because if he was coming down with something? Well, the babies were too delicate to be exposed to illness.

With King at her side, Lottie forced herself forward on shaking legs and brought her sling to the ready. "I'm going to come closer. No sudden movements or you'll get a rock right through the forehead." She doubted it would do any damage but ought to hurt like hell.

He nodded. "I'm not here to hurt you."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Sure," he agreed. "I'm Brad, Brad Leon. Former Captain of Munitions Analysis and Distribution."

"MAD? How nice."

Again, he nodded. "Noah recruited me for that very reason."

Lottie came to a stop about five feet away from him. After commanding King to sit, she addressed Brad, "If Noah recruited you, then where is he? He wouldn't have told you where we were and then left."

"He went to find retired Privates, Bell and Clemens."

Lottie slowly lowered her weapon to her side. Would a stranger know of Tristan and Jaesen? Maybe, but she doubted it. Besides, he knew them by surname, and no one at the settlement used those except Noah. And with that revelation, she decided Brad had proven himself safe enough.

She called over her shoulder, "Ally, you can come out now!"

"Okay!" Ally answered from the trees.

Lottie patted King on the head. "Good boy."

Before Lottie could continue questioning Brad, her son popped out of the woods and bee-lined toward her. "'Ath? 'Ath, Mommy?"

"We'll get a bath in a few minutes," Lottie replied, and as Ally came to stand next to her, Lottie stooped down and picked Grey up. Squaring off against Brad, she said, "So? A Weapons Specialist. What's your specialty?"

"Besides gunsmithing?"

"Yeah."

"Range weapons: modern and pre-modern."

"Like missiles?"

"No. More archaic: spears, bow and arrows, slings," Brad said, indicating the weapon in her hand with a nod of his head.

"Convenient."

"Yes," Brad agreed.

"Why are you here?"

"To help keep you and the other women safe and to spread my knowledge."

Lottie frowned. It sounded too good to be true, but really, she wouldn't put it past Noah to have orchestrated this. "When did Noah talk to you about us?"

"For this mission or in general?"

_General?_ She'd have to explore that in more detail, but first, "This mission."

"Four years ago," Brad answered without any hesitation.

Lottie's eyelids narrowed. _Four years ago?_ "I didn't know Noah four years ago. Why would he have approached you about us then?"

"You may not have known him, but he knew of you."

"What? How? I made sure to avoid everyone."

"Well, as the story goes, you managed to trip one of his booby traps near his cabin, but when he went to investigate, he heard you blundering around instead. Your movements were so loud and uncoordinated that he knew you couldn't be one of Fort Sutton's soldiers on patrol about to discover him. And, since you weren't a threat,"—Brad said, using his fingers to do air quotes at the word threat—"Noah chose to watch you instead. From what he's told me before, he didn't have enough resources in place yet to take care of you properly, so he let you go about your merry."

Brad shrugged and glanced at King and Ally before continuing, "But anytime you came near, he would watch, waiting for the perfect time to take you under his wing." Brad took a deep breath. "Can I put my hands down? My arms are getting tired."

At her curt nod, he dropped his arms, shook them, and then shoved his hands in his pockets.

Brad continued, "Anyway, two years ago, you wandered through his property again. Only this time, you were pregnant. And even though he wasn't ready to take you on, Noah decided 'no more waiting' was in order. Of course, Noah wasn't the only one hunting you that stormy August night, but Huxley and his team were able to get to you first."

He shifted his weight, pulling his hands from his pockets. Crossing his arms, Brad said, "Noah backed off, deciding to wait and see what Huxley would do."

Uncrossing his arms, he waved one hand around for emphasis. "Think about it from Noah's point of view. Here is a soldier—someone unaware of the 'family-steading' effort Noah's been building for years—keeping a pregnant woman hostage at his base. Would he turn you in? If Huxley had, you never would have made it to Fort St. Louis." Brad grinned.

"Thankfully, Noah's extraction plans were moot. Huxley proved he wanted to keep you and the baby," Brad said, indicating Grey in her arms. "Noah took a risk in bringing him in on the grand plan. And I'm glad it worked out."

Disoriented and a bit light-headed at how much Brad knew, Lottie sat, situating Grey on her lap. King huffed and dropped his head on her knee. Grey patted him in his not so gentle way, and King looked at her as if to say, 'You're going to let him keep doing that, aren't you?'

"Why? Why did you come here?" Lottie asked, her tone no longer accusatory.

"Not everyone believes our women need breeding with no regard for their feelings or the families these women create."

"That is..." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That is blunt."

Brad shrugged. "Most of Noah's team feels the same. And well," he said, indicating Ally with his hand. "Family is important."

Lottie looked over her shoulder. Ally's mouth hung open in evident surprise, and Lottie wondered how much of this Ally had known before today. With both Lottie and Brad's attention on her, she snapped her mouth shut and blushed. Waving her closer, Lottie said, "This is Ally, her daughter Cody and her son Max."

Brad acknowledged Ally with a nod. "Glad to meet you."

"Likewise." Ally caught Lottie's gaze. "Can you hold Cody? I think Max is getting hungry."

"Of course," Lottie said. Lifting Grey off her lap, she set him down beside her. He sniffed, and curled his arm around her leg but otherwise didn't make a sound. Lottie brushed the hair from his forehead and bopped him on the nose, and told him, "We'll be done soon. Okay?"

Grey nodded. "'Kay."

After shoving her sling and stone into her pocket, she took Cody from Ally and set the baby on her knees. After teasing the little girl's chubby cheeks, Lottie refocused on Brad. "Weapons specialist? Did Noah select you, or were you a happy little accident like us?"

"No. Not an accident. Not by a long shot." Brad smiled at her, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Noah's been playing this game for a long time. A lot longer than you or I have, that's for sure, and I'm only the first of many. Soon we'll have a surgeon—someone who specializes in pre-modern medicine. And I heard Noah's been talking to RTC, LPD, WCD, and WDC. Basically, if you can name it, then Noah's been trying to recruit someone to provide it. I even heard he had an in on the 'Catherine of Sweden project'— _Catherine of Sweden?_ —a few years ago, but the army rejected his prospect before he could get them installed."

Brad paused to take a deep breath. "Noah and his team's reach is far and wide. It span's states. They've planed these settlements for years and have been quietly recruiting in all the time I've known him."

"Settlements?" Ally squeaked, from where she sat on a log next to Lottie. Her high pitched noise startled King, and he twitched his ears in her direction, listening. Lottie patted him on the head, letting her fingers dip to behind his ears, where she scratched him.

"Yes," Brad said, letting his answer hang in the air between them. "Settlements. This one's the first of many." He must have seen something in Lottie's expression, which he interpreted as disbelief, for he added, "Why is this such a surprise, Private Forrester? You knew about his plan. The desire to reunite families."

"I didn't," Lottie replied. "But I must admit, I thought he only started this one because of me and Grey."

Brad shook his head. "You may have been a catalyst, but as I said, he's been at this for years."

"How long? Do you know?" Ally asked, warming to both Brad and the subject.

His gaze dropped lower, drawing Lottie's attention back to Ally. Her head was down as she positioned Max at her breast. When Lottie glanced back to Brad, he'd composed himself and was looking at her. Directing his answer to Lottie, he said, "At least twenty years. Probably more."

Lottie glanced away and wondered when Noah would get back. Sighing, she refocused on Brad. "When did you meet Noah?"

"Met 'im over fourteen years ago, when I reenlisted." Brad sat in the chair he'd vacated when she first confronted him. "That was when I was able to specialize in something other than guns, and he approached me about archery."

"Why, archery?" Ally inquired.

"We can make bows outside of a factory," Lottie replied for Brad.

"Mostly," he said with a nod. "Mass-manufacturing is too expensive, but that doesn't mean we can do without the products those factories provided," Brad said, expounding on Lottie's answer. "Gunsmithing without the right tools is a lot harder than making a spear, sling, or even a bow and set of arrows." Brad's smile faded.

"The army spends an excessive amount of time, effort, and money, cultivating talent that is well versed in these required technologies. They have sanctioned branches dedicated to resurrecting disciplines once thought lost, for example, knapping stone. In addition to the standard ballistics, chemistry, and mathematics, select soldiers train in metallurgy, blacksmithing, and carpentry, to name a few." Brad took a few deep breaths. "Fourteen years ago, Noah and I talked. I agreed to study pre-modern range weapons. Noah believed it would serve me best—here—at my next post."

"Does Noah want you to make guns for us?" Lottie asked.

"Not really," Brad replied. "The settlement is a long way off from gunsmithing. I hope we'll get there one day."

"What would we need?" The idea of giving a firearm to everyone appealed to her, and she'd love to make it happen.

Brad looked off to the distance for a moment, then turned his attention back to Lottie with a grin. "We'd need Anvils, smithing coal, metal blanks... gunpowder."

"Blacksmithing?" Ally asked. "It doesn't even seem possible."

"Blacksmithing's been around for centuries and so have the recipes for making gunpowder. The trick isn't in making the explosives. It's in finding or manufacturing all the ingredients."

Lottie snorted. "I bet."

"But that's your goal, right? I mean? Long term," Ally pressed.

"Perhaps," Brad replied. "First, I'll teach the settlement how to make and use the pre-modern weapons. I expect that will keep us busy for a while, while Noah searches for the other things we'll need to build a smithy."

"Did Noah tell you anything else," Lottie asked.

"Only that Huxley's headed to Twenty-four, and that's why I needed to be here sooner than originally planned."

Lifting Max to her shoulder, Ally patted him on the back. "Does that mean the Army'll miss you?" Ally inquired, her tone was sharp with worry.

"Relax. I'm retired."

Lottie ducked her head and clasped her fingers around Cody's small hands. She didn't want Ally or Brad to see her relief at his answer. It was hard enough knowing that Tristan and Casey had abandoned their careers for her, let alone a stranger.

"Lottie?!" Nyah's yell from behind the smokehouse drew Ally and Brad's attention in addition to Lottie's. "One of the damn chickens is missing! What do you want me to do?" As she came around the corner, she stopped abruptly, her mouth going slack. Snapping it shut, she marched toward them. "Who's this?"

As an aside, Lottie whispered, "Welcome to the settlement, Brad. I hope it's worth it." Louder, she addressed Nyah, "This is Brad." She'd already forgotten his last name, and she looked to him for help.

Brad stood and offered Nyah his hand. "Brad Leon. Former Captain of Munitions Analysis and Distribution. And you are?"

"Nyah Stenet," she said, taking his hand. As she shook it, she gave him a thorough once over. An appreciative gleam grew in her eye, and Lottie tried not to snort since it appeared Nyah had a new conquest. "Weapons Specialist?"

"That's right, Private Stenet."

"Uh-uh," Nyah said with a shake of her head. "Just Nyah. There are no privates here. Well? unless you mean what's covered up by our clothes?"

Brad glanced at Lottie. Lottie bit her lip and shrugged. What could she say? Nyah liked the shock value.

Shifting Cody on her lap, Lottie tried to answer the most obvious question. "We're pretty informal here. Everyone is either retired or AWOL."

"Usually, we go by first names." Smoothing her tone, Nyah let her voice turn seductive, and she added, "So, Brad, what did you make as a weapons specialist? Knives? Swords?"

Lottie laughed out loud. "Knock it off, Nyah. You'll scare him away."

Pinching her lips together, Nyah shot Lottie a glare that barely masked her smile. "You knock it off, Lottie. I'm trying to learn more about Brad here."

"You can quiz him later," Lottie said, her laugh dying to a soft snicker. "Hey, have you seen Noah?"

Dropping the lecherous attitude, Nyah replied, "No. I haven't. I was too busy trying to find that damn chicken that escaped."

"Let me guess, Isabel?"

"Probably. I can't tell the fucking things apart." Nyah exhaled. The hair near her cheek billowed out from the force of it. "That chicken's a fucking Houdini."

"'Uckn 'Deenee," Grey murmured as if agreeing, and King woofed softly.

Lottie tapped Grey on the shoulder and shook her head. "No, Grey. You don't say those words," she whispered to him. Brushing his bangs off his forehead, she hoped no one else heard him swear. Lifting her head, Lottie said, "Well, if it was Isabel, she hasn't gone far."

"Not far at all," a male voice said over soft clucking.

"'Istn!" Grey chirped from Lottie's side as he stood. Grey stamped his feet with impatience. "Up! 'Istn!"

"Hello, Tristan," Lottie greeted without turning around. "Let me guess it was Isabel, and you have her?"

"'Istn. 'Istn. Up!"

"Yep. My girl loves me. Can't even go one day without seeing me." Several loud squawks and clucks punctuated Tristan's statement.

Lottie turned, and her gaze fell to the small chicken in Tristan's arms. The bird was rubbing her beak on Tristan's stomach and cooing. "That is one lovesick bird."

He chuckled and moved to hand the bird off to Nyah. Isabel screeched, her clawed feet scrabbling at the air as she tried to stay with her favorite human.

"Come along, you dumb bird," Nyah growled. "Or you're going to be stew, and I won't mind one bit if I get to eat you." And after a quick backward glance at Tristan and a wink for Brad, Nyah left.

"Well," Brad said, his voice trailing off.

Tristan guffawed. "She's the worst of them—well, until you meet Javier—peas in a pod, 'em too, but you'll get used to her. She's pretty nice once you get past the swearin' and sexual innuendo."

"I see."

"'Istn? 'Istn?" Grey insisted, tugging at Tristan's shorts. "Up?"

With barely a glance at Grey, Tristan scooped him up and hitched him on his hip. "There ya go, kiddo," Tristan said absently. "Brad?" he asked, his tone hesitant.

"Yes?"

Extending his hand, Tristan said, "Good. Glad to meet you. Welcome to the settlement."

Brad shook, acknowledging the greeting, then said, "I'm eager to get started."

"Great. We need the extra help now that HQ detained Case."

"You have a roster or patrol set up?"

"No. We haven't bothered since it's only been Jaesen and me," Tristan said. "But now that you're here it might make more sense to split—"

Glancing between each man, Lottie marveled at their easy acceptance of each other, but when they made to move away, Lottie stood and snapped, "Wait." They turned to her. Tristan's eyebrow cocked in question. "Where are you going?"

"'Istn? 'Ampa 'Oah?"

Tristan looked at Grey and flinched. Had he forgotten he held Grey? "Hey there, kiddo."

"'Ampa 'Oah?" Grey asked, popping his thumb in his mouth.

"Oh," Tristan said, smiling at Grey and ruffling his hair. "I'm sure Grandpa's on his way. Probably out helping Uncle Jaesen bring back his raccoons and rabbit." Tristan addressed the rest of his statement to Lottie, "I passed Jaesen on the way back here. They should both be here soon."

Grey smiled around his thumb. "Zzath 'ow?"

Shifting Cody in her arms as Lottie stepped toward the men and took Grey from Tristan. "We'll get that bath in a few more minutes."

"Zzay."

"Come on, Brad," Tristan said.

"Wait, where are you going?" Lottie asked, repeating her unanswered question.

Giving her a perplexed look, Tristan answered, "Thought I'd show him around a bit and get him settled in Jaesen's tent before Noah and Jaesen get here."

"Oh," Lottie said, hugging Grey close. The tiny tremors started at her toes, and they strengthened as they climbed her legs until her whole body shook with the force of them.

Something in her tone made Tristan paused mid-step. As he stared at her, his expression softened. Lottie dropped her gaze from his, but not before she saw him step away from Brad. Stopping in front of her, she could just see the tips of his worn boots. Tristan rested his hands on her shoulders, and he stooped to look her in the eye. "You all right?"

She swallowed. No. She wasn't all right. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her palms felt slick with sweat. Her skin tingled as if Sergeant Major Zan Ito from her march to the secret facility watched her, and her chest felt so tight she could hardly breathe. She feared she'd drop one of the children.

"Hey Momma," Tristan whispered, taking Cody from her and dragging her and Grey into a tight, one-armed hug. "It's okay. Noah vouches for this guy, so he's going to be safe. All right? You don't have to fear him."

Lottie nodded. Intellectually she knew Tristan was right, but—aside from Noah—no one at the settlement knew Brad. And that scared her.

"Why don't you take Grey for that bath?" Ally murmured from behind her. "We'll all be here when you get back."

"No," Lottie said, shaking her head. The beat of her heart slowing from its painful rhythm. "No, I'll wait here with you."

Tristan's gaze searched hers. Appearing to find what he needed, he nodded and said, "Why don't you start prepping lunch early. Maybe Ally can help. I'll get us some coffee from the shed on my way back here, and we'll have that, along with whatever you're making."

With a tentative smile, Lottie stepped back. "Okay. I'll do that. You go ahead and show Brad around."

"That's my steel rabbit," Tristan said with a grin. 

# Lottie: August

"Lottie."

Why did Tristan have to utter her name like it encompassed a lifetime of blame and disappointment? Lottie dashed tears from the corners of her eyes before they could fall. "Tristan. You need to stay. We need you here." Turning to Noah, she demanded, "Why can't you take Brad? He just got here. We don't need him yet."

"Lottie," Tristan said. His voice so soft Lottie could barely hear him over the pounding of her heart.

No! He had to stay. She needed him. Zoe needed him. Biting her lip to keep it from quivering, she caught Tristan's eye.

"He's my best friend, Lottie," Tristan said, his voice no louder than a whisper. "I need to go for that reason alone."

"Then take me with you. He's my _husband_." She threw the words at him. It wasn't fair. Tristan had more reasons to stay at the settlement than go.

"You know we can't do that, child."

"Why not, Noah?" Lottie asked, drawing out his name in a perverse blend of mockery and pleading. She knew she sounded childish, like a selfish brat, but she couldn't seem to stop. Her stomach roiled.

"You're needed here."

"That's bullshit, Noah, and you know it." She clenched her hands into fists, trying to keep from shaking. Ever-absent God, she was angry. Hurt. Sick. This mission would take them weeks, and though she knew and trusted Jaesen, he wasn't Tristan.

Begging Tristan to stay with her eyes, she addressed Noah, "Please, take Brad, not Tristan."

Tristan closed his eyes. He looked ashamed. The expression confused her. _Why?_

"Child—"

She whipped her gaze back to Noah. "Don't 'child' me, Noah. If Tristan goes, then I can go."

"Child," Noah tried a second time in his irritatingly calm 'be reasonable' voice. "Do you think Grey will tolerate you leaving him behind again?"

_That's low, Noah_ , she thought. "Tristan should stay. We need him here," Lottie said mulishly, unwilling to let the argument go even though she knew she should. It wasn't helping, and she was only making it worse.

"He will be an asset to Huxley's reclamation."

Lottie huffed. "Oh, and Jaesen or Brad wouldn't?"

"I... I can't sit here and wait, Lottie," Tristan whispered.

Her heart ached. She'd never seen Tristan so? So, beaten and low.

What happened?

What had she missed?

Noah said, "I need you and Jaesen to stay at the settlement. Teach Brad and the other women what they need to know to succeed. No one else here has the necessary skills to survive."

Lottie couldn't keep the venom from her retort, "I'm sure _Brad_ , the 'weapons specialist' can figure out how to kill and skin a deer. No one will starve if he stayed, and I went. Besides, the women here aren't stupid. I'm sure they would figure it out."

"Lottie," Tristan said, defeat thick in his voice. Lottie eyed him with suspicion. He never sounded that way. He was a rock. Someone you could count on to help you no matter what. And that was the problem. She swallowed hard.

"There are three pregnant women here"— _Four pregnant women, Noah, four_ , Lottie thought sullenly—"and one with two infants. Even if these women had training in sustainability, they would need help." Lottie huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. He was right, and she hated it. "Zoe and Nyah do not need the stress of having to fight for survival, and then you have Katie."

"What about her?"

"She's too big."

"Too big?" Lottie asked.

"She is barely out of her first trimester, correct?" Noah didn't wait for her answer, though she nodded. "She looks to be well into her second if not early third."

"She's tiny, though," Jaesen interrupted. He gave voice to Lottie's assumption that Katie's petite stature somehow distorted the size of her baby bump, but now that Noah remarked upon it, did she need to be concerned for Katie as well?

"Not enough to account for her gestation size."

"What are you saying?" Tristan asked, concern evident in his tone.

"I suspect she is carrying twins. And if that is the case, she will need to be on bed rest. I fear she won't carry to term without it." Noah looked at her. "Especially because she is so small. Child, you will be down another three helpers in the next few months. There is no way the settlement can prepare for winter without you."

After a pause, Noah addressed Tristan, "Now, I don't think Huxley will come straight here—he'll want to shield the woman—but I have a plan on how to find him."

Lottie looked at Tristan, Noah, then Brad and Jaesen. If she tried to sit here and listen to them, she was going to scream. She needed some time alone.

Standing, she turned on her heel and left. She knew where she had to go.

***

Time lost all meaning. It was her, the hum of her sling as it twirled, and the sound of her missiles finding their targets.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Lottie?"

"Don't start with me, Jaesen. I am not in the mood," she snipped, refusing to turn around and face him.

"I don't care if you are or not," Jaesen barked, and she flinched.

"Go away, Jaesen."

"No. I need to know why you flipped out back there."

Her shoulders tensed. "Why? What will it solve?"

"Well, for one, it will tell me why you're hell-bent on getting rid of Brad or me."

Lottie huffed a laugh and forced her shoulders away from her ears. Her fingers dropped a new stone into the small pocket of her sling. Lifting her arm, she spun the weapon, building up the centripetal force before letting it fly.

Thwack!

"I'm not getting rid of you or Brad. Tristan needs to stay."

"Dammit, Lottie," Jaesen growled. "He needs to go."

"Why?"

"Because Tristan is one of the most easygoing, laidback, and _loyal_ soldiers I know, but even he has his limits."

Lottie turned slowly. "Limits?"

Jaesen had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and his shoulders rounded defensively. "I know you have this grand vision where he and Zoe fall back into each other's arms, madly in love, but Lottie... They're different people now than they were eight years ago. Nothing you say, do, or wish will change the fact he needs time—and so does she—to come to grips with how things are between them. You have to accept the fact they may never come to love each other again."

"But—"

Jaesen silenced her with a look. "She's carrying another man's baby, Lottie. One she got through sex with him. It takes a strong man not to feel _something_ negative about that."

"But?" Her heart ached, knowing how the two of them had talked about each other before their reunion.

"Not everyone is so accepting of the fact they didn't father the child his woman is carrying," Jaesen said.

She stared at the worn leather of his boot as he scuffed it in the dirt. The frayed edges near the sole reminded her of how she felt hearing the news of Casey's arrest. Tattered.

"Lottie, we can't all be like Case." When his gaze recaptured her's, he added, "Tristan needs time to deal with his jealousy without a camp full of pregnant women staring at him. Judging him."

He glanced over his shoulder to the path back to the settlement. "I promise you, when he comes back, things will be different."

Focusing on her again, Jaesen said, "If nothing else, he'll be calmer. More willing to accept what God has planned for him."

Lottie nodded. It did make sense, and she had noticed the strain between the two of them but had blamed it on her unsettled stomach and Casey's absence.

"Come on," Jaesen said, offering her his hand. "Let's head back. Grey probably needs you."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not ready."

"Why?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

They stood there, silent, staring at each other awkwardly. Jaesen broke the standoff and asked, "How long are you going to be out here?"

Sighing, Lottie looked at the rock she held, tossing it lightly to test its weight. She sighted a target and threw the rock as hard as she could. Jaesen's gaze tracked the projectile before refocusing on her.

"What are you so afraid of, Lottie? Him not coming back or them not catching up?"

Lottie took a deep breath. "What if, when they catch up to him, they find out he doesn't want to come back? What am I going to do?"

Jaesen stepped closer, invading her personal space, and her heart skipped a beat.

_This is Jaesen. Jaesen! He won't hurt you_ , Lottie silently reprimanded.

She flinched when his finger brushed her cheek. He caught a tendril of her hair, which he slipped behind her ear. "You'll survive like you were planning to when you were pregnant with Grey, only this time, you have a small village of women—and Brad and me—ready and willing to help you. Besides, why wouldn't he want to come back?"

She shrugged and stepped away from him, needing space.

Jaesen snorted. "If you'd told me two years ago that I'd be in a camp full of women and babies, I'd have said you were crazy. Not possible. Not with the crisis. But, here you are. And here I am. And this camp will be full of squallers before springtime."

Lottie grimaced at the term. They were babies, not squallers. Her hands drifted to her stomach, pressing against the life that was growing there.

Jaesen's eyelids narrowed, and his expression turned shrewd. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

"I'm not—"

"—Yes, you are," Jaesen said, cutting her off. "You've been out of sorts—irritable and whiny—complaining of stomach aches. Lottie, I've been babysitting Katie every afternoon with her 'morning sickness' since I got here, and I know the signs. You're acting like she did."

Lottie exhaled with a long, shuddery breath. There wasn't a reason to hide it. Glancing down, Lottie focused on a rock at her feet. She nudged it with her toe. "Yes. I'm pregnant."

"Case's?"

Lottie nodded. _Who else?_

"Thought so," Jaesen said, his tone confident and a bit smug. "God, he'll be so fucking pleased."

He ran a hand through his short hair and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You know Casey'll be thrilled once he finds out. He's always wanted a family." Jaesen shifted his weight to look at her directly. "Have you told Noah or Tristan?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I wasn't completely sure... before."

"But, it's pretty likely?"

She nodded. Her anger, fear, and sadness faded, and her limbs grew heavy. Spying a stump, Lottie collapsed onto it. "Can I ask you something? Seriously?"

Following her over, Jaesen squatted. "Sure?"

Her palms were sweaty. She rubbed her hands on her shorts to dry them. "What if they don't catch up to Casey? Noah did say the UTR had a head start."

"They'll find him."

"But what if they don't?" Lottie asked.

"Noah has a plan. He knows what he's doing. Why do you think he brought the dogs?"

Lottie shrugged. She was so used to seeing Noah with his German shepherds, that she hadn't thought about it.

"They're guard dogs, Lottie. Guard. Dogs."

_Yeah?_ Lottie glanced at Jaesen, not understanding his point.

Jaesen huffed a laugh that made the skin between her shoulders tighten. He was laughing at her. She was sure of it.

"Ever wonder _why_ he trains dogs and not, say, the Department of Agriculture and Husbandry Cultivation?" Jaesen asked her.

"I don't know. Hobby?"

Shaking his head, Jaesen chuckled. "Noah's the sole provider of guard dogs to Fort Twenty-four. It's a good cover and allows him to travel across state lines uncontested. I bet the other RACs have similar tasks."

Jaesen glanced at the trees before pinning her with his gaze once again. "The way Noah explains it, the army has one breeder-trainer in each state. That's how they keep the gene pool from inbreeding too deeply. Noah and his fellow breeder-trainers trade dogs across state lines. Bix or Mira could have any doggie parent from New York to California."

"I think I understand now why Casey hates him so much."

Jaesen chuckled. "Why?"

"Well, he's this perfect little protagonist," Lottie replied. "Always there with the right answer." She hung her head and clasped her hands. "He leads a rebellion. Can survive in the wilderness. He slips in and out of anywhere like a ghost, and never leaves a trail, and now you tell me he can travel across stateliness without fear of repercussion?"

"Yep."

"Well, he's a little too perfect, don't you think?" Lottie asked.

Jaesen grabbed his stomach and barked a laugh, which quickly morphed into all-out guffaws.

"Stop laughing at me!" Lottie growled with a small smile tugging at her lips.

"I'm not laughing at you."

"Sure sounds like it," Lottie grumbled.

"I'm not, though," Jaesen said, continuing to chuckle. "He's not God. Not infallible. He didn't know ahead of time about Case's arrest or that Tristan would be facing an inquiry."

Lottie sighed.

Jaesen added, "It's just? I thought, knowing how Noah and Tristan would be able to find Case would help."

Picking at her shorts' hem, Lottie said, "There's a lot of ground to cover between here and Fort Twenty-four. What if they miss him?"

"They won't."

"You don't know that."

"True," Jaesen said. "But you and I both know Noah. He won't stop looking until he finds Case. Even if that means he has to break him out of Fort Twenty-four."

She nodded, not entirely convinced.

"Come on," Jaesen said, getting to his feet.

Offering her his hand, he said, "Let's head back. Grey probably needs you."

She placed her hand in his, allowing him to help her up.

Giving in to her impulse, she pulled Jaesen into a hug. "Thank you."

His arms wrapped around her, tentatively returning the embrace. "Don't mention it."

# Chapter 1

The black void slowly lightened to dark gray, and as the darkness behind Casey's eyelids faded, he became aware of the ache in his ankle, side, and face. It was too much. It made his stomach hurt, and he longed to fall back into the nothingness from whence he'd come, but another need more pressing than the pain kept him from peaceful oblivion.

With shaking fingers, he succeeded in undoing his fly. He sighed in relief. It wasn't long after the discomfort of his distended bladder released that he fell back into a deep sleep.

***

Casey coughed, crying out, and he tried to curl up as the spasm wracked his bruised ribs, but his ankle kept him from succeeding. As the convulsion subsided, he licked his lips. His throat burned; it was so dry. Reaching out, he patted the ground around him, searching for his pack. Finding it, he slid the canteen from its pocket and after tilting his head to the side, he took a sip. The lukewarm, stale water, slid down his throat, and he groaned.

It tasted horrible.

It was the best thing he'd ever had.

Setting it aside, he welcomed the perpetual night, which had come to claim him again.

***

Two male voices disturbed the silence, waking Casey from his unnatural slumber. Their words came to him in distorted snatches of sound, ricocheting off the cement walls of his prison, making it hard for his feverish mind to focus on them.

"He's long gone, you know that right." one of the men said. "Even if the dogs get here by tonight—which they won't—they won't find him."

Dogs?

"There's still a chance. It hasn't rained."

"Diador, give it up. The trails cold." The muscles in Casey's back tensed. He knew that name. But why? The pain in his body made recalling details difficult. "We don't even know if this is the direction he took. You're going to have to call it in."

"No."

"Look," the first man— _Jenkins_ , Casey thought—said. "You're not going to waste any more of my time traipsing around the woods searching for him..." The voices faded, and Casey gratefully sank back into the dark abyss that had become all of his life.

***

Cramping deep in his gut, wrenched Casey from the forever-night that he seemed to be unable to escape. He bit his lip, whimpering. His stomach lurched with each painful spasm, and he feared he might vomit.

_Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts._

Casey would do pretty much anything to keep from throwing up, especially right now. His ribs hurt with every breath.

He thought about Greysen asleep, buried under a pile of snoozing puppies.

And Greysen sucking his thumb while he sat in Casey's arms as they told stories in front of a campfire.

Or Lottie's secret smile—the one she reserved for only him—as she looked at him from under her pale blond lashes.

He focused on Lottie's laugh as she splashed Casey while they played with Greysen at the river near the settlement.

And Greysen's giggle. Ever-absent God, Casey missed that baby's little laugh.

And then there were Greysen's chubby legs, pumping furiously, as he ran across the clearing and into Casey's arms.

Or Lottie's beautiful naked body under his.

And what, about Lottie's unborn baby, as it wiggled and pushed against her tummy.

Taking shallow breaths through his teeth, Casey wrestled control of his rebellious stomach, but his intestines told a different story. A tear built behind his clenched eyelids.

There was no escape.

Casey could barely move, and his bowels wouldn't wait any longer. Covering his eyes with his uninjured hand, Casey felt such shame as he let go, releasing the pressure in his gut that threatened to tear him apart.

***

Sometime later, Casey pushed himself upright with a groan and wince. His nose wrinkled in distaste. The air in his hideout positively stank. A putrid mix of algae-filled water, wet cement, sweat, blood, urine, and—Casey sniffed, appalled—feces.

_How long was I out?_

He glanced out the round hole at the end of the rain culvert. The ground, bathed in golden light, informed Casey it was late afternoon. _But what day?_ He wiped his face, encountering thick stubble. How many nights had he slept through? Regardless, it was too early in this day to leave his sanctuary, but _not_ too soon for him to change out of his soiled clothing and try to wash up a bit.

Dragging his bag closer, Casey said a silent 'thank you' to his past self for thinking of taking the additional uniform from Stewert. It meant that Casey could shed the filthy garments he wore in favor of cleaner ones without worrying about being nude and vulnerable while trying to wash the first.

Casey bit his tongue to keep from crying out when he pulled his shirt off. The fabric stuck to his skin in places, and the tugging motion jarred his tender ribs. Once free of the shirt, he set it aside and slipped into the clean one. Already he felt better.

_This is going to be gross_ , Casey thought as he looked at his filthy pants.

Shifting forward, Casey untied each boot with the hand on his uninjured side, swallowing back a whimper. Fisting the fabric of his pants leg, he gently pulled his injured foot closer to his torso. Panting with effort, Casey slowly eased the shoe off his swollen ankle and set the boot to the side above the waterline. He then repeated the process for his other leg, hissing as his ribs protested the movement.

Finally free of the footwear and thigh holsters, Casey was ready to tackle removing his cargo fatigues. As he slipped them off, Casey was displeased to confirm that he was the source of the feces and urine smell. He wadded up the soiled pants and set it beside his shirt.

His hands felt grimy, and Casey rubbed them in the trickle of water flowing around him and shifted his weight. A small embarrassed giggle trickled passed his pursed lips, but the harder he tried to not laugh at his predicament, the more intense the feeling grew, until Casey dissolved into deep chuckles that wracked his ribs with each punishing breath.

Ever-absent God, what a sight Casey must be, sitting in a small stream of water, half-naked, dirty with caked-on mud and shit, hunched over, and hiding inside a storm sewer. He glanced at the filthy uniform, and his amusement died. His injuries were worse than he'd imagined, for there was no way Casey would have willingly shit or pissed himself.

Sighing, he rubbed a filthy hand over his face, dislodging dirt and dried blood. Casey needed a bath, and his clothes did too.

_You could leave them. Yeah._ Of course, if Casey knew for sure how soon he'd be back at the settlement, he'd abandon the nasty mess, but, even healthy, he was over a month's worth of travel from Fort St. Louis, so leaving perfectly serviceable—albeit foul—clothing was imprudent.

Casey rubbed his sore ankle and gazed out at the end of the tube. At least now he had a fair idea of how long he'd been out.

He figured the evening sunlight at the end of the tunnel was at minimum forty-eight hours from when Casey had made his escape and probably a lot more given the state of his clothes. His memories of trying to take care of himself were fuzzy at best, but he could now remember his desperate attempts to keep himself clean.

Puffing his cheeks, Casey blew out a long breath, and his stomach growled. He smiled wryly. He would eat first, scrub up as best as possible, and then wrap his ankle.

The bag with his food sat above his pack, securely above the current waterline. Reaching over the backpack, Casey brought his rations nearer. Opening the flap, he pulled a travel cake and a slice of jerky from its depths. Taking a bite from the dried meat, Casey pushed it to the roof of his mouth, letting it soften for a few moments.

Tossing the pack of food back to where it rested originally, he hissed in pain from the careless movement. When the ache subsided, Casey shifted so he could search in his backpack. Casey pulled out one of the wool blankets he'd stashed inside.

While chewing slowly, he took the knife from his belt and sliced off one long strip of fabric and several small squares.

Using the smaller pieces, Casey wet them in the stream of water and scrubbed himself clean. Tossing them aside, he vowed to wash them as well.

Resting his sore ankle on his thigh, Casey surveyed the damage. The bloated skin felt hot to the touch, and the mottled blend of blues and dark purples concerned him. Carefully, so as not to jostle the injury, Casey wrapped his foot. He tucked the end underneath the tight binding, securing it.

In his bag, Casey retrieved a pair of clean socks. His eyes watered, and his vision grew hazy with bright flashing lights as he rolled it over the makeshift bandage. His stomach roiled. The piece of jerky sat in his belly and made him feel sick. Swallowing hard and panting from the effort, Casey waited for his stomach to settle. When he felt in control, and he resumed dressing.

Painstakingly, he bunched up the pants leg in preparation for putting it on. Casey had to lean forward and stretch to reach his injured foot, but once Casey did, he eased the pants leg over it. The other foot was a breeze, and in no time, Casey had the waistband up his thighs. Leaning back on his elbows, he took a deep breath. Lifting his hips made him yelp, but Casey held fast. He needed his pants on! Once they were over his rear, he sat, leaving them unfastened.

His head bobbed, and his eyelids grew heavy. Resting his forehead on his knees, Casey doubted his ability to leave his sanctuary-turned-prison. Getting dressed had been an exhausting trial, but staying in this culvert until he healed would be a death sentence. Already, Casey could feel his lungs labor for breath. The air felt thick, and he worried about the sores on his shoulders and buttocks. The last thoughts Casey had before falling asleep centered on his escape and the near impossibility of it, but he knew if he stayed, he would die.

***

"Where am I?" Casey muttered.

His mind not quite awake despite the fact his eyes were open and focused on his surroundings. He gazed at the lighter darkness, ringed in a deeper black, and his location came back to him in a rush.

Culvert. Diador. Jenkins.

He needed to leave.

Patting around him, he found the food bag, canteen, and a knife. Stowing the items away, Casey grabbed the discarded blanket and wrapped his soiled clothing and washcloths inside. The stench was unbearable. Casey winced and gagged. He loathed to put the disgusting mess in his pack—it would contaminate his other things—but he didn't have a better way to lug the dirty clothes around. Swallowing hard, Casey held his breath and shoved the whole kit and caboodle into his backpack, secured it, and made a vow to himself that he would wash the filthy things tomorrow morning.

With nothing left to do, Casey maneuvered himself to his hands and knees and crawled his way out of the storm sewer. Reaching the opening, he cautiously looked each way, confirming no one was around.

Grasping the edge of the cement tube with the hand on his uninjured side, Casey hoisted himself to his feet. It hurt. Hell, everything hurt, but he was standing and, boy did it feel good.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, savoring the taste of the air on the back of his tongue.

The earth smelled warm, like hot coals without the acidic tang of burning wood. A light breeze stirred his hair, and Casey tilted his head back to gaze at the sky. It was beautiful. The Milkyway blazed a path across the heavens, almost as if it pointed the way home.

"I'm coming," he whispered, letting a small smile tug at his lips. It grew until Casey was smiling maniacally at the sky. He'd done it. Casey was free of the UTR and, though beaten and sore, he was on his way back to Greysen and Lottie.

After another sobering breath, Casey dragged his eyes from the winking stars to his immediate surroundings. Casey stood at the bottom of a hill. The forest ran in a straight line in both directions, reminding Casey of a street embankment and drainage ditch.

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his ankle, Casey inched his way up the sway, and he had to take several breaks to keep the tears of agony from falling. At the top, he was greeted by pavement and lots of it.

The light from the stars illuminated his path, and he was thankful to see a cement median rising from the center of the road. At least he wouldn't need to make a crutch. The thought of tucking a branch to the armpit of his injured side made him shudder. He would do it, but only as a last resort. He'd prefer to try hobbling beside the median first.

Limping, he made his way to the makeshift support and leaned against it to catch his breath. Walking hurt more than he'd like to admit, and he was panting from his efforts. Hanging his head, Casey let pieces of a conversation he hadn't remembered hearing float to the surface of his consciousness.

He wouldn't have gone west.

But if he did?

Then, that's the border patrol's problem, not ours.

Casey looked back. West could be safe. Diador and Jenkins didn't expect him to go that way, but was it worth the risk? Without valid papers, he'd never make it far. They probably wouldn't shoot on sight, but he'd have a hard time explaining away his presence. No. West was out. That left east since the road he stood on currently faced that direction.

With that decision made, Casey began the arduous journey of finding his way home.

***

"Morning, Lottie."

Glancing up from the deer hide, she was fleshing, Lottie nodded. "Morning, Brad. Whatcha working on?" she asked, indicating the wedges, hammer, and log he carried.

"Your bow."

She sat back on her heels. "My bow?" Was she getting a bow? Her heartbeat picked up speed. That would be perfect! She could stop worrying about wasting precious bullets on hunting game.

"Yep." Brad pointed to a spot under the tree next to her. "You don't mind if I sit here with you, do you?"

"Not at all. But"—Lottie swatted at a fly that bit her on the arm—"wouldn't you rather work somewhere less... smelly?" The tanning station stank.

Brad chuckled. "I lived in the barracks my whole life. I seriously doubt a fresh deer hide can beat the stench of forty men coming back inside from a drill in the middle of August."

"Touché."

He indicated the hide she was working with his chin. "You got plans for that one yet?"

Lottie looked down. It was an excellent hide with only one blemish near the neck. It would be perfect for so many things, baby clothes, for example, but? She shrugged. "You want it?"

"Yes. If it won't be a problem."

"Not a problem at all," Lottie assured him. "When I finish with it, I'll make sure you get it."

"Thanks."

Lottie gave him a small, tight smile and resumed her work. She only had a hindquarter to go, and she wanted to get done before mid-morning.

While she scraped, Brad set up his work station, and soon the sound of a hammer pounding against wood accompanied the rhythmic tearing noise she created with each pass of her fleshing blade. Snapping wood drew her attention, and she glanced over at Brad, watching for a moment as he systematically split the log with the small wedge and hammer he'd brought with him. "How long will it take before you have it done?"

"Hmm," he said, clearly distracted by his task. "Oh, I'm setting it up to dry. If everything goes well, I'll be able to start shaping it next month."

"October?" Lottie asked, dismayed at his answer. "Why that long?"

Brad grinned and looked at her over the top edge of his glasses. His blue-green eyes glinted with amusement. "You want a weapon that holds up, don't you?"

Lottie felt her cheeks warm, and she ducked her head. Grabbing her scraper, she attacked the final section of the hide to avoid acknowledging the burn of her cheeks.

"Hey," he called.

"Yeah," she mumbled.

"I'm sorry."

Lottie exhaled, blowing a loose tendril of hair from the side of her face, and nodded. She'd overreacted. "I'm sorry, too."

"Don't be."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye but otherwise ignored his remark.

"I get it," Brad added. "It was wrong of me to tease. You're excited. I doubt you've handled many weapons since you left Basic, and getting a bow and some arrows is a big deal."

_True_ , Lottie thought, acknowledging the fact that aside from the rifle she'd found her first winter, she'd not used anything other than her sling in years. Refocusing on her task, Lottie scraped the hide and dropped the tool in the bucket. Standing, she washed her hands at the small cistern. "I'm getting a drink of water. Need one?"

"That would be great, thank you," he said.

Lottie strode to the clean drinking water station, scooped out two mugs full, and after swallowing the contents of one, she refilled it and returned to the tanning station where she'd left Brad. "Here."

Setting his tools aside, Brad took the offered cup and thanked her

Nodding, she sat next to him, and he handed her one of the split logs. "See the whirl of the grain?" Brad asked as he brushed his thumb over the lines, caressing them. "Notice how straight they are. As long as it dries evenly, this log'll make two perfect bows."

"Yeah?"

He took the other half, brought it close to his nose, and studied it with a gentle smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Yep." Turning that smile on her, Brad added, "I wish all my attempts at making a bow were like this one."

"How many have you made?"

"Over the years?" he asked, and at her nod, he answered, "I've made hundreds. Probably that many failures too."

She gave a soft snort.

"Come closer," Brad said, beckoning her with a wave of his hand.

Lottie swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, which grew disproportionality large after his request. Glancing over her shoulder, she spied Nyah and Zoe at the fire, making lunch. Nyah waved when Lottie glance her way, and Lottie's heart slowed from its frantic pace. She rubbed her sweaty, tingly hands on her thighs.

"To make a strong bow, you want to look for..." Brad began, and Lottie bent her head closer, her fear fading, ready to absorb his every word.

***

Casey wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders and shivered, debating whether or not he should throw more wood on his minuscule fire. He shook his head. The added warmth would be incredible, but Casey couldn't risk it. Allowing himself one small blaze at all was dangerous enough.

Settling back against the headstone, he straightened his sore leg. His campsite, deep inside the graveyard, was secluded, and he didn't think he would be spotted, but there was no reason to make a beacon out of his location. Especially not now. Not when he couldn't run away.

Letting his head fall forward, he closed his eyes, trying to sleep. "At least your ribs don't hurt," he muttered and sighed. That consolation didn't help. He shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable. "This is useless," he grumbled. His ankle throbbed to the beat of his heart, and after several minutes, when he realized he was staring at the dying fire again instead of resting, he gave up trying to sleep.

Pulling out his identification tags from inside his shirt, he shifted them until he revealed Lottie's ring. "How are you doing, Lottie?" Casey asked one of the corded strands of metal.

I'm good. I miss you.

"I miss you too," he said, continuing the imaginary conversation. Touching the middle strand of the braid, he asked, "How's Greysen? Potty trained yet?"

Her musical chuckle tickled his ear.

"No, huh. Oh well. He's probably too young for that." Casey sat there silently for a few moments before adding, "I'm sorry I missed his birthday. I was going to buy him a present while at the Fourth of July fair, but I couldn't find anything he'd want. And then I got side-tracked."

It's okay. He doesn't need a present.

He contemplated her answer for a moment. "What did you end up doing?"

We swam in the river and took a long walk. Then that evening, we sat around the fire with the other women and told stories. It was a good day.

"Good. Glad you had fun while I was gone."

It would have been better with you.

Casey shrugged, dropping his tags back down the front of his shirt. "I would have liked to have been there."

When are you coming home?

"Soon, Lottie. Soon," he told her phantom voice. "I have to make sure no one follows me. I don't want to lead anyone back to you or the other women."

Okay. I understand. Take your time. Just come back to us. I need you home safe.

"You got it."

_When you get back, maybe we can put Grey to bed early. Find some_ us _time._

"I'd like that."

_I miss your arms around me, the beat of your heart under my cheek._ He could picture it easily. She'd bite her lip and look at him shyly under her lashes. _Make love to me, Casey. I need you._

"I need you too," Casey whispered.

The compulsion to feel her bare skin against his, nearly overwhelmed him, drowning him in sensual sensations. His pulse pounded, and Casey lost himself to memory as his need to lie with her overtook him.

Her touch. Her scent. The slickness of her arousal.

Casey groaned, his muscles tensing.

Her kiss. The tentative dance of their tongues. The way her body undulated under his.

The memories crowded out any other feeling, and a few seconds later, he shuddered in sexual release.

His head rested against the cold marble of the headstone he leaned against and laughed shakily. His breath came in heavy pants, and his cheeks colored in shame. Casey shook his head. "You did not jerk-off in a cemetery."

_No one saw_ , Casey thought with chagrin, even as he forgave himself for taking comfort in memory, _And the dead won't tell Tristan_.

Casey stared at the flames as they licked and consumed the small branches he'd used for his fire. He wasn't sure how long he'd brooded before the distant sound of barking brought his head up sharply.

Dogs?

_"Even if the dogs get here by tonight."_

Dogs!

"Shit," Casey muttered, pushing to his feet with a wince. "I have to leave."

It had been days since he escaped the safety of the storm sewer, days that had brought rain, early chills, and late-season heat. Casey might have left a trail, though he'd tried to be careful.

It didn't matter.

He had to go.

Now.

After shoving the blanket into his pack, Casey dumped his bucket of cold soup on the fire, dousing it, and it steamed and smoked. He stared at the dark wisps as they curled up into the air, broadcasting his location more clearly than the small orange flame from his fire ever had.

Casey cursed under his breath as he stowed the bucket in his pack. He would have to forgo his usual attempt at hiding his passage. It wasn't like hiding the fire pit under a mound of dirt would do much toward persuading the dogs that Casey hadn't stopped here. Besides, speed was of the essence, and he couldn't justify taking the time to dismantle his fire correctly. Not when there were dogs close enough to be heard.

As he shouldered his bags, Casey took a final look around, hoping his resting went undiscovered. Turning on his heel, he limped as quickly as he could toward the small stream. Frowning, he stepped into it. The cold water seeped through the seams of his boots and saturated his feet. He'd have blisters by morning, but he knew of no other way to hide his passage.

He would have to make do.

***

_She's not like Maggie. She's not like Maggie_ , Lottie chanted silently while Zoe's inarticulate cry had Lottie grasping her hand tight. _Please don't die. Please don't die._ "Breathe, Zoe. Breathe."

"Shut up, Lottie," Zoe growled, releasing a sound that quickly morphed into a scream. "Ever-absent God, I want drugs. Please, Grace," she begged. "Please give me some drugs!"

"We don't have drugs," Lottie murmured, hugging Zoe as a fresh contraction gripped her. _Please don't die like Maggie._

"I'm jealous as fuck," Nyah chirped from the other side of Zoe. "This lucky bitch's about to pop her kid, but I have a month to go."

"Nyah," Zoe grumbled with minimal heat and an over-abundance of fatigue.

Lottie glared at Nyah, willing her to be quiet, while Zoe swallowed her cry.

"Can I push yet?"

"No," Grace said from between Zoe's legs. "You push too early, and you could swell, preventing the baby's head from passing through. C-sections are out."

"I want this baby out of me," Zoe whimpered.

Wincing in sympathy, Grace said, "Soon."

Zoe groaned and let her head rest against the bedding piled high behind her. Lottie squeezed her hand, and as Zoe's breaths accelerated, Lottie watched her stomach tense tight with another contraction. Zoe cried out at its peak.

"Why the hell did I leave Gates? Why? They have drugs there. I need drugs. Ever-absent God this hurts," Zoe trailed off into another keen.

Nyah began chanting "Drugs!" over and over under her breath.

After giving Nyah a dirty look, Grace asked Zoe, "You think you can walk?"

Zoe shook her head, panting.

"It might help ease the pain," Grace urged.

Lifting her head from the bedding, Zoe growled, "No."

Grace patted her on the knee. "It will be over soon. You're doing well."

"I. Am. Never. Doing. This. Again!" Zoe said, breathing heavily after each word.

"Not even for Tristan?" Nyah asked.

"No! Not even him." Zoe paused to scream. "Ever-absent God!"

Lottie patted Zoe's hand and glanced at Nyah. Nyah was a good friend, but not a very sympathetic one, and Lottie hoped Casey would get back to the settlement before it was Lottie's turn to deliver. She would much rather go through labor with him at her side than Nyah.

As Zoe's latest cry tapered off, she murmured, "Not now. Not now."

"What 'not now'?" Lottie rasped past her constricted throat. _Please don't die, Zoe._

"I have to go to the bathroom."

Lottie sighed in relief at the same time as Grace asked, "Like a bowel movement?"

Zoe nodded, and Lottie caught Grace's gaze. Grace's lips thinned into a small line. "If she does it too soon—" Focusing on Zoe, Grace asked, "Do you feel like you need to push?"

"Yes," Zoe growled. "Please?"

"Is it too soon?" Lottie interrupted. "If she feels like she should?"

Shrugging, Grace said, "I don't know. I'm not a medic."

"But you've done this more than any of us here," Nyah cut in. "Shouldn't you know?"

"I've never given birth without the drugs," Grace sniped at Nyah. Turning, they both focused on Lottie.

"But you have," Nyah remarked.

Swallowing hard, Lottie nodded. "I have."

"Can she push?"

"Shut-up!" Zoe screamed. The three women snapped their attention back to her. "I'm pushing. And you aren't going to stop me."

"Well, that settles it then," Nyah snarked.

"Nyah," Lottie scolded, trying to keep the peace.

"I said, shut-up. Both of you! Now help me up."

Lottie nodded once, and Nyah joined her as they hoisted Zoe into a squatting position.

"With your next contraction, I want you to push," Grace urged, earning a glare from Zoe, and as the next contraction hit, Zoe bared down.

"I feel the head. One or two more like that, Zoe. You can do it," Grace encouraged, and Zoe growled, clearly biting back a scathing retort.

"Hair, Zoe. I feel the hair," Grace said, making Lottie's heart pound harder than before.

With a forceful cry, Zoe pushed a final time, and Lottie watched as Grace eased the infant from Zoe's body.

_A girl!_

"A girl," Grace said with a huge grin. "You have a gorgeous little girl, Zoe."

Zoe collapsed back against the bedding. "A girl? Really?"

"That's the second one. Guess they're doing something right, back there at Gates," Nyah murmured. Rubbing her belly, she asked, "Think I'll have a girl?"

Grinning, Lottie reached over Zoe to pat Nyah on the shoulder. "You'll find out next month."

Snorting, Nyah said, patting her stomach, "Can't wait."

"Can I hold her?" Zoe asked.

"Let me clean her up," Grace said, finishing the umbilical cord tie off.

"Here, I'll do it," Lottie offered. "Zoe isn't done yet. She still has the afterbirth and needs you."

Grace gave her a nod, clipped the cord, and passed the wailing infant to Lottie, who tucked the small bundle close to her chest.

Moving to the edge of the tent, Lottie set Zoe's baby girl down on the swaddling blankets next to the tepid bathwater. As she washed the infant, Lottie looked her over. The baby girl was beautiful. Small, tight brown curls graced the top of her head, and she had an adorable little nose. Not to mention, ten fingers and ten toes.

She was perfect.

"Leo," Lottie whispered as she expertly wrapped the infant in the swaddling. "You have a daughter. A beautiful, healthy daughter." A tear collected in the corner of Lottie's eye before spilling down her cheek. "You would be so proud. Zoe did great. They're both going to be fine."

And when she handed the baby to Zoe, she wondered if Leo would ever get a chance to see his daughter.

***

Exhaustion pulled at Casey's limbs, making them heavy and uncoordinated, but he had to keep going. It seemed for every one of his steps forward, his pursuers made two, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay ahead of them. But most worrying of all, he was running out of ideas on how to hide his passage.

Shivering, Casey pulled his jacket tighter about his body and yawned. The cold October air helped keep him awake while he traveled at night, but he needed to rest more often than he'd like. Yet every time Casey stopped and closed his eyes, he heard the dogs baying in the distance.

Casey slowed to a stop, shifting his weight to his other hip so his injured foot could rest while he pondered his next move.

"Can't go home," Casey murmured with a longing look to his right. Turning his head, Casey gave the woods to his left a dirty look. He didn't want to cross over into Kansas—or was he far enough north for Nebraska?—Casey wavered on his feet and shook his head.

He was too tired and too lost to make this decision tonight. Casey needed to sleep for a few hours, but to do that, he needed to lose the men chasing him.

Stepping off the railroad tracks, he slipped and slid down the small hill to the drainage ditch. Casey hoped it would lead him to a significant flow of water where he could hide his trail. Casey frowned. The thought of immersing his feet in a small creek filled him with dread, but he didn't see any other options. Casey had to hide his trail, and water was the best method.

As he trudged forward, he whimpered. Each step Casey took was fresh agony up his legs. Not only did his injured ankle hurt, but now the skin of both his feet, burned, itched, and looked red and splotchy under his damp socks. Casey was developing trench foot, he knew but didn't see any quick way around it. He had to find somewhere safe to dry out his feet, boots, and socks. Somewhere where he could sit for several days without worry.

Casey shook his head at the impossibility of it. The sound of barking in the distance underscored his dire plight and made him hobble faster. Tears leaked from his eyes as Casey stumbled in his haste. His pulse beat painfully and made everything ache worse with the residual throb.

Stopping, Casey braced his hands on his knees and panted. He couldn't keep going like this. Sweat dripped off his forehead, mingling with his tears before falling to the ground. He yearned to give up, to give in to the fatigue and despair he barely held at bay.

A howl of a dog in the near distance brought his head up sharply.

Too close! Way too close!

He whipped his head back and forth, searching the darkening landscape for somewhere—anywhere—to hide.

Spying a branch that dipped low to the ground, Casey hurried toward it, but when he drew close enough, he saw it didn't lead to safety. It was a broken branch off of a small tree. It wouldn't hold his weight, and it wouldn't hide him from dogs.

Sighing, he pushed himself farther, and his ankle screamed at him to stop.

Casey wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, staring, but when he realized he stood on the bank of a river, he nearly sobbed in relief. Casey took a deep fortifying breath before stepping into the water. It was freezing, but he only needed it for a little while. Surely, Casey could stand it for that long.

As he walked, Casey lost track of how many times he slipped on unseen rocks below the water's surface, but his tongue was bitten raw by his efforts not to scream. Casey staggered and dropped to his knees, hanging his head in defeat. The hard wracking sobs left him gasping for breath between teeth clenched tight to prevent them from clattering together as Casey shivered uncontrollably.

Casey pitched forward to his hands and knees. He wasn't going to make it. He had nothing left to give, and they would catch him—here—kneeling in the middle of a river, crying like a child.

_At least get out of the water_ , he begged as another shiver racked his body head to toe.

Casey wasn't sure how he did it, but some small reserve of energy had him pushing to his feet. He splashed out of the river and onto the bank, collapsing onto a pile of leaves.

Staring at the stars, he stopped fighting the hard shakes wracking his body, and Casey wondered if hypothermia would hurt.

_It's a moot point_ , Casey thought as his wet clothes worked on destroying his remaining body heat.

"I'm sorry, Lottie. I tried," Casey whispered as darkness overtook him.

***

"Dammit, Case, wake up." Calloused hands roughly tapped him on the face, and Casey groaned. "He's too cold. He's not shiverin'."

"We have to strip him," a second voice said.

"I'll do it. You get the fire goin'."

Casey's head lolled to the side, and he tried to open his eyelids, but they were so heavy, and he was so tired.

"Come on, Case," the first voice urged. Hands clasped him around the shoulder, lifting him from the ground. Those same hands quickly stripped him of his coat, overshirt, and undershirt. "Fuck, Noah, look at that."

Casey shivered from his head to his toe.

"I see it," the second voice— _Noah_ —said as a scratchy blanket dropped over Casey's shoulders. Why did that name sound so familiar? "That should help, son."

"Catch his shoulders," the first ordered.

It sounded like Tristan.

Casey shook his head. It couldn't be Tristan. Tristan was at Fort Sutton. No. Tristan had been summoned to Fort St. Louis by First Lieutenant Green. Tristan might be in prison, and if he was, then? Then it was all Casey's fault.

Another set of hands grasped him by the shoulders, branding him with their heat. "'O'ot!" Casey whimpered and batted at them. "D'nt'uch'ee. 'ot!"

"Shh, son," the Noah person said at the same time as the first murmured, "It's okay, Case. We're trying to help." The arms around his shoulders eased him to the ground. "You need to warm up."

"'O! Dunn'un'rss'me," Casey slurred and screamed in agony when they yanked his boots off.

The Tristan sounding voice cursed. "You think it's broken?"

Warm fingers gripped his ankle and probed. Casey screamed again.

Black stars flashed behind his closed eyelids, promising warmth and freedom from pain in its blackness. Casey fought against it, but the sensation was intense.

"Come on, Case. Wake up," the Tristan sounding voice ordered.

Casey opened his eyelids a crack, trying to obey.

Two featureless forms hovered near his head. The roaring fire backlit them, preventing Casey from identifying who looked down on him.

Why was there a fire?

Fire?

Casey's eyes widened in panic. Didn't these men realize a blaze that big would draw his pursuers? "Puhd'id'owt. Puhd'id'owt!" Casey yelled, frantic, as he tried to get up and douse the flames.

"He's comin' around," the Tristan like voice said.

Concerned blue eyes peered into Casey's.

Casey blinked once, disbelief shocking away the numbing black that crept at the edges of his mind. It couldn't be Tristan. He closed his eyes.

"No, Case!" A hand slapped him hard on the cheek. "Noah, we're losin' him."

_Noah?_

Casey groaned. If that was Tristan, and he was with Noah, then where was Lottie? Was she okay? "Zzud'r'ooing'ear?"

"No, we won't," Noah replied, ignoring Casey's question.

Whistling, Noah said, "Attila, come."

Something soft and warm pressed against Casey's side.

"Down," Noah commanded.

A soft woof accompanied the order, and warmth spread along Casey's chest.

It felt so good that a gasping sob caught in Casey's throat. He forced it down. Casey was tired of crying, and he wasn't about to shed tears in front of Tristan and Noah.

"She's not enough."

Warm hands touched Casey's chest and back.

Noah said, "You're right. Finish stripping him out of those wet clothes. One of us needs to lay with him."

"I'll do it," Tristan said and went to work, pulling Casey's pants down, and Casey made a futile attempt to preserve his dignity.

"Rollover," Tristan demanded

Whimpering, Casey complied with his hand cupping his genitals. The scratchy blanket pulled away from Casey's back, and a fiery heat replaced it. Casey gripped the arm that came around his waist. Tristan tugged Casey closer, searing him with the warmth of his bare chest at Casey's back. Casey flinched.

"Damn, Case. Your ass is cold."

Casey shivered again. He knew he ought to be embarrassed to be pressed against Tristan, but as the other man's heat slowly seeped into his aching muscles, Casey couldn't quite find the energy to care.

"You have any coffee left in your bag?" Noah asked.

"Yeah, front pocket."

"Good," Noah said. "I'll start it seeping. When he wakes enough to take a cup, let me know."

"Will do."

For long moments there was silence where sleep pulled Casey under, but the intermittent darkness faded from his consciousness. Moaning, he intertwined his fingers with the hand around his midsection.

A hand?

"Lottie?" Casey whispered, confused at the contact, but something didn't feel quite right. For one, the hand in his was too large to be Lottie's, and two, it was too hairy. As he became more aware of the arm draped across his ribs, Casey realized the heat at his back was a bare man's chest.

What the?

Rolling over, Casey yelped in surprise and woke Tristan. "Tristan?"

"Case? Thank fuck you're awake! Noah?"

"Coming." A dark-skinned hand dropped into Casey's field of vision. Casey took hold of it, and the disembodied appendage helped him to a sitting position. Blankets slid from his chest and pooled in his lap, making Casey painfully aware of the fact he was nude underneath all the bedding. A flush crept up Casey's neck, embarrassed to realize he'd been snuggling with Tristan.

What happened? How did they get here with him? How did they find him? He looked from one man to the other, unsure of where to even start.

Noah handed Tristan a cup. "Here."

"How? Why? How?" Casey stammered.

"Easy, son," Noah said, handing him a mug. "Take it. It will warm you up."

Casey took the offered cup. Sipping, he watched as Noah sat across from him. Casey glanced at Tristan before Casey licked a drop of coffee from his lips. "How?"

"Drink," Noah ordered, and then answered, "We've been following you for weeks."

Noah paused to smile at Casey. "You did well, son. I'm proud of you." At Casey's blank look, he added, "If it wasn't for Attila, Remmie, and Zuse"—At the list of names, Noah pointed his thumb to the two dogs behind him, and a third dog at Casey's side. It pushed at the blankets covering Casey's lap with its snout and dropped its head on Casey's bare thigh—"I doubt we would have found you at all."

"How did you?" Casey asked again, his voice a bit stronger.

"We went to Fort Twenty-four," Tristan said. "Learned of your escape, and Noah offered to look for you."

"I knew where you left the UTR and where they searched for you," Noah said, taking up the narrative. "The dogs and I gave it a cursory once over. After a week, I announced the search as a lost cause."

"And the UTR accepted that?"

"Yes."

"Fort Twenty-four had already issued an IRT order," Tristan said. "You may be found by them eventually, but you'll be at the settlement with plenty of help by then, so don't worry about it."

_Individual Reclamation and Translocation?_ Casey sipped his coffee in an attempt to dislodge the lump in his throat. He wondered if the army would have bothered using the assassins if he'd managed to escape without killing two of his guards. Casey shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts and instead asked, "How did you know to head north?"

"We knew you wouldn't go east to Fort St. Louis—they'd find you again—and the settlement was also out, so that removed a few options. Then, we figured you wouldn't cross a border, so that left southeast or northwest." Tristan took a sip of his coffee. "Southeast is too close to Fort Twenty-four, and I didn't think you'd go all the way to the bootheel to escape the guards. Too far from the settlement. So we chose north, figurin' you'd circle back."

Tristan set his cup on the ground next to Casey's hip. Tristan pushed the blankets off his lap and grabbed his cargos. Standing, he yanked them on, and as Tristan pulled on his shirt, Casey noticed a long ragged scar on the soft underpart of Tristan's arm.

"What happened?" Casey asked. The wound looked raw as if it were infected or even brand new.

Tristan glanced at his forearm, pressed at the injury with his thumb, and frowned. "Lottie happened."

"What?!" The hairs on Casey's arm stood on end, and he pushed to his feet, furious. Lottie wouldn't have hurt Tristan without a good reason. His fingers curled into a fist. "What did you do to her?"

Raising his hands in a placating motion, Tristan said, "Easy, Case. Sit down. I didn't do anythin' to her other than show up in the middle of the night unannounced. She was doin' her job protecting the women at the camp."

Tristan gave him a lopsided grin and pointed. "You wanna cover that?"

Casey glanced down and swore. He'd forgotten he was buck naked under the blankets. With shaky knees, Casey lowered himself to the ground and draped his hips with the covers, and Tristan continued as if Casey hadn't flashed him. "Hurt like hell too. She's wicked good with that huntin' knife of hers."

Casey snorted. He remembered.

Tristan shook his head and served himself more coffee. "It was a deep cut, but it's healin' fine now." He offered Casey another mug full.

"Thanks."

"Sure," Tristan said, then continued, "Anyway, about a week ago, Attila caught your scent near a graveyard. We spent the remainin' days tryin' to get to you, but the dogs kept losin' your trail. Noah'd send them out every night, and they'd come back in the mornin'—leadin' us off in a new direction."

Tristan grinned at him. "I thought they were lost, but I should have known. You gave them a good run despite that"—He pointed to Casey's foot—"What happened, by the way?"

Casey sighed and shivered. Pausing to cover his shoulders with the blanket, he said, "Fell on my ass the first night. Been fucked up ever since."

Concern flashed in Noah's gaze, and he dropped to the ground in front of Casey. Flipping the blankets off Casey's foot, Noah asked, "You've been walking on it this whole time?"

Casey hadn't thought much of it aside from the pain and how it slowed him down, but now he felt a bit apprehensive. "Ran some too. Why? Is that a problem?"

"Damn," Noah muttered, studying Casey's foot without touching it.

"Noah?" Casey prompted. Noah's response made him nervous. Who was Casey kidding? Noah always made him nervous.

Shaking his head at Casey's question, Noah refused to answer it. "We'll rest up here for a few days, then head back."

"Noah," Casey growled. He was not in the mood for Noah's evasion. "Tell me why you said 'damn'."

"It's irrelevant."

"Bullshit, Noah. Tell me."

Noah sighed, his expression full of sympathy. "If you'd have let it heal, you'd probably be fine, but you didn't, and now it's too late."

Not liking the sound of that, Casey asked, "Too late? Too late for what?"

"It's permanently damaged, son," Noah said. "You will never walk normally again, and it will most likely always hurt."

Casey's vision wavered, and the ground tilted alarmingly. "Permanently?"

"I'm sorry, son. I'll ask Surgeon Armstrong to take a look, but without a surgery theatre, I doubt there is anything anyone can do."

Dropping his head in his hands, Casey said, "Nothing? I've been wrapping it?"

"And redamaging it every day as you fled," Noah replied softly.

Tristan knelt next to him and patted Casey on the shoulder. "Good thin' there is plenty of help at the settlement. We can take care of your gimpy ass."

"We?" Casey asked, distracted. If his ankle was permanently damaged, then how could he provide for Lottie and Greysen?

"Jaesen, Brad, and myself."

Casey's shoulders slumped. He should have known Tristan was out. Why else would he be with Noah? "Bad Conduct Discharge?"

"Nah," Tristan said with a chuckle, "Never made it to my hearin' with Green."

_AWOL._ Casey gritted his teeth. "Will IRT be after you too?"

"Don't know," Noah said, speaking up again for the first time in several moments. "I'll investigate once we get you back."

Casey nodded. There wasn't anything he could do about it. "So I'm safe? No one's after me?"

"For the time bein', yes," Tristan agreed amiably. "And I know there are a few people back at the settlement who can't wait to see you. So, heal up, and we can head back."

He nodded, letting himself fall back into the covers.

_I'm coming, Lottie,_ he thought. _I'll see you soon._

***

Casey stood to the side of the small clearing they'd been using for his recovery from hypothermia as Noah and Tristan packed up the remaining pieces of their campsite. It was taking them forever, and he wished he could help, but they'd shooed him away with kind words but firm attitudes. They didn't want his help, telling him that they didn't want him to reinjure himself.

It was a load of crap. Casey was fine, ever-absent Goddammit.

Sighing, he stepped gingerly around the perimeter as he tested how his foot felt in the wood brace Tristan had built for him the other day. It acted like a wooden cast and gave his ankle some much-needed stability.

Casey glanced at Tristan again. He should be helping.

He stepped toward Tristan, intent on doing something—anything—to help with striking camp, but Tristan said without even looking up, "Don't even think about it."

Casey huffed in exasperation. He wasn't that injured and could pitch in. Not to mention, he was eager to be on their way, and if he helped, they could get a move on sooner.

"We taking the game?" Tristan asked Noah as he tied off the top of his tent bag and secured it to his pack.

"No," Noah said. "Unless you wish to carry them."

Tristan glanced at the brace of rabbit and shook his head. "I'll leave 'em."

"Wait? Why?" Casey asked. He didn't see the point of discarding the meat. Who knew how easy it would be to replace them later?

Hefting his pack onto his back, Tristan said, "I don't want the extra weight. Besides, we can get more when we stop tonight."

"Spoken like someone who hasn't gone hungry," Casey grumbled in irritation. He'd had plenty of experience with hunger the past few weeks, and he had no intention of repeating the feeling tonight.

He hobbled closer, scooping up the carcasses from where they lay and tossed them over his shoulder for more comfortable carrying.

"They don't weigh a thing, and if everything goes right, we won't be stopping 'til dark," Casey declared. He wanted to get as far away from the campsite as possible.

"I think you're overestimatin' what you can do with that foot brace, Case, but knock yourself out," Tristan said with a smile. "I'm not catchin' your ass when you fall."

"I'm not going to fall."

Tristan snickered. "Sure."

Casey punched Tristan in the arm.

Turning to Noah, Casey asked, "How long do you think it will take to get back?" He had no idea how far he was from the settlement. Those last few weeks of his escape had all blurred together until Casey lost track of where he was and the distance he'd gone.

Looking off to the horizon, Noah paused, clearly giving Casey's question serious consideration. "If everything goes well, two weeks."

"That long?"

"We're north of Fort Kansas City."

_Damn_. Casey had gone far.

"But we're clear to head straight there. No detours, right?"

"That's right," Noah confirmed. "Between the three of us and the dogs, we should be free of surprises."

"Good," Casey muttered. "Let's go."

# Chapter 2

_Keep going. Keep going,_ Casey chanted silently, forcing himself to place one aching foot in front of the other. "Keep going," he growled under his breath, wanting a break but rejecting the idea. They'd already stopped so many times for him that Casey refused to ask for another. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he gritted his teeth against the pain and took another step. He needed to think about something else.

"That's it Case," Tristan barked. "We're stoppin'."

"No."

"I agree. We'll stop here for the night," Noah said.

"No," Casey growled. He could do this! He could go farther. "We'll keep going."

"Dammit, Case! Stop." Tristan's exclamation brought Casey up short.

Adjusting the brace of rabbits on his shoulder, Casey turned to face Noah and Tristan. His retort died in his throat when he spied them, standing close, quietly conferring. The side of Casey's lips turned down in a frown. They were discussing him. Casey was sure of it.

"Enough," he said, feeling a blush creep up his neck and flood his cheeks. Casey did not need babying! His body may not be at one-hundred percent, but he could keep going, and dammit he was going to tell them so. Casey took a step toward them, planning on giving them a piece of his mind, but pain shot up his leg from his ankle to hip, and Casey stumbled. He grimaced in pain, and before he could school his expression, Tristan caught it.

Marching toward him, Tristan grabbed him by the elbow and growled, "What the hell is your problem?"

Casey opened his mouth to reply, but Tristan didn't give him a chance.

With a rough shake, Tristan added, "We did not spend days at the river waitin' for you to get better only to have you throw it all away on our very first day of travel! Don't you want to get to the settlement?"

Snapping his mouth shut, Casey glared at Tristan. Tristan wouldn't understand.

Casey shifted the load on his back and bit his tongue to keep from crying out when he disturbed his sore ankle. "Of course I do. We don't need to stop. I can go farther."

Tristan shifted his grip to Casey's shoulders and stared deep into Casey's eyes. "Why are you doin' this? What the fuck are you tryin' to prove?"

"I'm not—"

"—Bullshit," Tristan said, cutting him off. "Drop the Staff Sergeant act for a bit."

Casey winced at the reminder of his stripped rank, and Tristan's glare softened.

Putting his hands on Tristan's chest, Casey shoved, furious at the look of pity in Tristan's eyes. He didn't need it. What he needed was to get home to Lottie and Greysen.

Tristan rocked back on his heels but managed to stay on his feet. "That's it, isn't it?" Tristan said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You're not in charge—"

"—I don't give a shit if I'm in charge," Casey said, cutting him off.

"Then what's your—"

"—I don't need a fuckin' rest," Casey snarled, interrupting Tristan again. Yet, a part of him longed to sit down, take off his wooded boot, and put his aching ankle up, but the other part—the part that hated knowing his weakness was slowing them down, keeping them from going farther—wanted Tristan to shut the fuck up and start marching.

"Bell?"

Tristan and Casey dragged their gaze from each other to glance at Noah.

"Yeah?" Tristan asked.

"Help me set up this tent." Noah gave Casey a pointed look. "You go get wood for the fire."

"We can keep going. _I_ can keep going."

Noah cocked an eyebrow but declined to reply. Instead, Noah shifted his pack off his back, dropped it to the ground, and rubbed his shoulder where the strap had bit into his flesh.

"I don't need to stop," Casey added, mulishly. Why couldn't they see he could do more?

"Go get wood, son. We'll have a nice supper with the rabbits you hauled all this way, sleep, and get an early start tomorrow."

Casey ran a hand through his hair. _Fine!_ He tossed the rabbit carcasses toward Noah, not caring if he caught them or not, dropped his two bags at his feet, and stormed off into the woods, cursing at Noah and Tristan the entire time. Once out of sight, he sighed and slowed his march. Each step burned, and he couldn't keep going. Stopping at a fallen log, he sat, kicked his feet out, and pulled his identification tags out from under his shirt. Lottie's ring rested in his palm. His heart was heavy with longing. At this rate, he'd never get home to see her.

"Hey," Tristan murmured as he hunkered down next to Casey, making Casey jerk in surprise and drop his tags. They thudded against his chest, adding their weight to his heart. "You all right?" Tristan asked.

"No," Casey said, but regretted it. "Yes." Sighing, he amended, "Maybe? I don't know."

Shifting his weight to be more flat-footed in his stance, Tristan cast his gaze to his clasped hands hanging between his knees. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

Tristan nodded and glanced up, catching Casey's eye before looking away and changing the subject. "It's a nice spot to set up camp. Get some R'n'R before headin' back out tomorrow."

Casey shrugged. He didn't feel like talking, but he did take a moment to look around for the first time in what felt like hours. He found himself sitting in an idyllic glen. The late afternoon sun shone through the multi-colored leaves of autumn, and dust motes floated on the air currents, winking at him as they passed through the shafts of sunlight. It _was_ pretty. Casey wished Lottie was with him, for she would have enjoyed it.

He glanced at Tristan, but his friend was silent, contemplating the scenery. Eventually, Tristan started to speak, "Othello found the UTR camp, where you killed those men. It was right before we made it to Fort Twenty-four."

The mention of one of Noah's dogs piqued Casey's curiosity. "What was Othello doing with you? And where is he now?"

After a glance his way, Tristan huffed a laugh. "You don't know that part, do you?"

Narrowing his eyelids at Tristan, Casey asked for clarification. "That's RACs biggest cover for Noah. He even has a false title and everythin'." Tristan chuckled. "I forget it, but it has somethin' to do with AHC."— _Agriculture and Husbandry Cultivation?_ —"Him and his counterparts in other states are the sole providers for the guard dogs at each prison. That's how he knew he could get in to see you even if you were already locked inside."

After a glance at Casey, Tristan once again returned his gaze to the glen around them. "Anyway, Othello found the blood. I can't tell you how scared I was that you bit the big one." Tristan bounced on the balls of his feet but otherwise stayed crouched by Casey's side. "Heh. Little did I know..." Tristan was silent for a moment, but then asked, "Will you tell me what happened?"

Sitting forward, Casey unwrapped the bindings holding the wooden boot to his foot. "Not much to say." Crossing his leg at his knee, Casey rubbed the raw skin around his sore ankle, frowning at the blisters he found. "When Jenkins and Diador left me with Stewart and Lanford, I knew I had to take the chance. I couldn't risk getting inside Fort Twenty-four. Didn't think I'd ever get out again."

"You killed them?"

Casey touched the right holster on his thigh, reassuring himself that he still had one of their guns. "Yes." He pressed his lips together. He didn't want Tristan to know about the nightly beatings at the hands of his guards. As he'd expected, choosing to be weak had worked, but he would have preferred fighting it out. When Casey didn't elaborate, Tristan pushed to his feet and walked a few feet away.

"I saw your scars," Tristan said so quietly Casey had to strain to hear him. "You fought for your life that night, didn't you?"

The tell-tale burn behind his eyes had Casey swallowing hard. He was so sick of crying. Casey blinked away the discomfort while staring at the leaf clutter on the ground. Several slow breaths later, the tears subsided, and he cleared his throat. "Yes," he answered, pleased at how strong his voice sounded.

"Were there other days like it?"

He glanced at Tristan's back then out into the trees. "No," Casey said, obscuring the truth, then let the quiet of the forest build around them.

Memory was a funny thing. Casey wondered if he'd ever stop reliving the sting of Diador's punch, or the bite of Lanford's kick, and he hated it. He never wanted to remember those weeks ever again, but Tristan deserved some sort of answer.

"I never raised a hand to them any of the other nights. That was my strategy. My ticket out. Lull them with my passivity, then strike." He took a deep breath, pausing to rub his ankle some more. "At first they knew I was playing them. But then?"

Casey slid the wooden boot back on his foot and began lacing it up. Once finished, Casey gingerly set his foot on the ground and stood. "But by the end, they thought I was pathetic and weak." _...and they weren't wrong._

He dusted his hands on his thighs. Turning away from Tristan, he said, "I'll go get the wood."

***

"Hey, Lottie."

"Hey, Nyah," Lottie greeted as her friend eased herself down to the ground next to her.

"Whatcha doing?"

Lottie leaned back on her hands and chuckled. "Not much." She let her gaze sweep the camp. All was calm. Even the babies who slept on the blanket next to her were quiet. It was a good thing too. Dexy had been up half the night demanding everyone else within earshot be the same, and Lottie was tired. It was only one of the many reasons why she was babysitting instead of working.

"Me neither."

The two women let the conversation lapse for several minutes, but after a bit, Nyah asked, "Do you know who it was who got laid last night?"

"No," Lottie said with a snort. "I didn't know someone had, but I take it, it wasn't you?"

"Fuck, no, unfortunately." Nyah frowned. "I've made a pass at every able-bodied male in a fifty-kilometer radius with no takers!"

"I doubt that," Lottie said, earning a dirty look from Nyah as she tucked a strand of her carrot red hair behind her ear.

"Well, it's true."

"Can't be," Lottie argued. "We're no more than a full day's travel from Fort Sutton, so unless you've made some midnight excursions to the Base that I'm unaware of, you haven't exhausted every able-bodied male in a fifty-kilometer radius."

"Feels like it." Nyah exhaled sharply. "Don't know what gives with the men here, but I think I'm gonna burst if I don't come soon."

"You could use your hand," Lottie offered helpfully.

"That's no substitute for a good hard cock."

"Nyah!"

"Well, it isn't! Besides," Nyah said, rubbing her belly. "I can't reach."

Lottie didn't know what to say, so she nodded to Nyah's distended stomach and asked, "How's it going? Hurting?"

"Not really. But I've had false labor for days." Nyah sighed and gave her a tight smile. "I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill me."

"I doubt that," Lottie said, chuckling.

"Wouldn't put it past Ito's son."

"You sure that's your baby's donor?"

Nyah laced her fingers together and flexed them outward, popping each knuckle joint in rapid succession. "Yep." With a shake of her hands, she loosened her hold and flexed her fingers before letting them rest on her stomach. "Hopefully, the apple will fall farther from the tree. Ito was a complete asshole."

"Maybe he'll be more like you?"

Nyah snorted. "I'm not sure that's all that much better."

"What?" Lottie gasped. "You're great."

"Thanks," Nyah said, bumping Lottie in the shoulder with her own. "Should be all right, I guess. Can't fuck 'im up too much with all you ladies here to help." She paused. With a pat to Lottie's stomach, Nyah asked, "How 'bout you? You doing okay?"

Lottie's hand drifted lower and pressed against the small bump that was showing despite her baggy clothes. "Good. Sickness is gone, and he kicks. A lot."

A small smile teased at Nyah's lips. "I always loved that stage. It's so nice. You're not sick or hurting, and you're not tired any more either..." She tapped her belly lightly with her knuckles. "Hello in there," Nyah said, addressing her belly. "Stop squirming you squirmy worm! You make your momma have to pee."

"Nyah," Lottie chided with a deep chuckle.

"What?" Nyah asked with false innocence and popped her knuckles a second time. "He wiggles. It keeps me up." Nyah's contented expression contradicted her statement.

"You looking forward to him?"

"Looking forward to him getting out." Addressing her stomach, Nyah barked, "I want to evict you, you squirmy worm. You need to leave that cozy home of yours."

Lottie tried not to laugh by pursing her lips against the sound bubbling in her throat.

Smiling at her, Nyah said, "Maybe once he's out, one of these unattached men'll find me attractive again."

"Nyah," Lottie began, not sure if she planned to reprimand Nyah for thinking less of herself or to comfort her, but she didn't get the chance. One of the babies stirred with a whimper, drawing her gaze. It looked like Cody was about done with her nap. Returning to Nyah's complaint, Lottie said, "Maybe you're trying too hard?"

"Maybe. But they're men! Shouldn't they want sex?"

Lottie shrugged. She didn't know why Nyah was striking out, but she had a few guesses.

They were silent for several minutes, listening to the infants as they woke.

Eventually, Grey lifted his head. He blinked rapidly. "Daddy?" When he looked up at her, Lottie beckoned him closer. Grey crawled toward her, bumping Max on the head as he passed.

Nyah scooped up Ally's son when he cried out.

Lottie picked up Grey when he came near. She put him in her lap, and he promptly began sucking his thumb. "'Addy," he said around the digit.

"No, sweetie," Lottie soothed. "Daddy's not here."

Grey shook his head, smashing his free fist to his eye and rubbing. "'Addy 'ear."

Lottie shushed him. She didn't want him to get his hopes up. The last time Grey claimed Casey was near, he'd ended up crying for days when his idol hadn't shown himself.

Nyah juggled Max in her arms and pushed to her knees to pick up Cody. Holding both of them close, she staggered to her feet. "Let's get you to Ally for lunch, shall we?" With practiced ease, Nyah put Cody to her shoulder and looked down at Lottie. "What do you need to do?"

The change of topic threw Lottie for a moment, and she had to think back over their conversation. Realizing Nyah meant her chore list, Lottie answered, "Mostly, it's finishing the tanning."

Lottie grimaced. Tanning was a tedious process that no one else seemed willing to do, but it was required. "I have several hides yet. The meat from those kills are in the smokehouse and need to be processed. Then there are the dried vegetables that need storing."

Nyah nodded. "I can do that for you. Tend the veggies."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Nyah shifted Max to her shoulder. "I'll return these," she said with a wink. "And then I'll get right to it."

Smiling, she nodded at Nyah and hugged Grey closer. "Wake Zoe before you get started. Dexy's hungry."

"Will do." As Nyah passed Zoe's tent, she barked, "Zoe! You're kid's awake."

Lottie rolled her eyes. She could have done that.

***

Home.

Nerves made the muscles in Casey's abdomen and back tighten uncontrollably, and his steps faltered.

"What's wrong?" Tristan asked, dropping an arm around Casey's shoulder, offering support.

"Nothing," he replied, shrugging out from under Tristan's embrace.

"Is it your ankle? Do you need to stop?"

"No," he said, pushing himself forward with the help of his walking stick—cane, Casey amended. Might as well call a spade a spade.

"You sure? I don't mind stoppin'. Another few minutes won't mean anythin'."

Irritation flared, and Casey had to take a deep breath to reign it back in. "I'm fine. Stumbled is all." The assertion was right, sort of, but how could Casey tell his friend he tripped because he was deep in his head thinking? "Let it go, old man."

Tristan grinned, taking his statement for truth and set off to clear a path in front of Casey. His job wasn't too tricky. The November landscape was blessedly free of all undergrowth except honeysuckle, and even then, the invasive plant was dying out as winter drew inexorability closer.

With his head down, Casey studied his feet as he walked behind Tristan. His thoughts about Lottie and Greysen swirled as he practiced smoothing his gait in an attempt not to rustle or crunch the dead leaves that littered the forest floor. A misplaced step brought a curse to his lips when his booted foot cracked a small branch. He knew the sound hadn't been loud, but the snap of the twig echoed in his skull, gaining in volume nonetheless.

_Bang! Bang!_

His arm tingled in memory of Stewart's gun discharging, and Casey's heartbeat lurched. He pressed his hand against his chest as black and white starbursts flashed at the edges of his vision. His breath came in panted gasps. The crisp air he sucked in burned his throat and seared a path to his lungs. Casey had to regain control. His fingers shook. He tried to force them steady, and when they refused to obey his command, he fisted them.

So much blood. Blood on the ground, on his hands, in his hair.

"Case? Case!" Slowly the fog of memory lifted, and Casey found himself nose to nose with Tristan. His friend's warm fingers curled around his ears, and Tristan stared deep into his eyes. "You okay? You back?"

"I," Casey trailed off and pushed to his feet, surprised to find himself sitting on the cold ground. He dusted off his backside. "I'm fine. Just fine."

"We can stop."

"I don't need to," Casey grumbled, leaning down to scoop up his cane from where he dropped it during his panic attack.

"Maybe we should rest a bit."

"Enough, Tristan!" Casey barked. The constant smothering was driving him insane. "I'm fucking fine! Now move your ass."

Tristan's eyes widened, but a moment later, his expression shown with understanding and pity. He gave Casey a tight nod and resumed his forward march through the trees. Casey sighed with relief, swung his cane forward, and continued his internal struggle with relearning how to walk silently in the woods. The task felt impossible, and Casey muttered curses about his ineptitude under his breath.

He gripped his cane tighter, thankful Noah'd suggested it, but Casey would never admit it to the man. Might inflate Noah's already enlarged ego. Casey snickered.

Tristan glanced back over his shoulder. "What'er you laughin' about?"

"Nothing," Casey said, shaking his head.

"Right..."

He didn't think Tristan would find his comment about Noah as funny as he did. They had been—chummy—on the way back to the settlement. Casey knew it made him sound ungrateful—Noah had gone to a lot of trouble to rescue him from Fort Twenty-four—but Casey couldn't help being glad Noah had left them to their own devices a few days ago in favor of going to Fort St. Louis to research the IRT threat.

As they continued to make their way toward the settlement, the sounds of the camp began to filter through the trees in soft snatches of noise: a baby's cry here and a deep boisterous laugh there. Casey made a note of his location in the woods. He would need to extend the radius of the perimeter watch by a half kilometer. Otherwise, the settlement ran the risk of being discovered.

Casey hadn't fought and killed two UTR or hiked hundreds of kilometers with a bum ankle to fail by being complacent about the homestead's safety. Besides, the effort to protect their borders would be more straightforward now that there were four men able to take on the task.

A growl caught his attention, and Casey glanced down at Attila. She had her hackles raised.

Casey patted her on the head in an attempt to calm her. She huffed, ears swiveling, taking in the sounds of the camp and forest. He knew she'd relaxed when she butted him in the thigh with her shoulder.

"Attagirl, Attila," he praised. Out of all of Noah's dogs, Casey liked Attila the best. She seemed to like him too, slept next to him every night ever since Noah and Tristan had found him.

As they walked, the sounds of the camp grew steadily louder, and Casey smiled, realizing the baby's cry he'd first heard had split into two distinct sounds. One was the wail of a small infant, hungry, wet, tired, or all three, and the second he identified as the squeals of a baby playing. The deep boisterous laugh of moments ago proved to be of two timbres. Casey assumed one of them was Captain MAD Leon, the Weapons Specialist. A man Casey was eager to meet.

Impatience had him stepping higher, pushing harder. His prior concerns faded as excitement took over.

Finally, Casey, Attila, and Tristan drew close enough to the settlement for him to distinguish the different women's voices from their previous muted altos and sopranos. There was one voice he did not hear among them, and he held his breath, waiting for it. Craning his neck to see past the trees and into the clearing, Casey felt the cold air swirl down the gaps in his jacket.

There!

A flash of white-blonde hair drew his eye. Casey found Lottie. She had a bow casually draped over her shoulder and was talking to Zoe. As he watched, Greysen waddled over to her and began tugging at her pants leg, and when she didn't acknowledge him with more than a pat on his head, he popped his thumb in his mouth and wrapped his arm around her thigh. At first, he focused on King laying at Lottie's feet, but then, he lifted his head to face the woods where Casey stood, almost as if he felt Casey's eyes on him. Casey smiled. Greysen hadn't lost that uncanny knack of knowing when he was near.

Casey waited, his hand on Attila's head, feeling every inch of Greysen's gaze as it slowly traveled the distance of the clearing and drifted up his legs to lock onto Casey in the shadows. The forest, camp, Attila, and Tristan quietly disappeared from Casey's vision as he fixated on his son. He knew the moment Greysen recognized him, for Greysen's mouth slowly fell open, and his thumb slipped from it to rest at his side. His hand reached up to pat at Lottie's leg. The motion of Greysen's hand was abstract at first but grew in determination as the seconds of parental indifference ticked by until Greysen was pounding on Lottie's leg in a desperate bid to get her attention.

Lottie looked down, and Casey let out the breath he was holding. He should step forward and announce his presence, but his feet refused to move. His fist tightened on the head of his cane. The rough texture of it bit into his palm. His heart thudded in his chest, and his skin tingled as if he was halfway through a twenty-three-kilometer run. He wasn't close enough to hear what Greysen said to her, but his son pointed to the woods drawing Lottie's gaze to where Casey stood and yelled, "Daddy!"

At that moment, all of Casey's senses seemed hyper-aware. He smelled the river mud, a wet, dead fish smell that teased his nose. The crisp air chilled his skin and promised an overnight frost. He identified Jaesen and a stranger, probably Brad, who were playing cards by the central fire. The taste of Applewood smoke drifted from the smokehouse, coating his tongue, and made his belly growl. And then there was the soft woof of Attila answering King's challenge.

But the most crucial sensation of all was the sight of Greysen as he bolted across the clearing toward him.

It was all burned into Casey's mind. Never to be forgotten.

***

"You going to go shoot?" Zoe asked, stopping Lottie.

"Mommy?" Grey called.

Lottie ignored him and gave Zoe a pained smile. "Yes." Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she resettled her bow over her shoulder. She ought to stay at camp and help, but she needed to escape for a little bit. Settle her nerves. She felt off balance and antsy, and she didn't think she could stay in the clearing another minute without screaming. She hoped shooting some arrows at the practice targets Jaesen and Brad had built for her would restore her equilibrium.

"Take me with you?" Zoe mock pleaded over Dexy's wails.

Lottie tried not to chuckle. Zoe was in a rough place, and Lottie sympathized. Sleep deprivation was brutal in those first few months. It made you feel sick and, for her at least, unaccountably sad. She patted Zoe on the arm, thankful she had a few more weeks to go on her pregnancy before it was her turn. "Maybe Ally will take her for a bit. Or Nyah? Well, maybe not Nyah. She has her hands full with Hunter."

"Mommy?" Grey called again, tugging at her pants. He sounded impatient, probably eager to get going. She usually didn't take him when she practiced. Lottie didn't want him to get hurt by a stray arrow—she wasn't the best of shots yet—but he was acting oddly today, sad, and listless, and Lottie figured he could use some time away from camp.

Reaching down to ruffle the hair on his head, Lottie said to Zoe, "If Ally and Nyah can't help while I'm gone, then I'll make sure to take Dexy from you when I get back. Give you a break. I promise."

A grateful smile tugged at Zoe's lips as she patted her daughter on the back. The action brought a hearty burp up from Dexy's stomach, and both Lottie and Zoe glanced at Zoe's shoulder.

"No spit up," Lottie confirmed.

"Thank goodness." Zoe shifted Dexy higher and switched to patting her on the bottom instead. "This is my last clean shirt! I think she has colic. Is it too early for colic?"

"Mommy!" Grey whined.

"I don't know. Grey didn't have it, so I have no idea."

"Mommy!" Grey wailed louder, his hand switching from a tug to a pat. She glanced down. "Just a minute Grey," she told him and refocused on Zoe.

She opened her mouth to offer her book on herbal remedies when Grey's pats became forceful smacks, and she could no longer ignore him. "What," she asked, exasperated. He was never like this.

"Daddy!" Grey said, pointing.

"Daddy's not"—Lottie began, surprised to realize King was growling. He only growled when he felt threatened or when there were newcomers to the settlement. That thought died as her gaze automatically followed Grey's arm to where he pointed at the tree line—"here," she finished.

She was wrong. So gloriously wrong!

Tristan, Casey, and one of Noah's dogs stood on the edge of the clearing, partially obscured by a tree. Tristan looked as jovial as ever with his hand on Casey's shoulder, but Casey? Casey looked rough. Was he sick? Casey had lost weight. She could see how his uniform hung from his shoulders, and from where she stood, he looked like a little boy playing dress-up in his father's fatigues.

Lottie covered her mouth, and she took a small step forward then another. She'd only gone a few feet when Grey reached Casey, who knelt to enfold Grey in his arms. She could see his shoulder's shaking from where she stood. The sight of his distress made her move faster.

As she drew near, Tristan took his leave with a soft "Hello Lottie" and a gentle touch to her shoulder. She gave him a brief nod. Her happiness, relief, excitement, uncertainty, and fear gripped her. Casey was home! He was here to stay. No way to go back to what they were before—not that she'd want to. But what if now that Casey never left her side, he realized she wasn't worth it? She dashed a tear from her cheek, refusing to give the notion more voice, and before she'd even realized Casey'd moved, he had her in a tight embrace with Grey sandwiched between them.

"Daddy. Daddy. Daddy," Grey chanted. His voice sang with contentment.

"Hi," Casey whispered. His voice was thick with emotion, and Lottie gripped him tighter. There was so much she wanted to say, and she didn't know where to start.

"Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Shoot?"

Finding her voice, Lottie admonished, "Grey, he just got here," at the same time as Casey said, "Sure. Let me put my stuff down, and then we can go."

"You don't have to," Lottie said as she pulled back from Casey, leaving Grey in his arms and searched his expression for sincerity. "I'm sure you're exhausted."

"I want to go," Casey said with a smile, the skin crinkling around his eyes. "That all right with you?"

She nodded. Casey's gaze swept her from head to toe and back. The intensity of his perusal made her fidget with the bow on her shoulder. Did she look okay? She hadn't bathed in a day, not since Hunter's birth yesterday morning, but she had no idea how she looked.

"You look..." he began, then cleared his throat. "You look healthier. Happier." As Casey spoke, she noted the lust in his eyes. It would make sense for him to look at her that way; they had made love the last time they were together, but the fact she'd gone to him willingly then didn't seem to matter to her heart now, for it skipped a beat and the adrenaline that flooded her system at the sight of his desire had her palms tingling. The sensation wasn't foreign, and, at one time, would have been as unpleasant as dried summer sweat, but this time, her reaction was warmer, eager, sending a jolt of desire through her and the baby in her womb quickened.

Lottie pressed her hands to her stomach, pulling her shirt taut and drawing Casey's gaze. In a flash of understanding, his mouth fell slack, and he took a hesitant step forward. His throat worked, unable to produce a coherent sound. Casey tore his gaze from her pregnant belly and searched for the truth in her eyes. "Mine?"

Her smile grew, and she gave a tiny nod. Casey whooped. Grey squealed and wrapped his arms around Casey's neck as Casey lurched toward her.

_Lurched?_

He had a limp. Why hadn't Lottie noticed before now?

She reached out to steady him, but Casey misunderstood her intention, for he grabbed her hand and dragged her back into a one-armed embrace. The action brought Grey nose to nose with her. She smiled at Grey, and he patted her cheek while Casey buried his face in her hair, bunched at her neck. Lottie wondered if Casey even remembered Grey in his arms.

"You're pregnant?" Casey whispered, his tone full of awe. "How long? No, wait, stupid question. Ever-absent God? Pregnant? Mine? And you're okay?" Lottie tried to respond, but he didn't give her a chance. "Thank the ever-absent—really? Pregnant? Mine? Wow! I can't believe it. Fuck! This is! This is perfect!"

Lottie's chuckle grew with each of his excited questions. When Casey stopped stammering, she answered, "Yes. Yours. And I'm a little past half-way."

He pulled back. His eyes searched hers. Lottie didn't know what he looked for, but he must have found it for a giant grin lit his whole face. Casey bit his lower lip, and she suspected he was trying to school his expression. Lottie doubted he'd succeed. Her suspicion that nothing would contain his happiness was proven a moment later when he gave up trying to hide his glee and instead pressed his lips to hers in an eager kiss.

A beautiful kiss, Lottie thought, a kiss that curled her toes, a kiss that promised nights of love and days of companionship, a kiss that abruptly stopped when Grey smacked his slobber coated hand against their joined lips and squealed, "Daddy! Shoot!"

Casey laughed a deep throaty sound. "Okay. Okay. Go to Mommy a moment," he said and handed Grey to her. "I need my cane."

Stepping back to give him space, Lottie patted Grey on the back and asked, "What happened?"

He grabbed the cane from where he dropped it and stood, Casey expression shuddered, and he no longer smiled. It didn't take a mind reader to realize he didn't want to talk about it.

She touched his arm, and he yanked himself out from under her touch, but then his gaze cleared, and he winced.

"You don't have to tell me," Lottie murmured. "Let's drop your bags at my tent and go to the range. That is if you still want to go."

Casey nodded, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. He grabbed her hand and hobbled forward. "Let's see how well you do with that bow and some arrows."

***

Beautiful. Lottie was so lovely. And she was pregnant! Pregnant with his baby. His. Casey felt so happy he thought his heart would break from the intensity of it. How could he even begin to tell her what her news meant to him? His. They were all his.

Casey let his gaze sweep from Lottie to Greysen to her stomach, where his new son grew, and back again. He didn't even try to control his smile because it wouldn't work. He was too—too happy! Casey squeezed her hand, and she turned her pretty brown eyes to his and smiled her small crooked smile.

Ever-absent God, he'd missed that smile. Casey wondered if she felt the same about his appearance. Did she feel an overflowing of emotions? He assumed she did, how could she not? They were together again.

A family.

He sighed. He was so ha—

"Welcome back, Case."

"Shit," Casey muttered. He'd forgotten they had an audience. Casey managed to suppress his twitch of surprise—mostly—but Lottie's nearly silent chuckle told him she'd felt it through their clasped hands.

"Jaesen," he said, turning toward the voice. There were several things Casey would prefer to do than talk to Jaesen, but Casey couldn't ignore Jaesen or the rest of the camp despite his desire to do just that. So after a slight shake of his head to clear his mind, Casey tugged on Lottie's hand, steering her toward the central fire where the newcomer, Jaesen, and Tristan waited.

As they drew near, Greysen squealed and yelled, "'Istn!" as if he'd just noticed Tristan was back, and of course, his hands left Lottie's neck in favor of trying to fly from her arms and into Tristan's. Lottie had to let go of Casey's hand to keep Greysen from falling. Casey snuck a quick peek at Lottie. Did she mind how Greysen seemed to want Casey or Tristan more than herself? Her expression shown with relief and amusement, so he supposed it didn't bother her. Maybe their next child would be a Mama's boy.

A son. His son. Casey's thoughts threatened to spin out of control again, and he pulled them back to the situation in front of him.

"Woah, there little buddy," Tristan scolded as he took Greysen from Lottie.

"'Istn, 'ad guys! Zoom zoom, 'Istn," Greysen began and ended with explosion noises.

"Are the bad guys after us?" Tristan asked.

"'Es! Zoom."

"Well, let's go protect the women and children," Tristan said, playing along. "We wouldn't want them to get hurt by those bad guys."

"'Ad guys! Zoom, 'Istn! Zoom!" Greysen yelled, flailing his arms and legs. Tristan chuckled, and at Greysen's urgings, he shifted the toddler in his arms, making it easier for Greysen to fly through the air as if he were a superhero.

Tristan exclaimed, "There's one, Grey! Shoot him down."

Greysen obliged with more explosion noises as they jogged away.

Focusing back on Jaesen and the newcomer, Casey lifted his hand to salute but hesitated mid-action. If this was who he thought it was, then Brad, as a Captain, was a superior officer, and his rank required Casey's respect, yet they were on neutral ground at the homestead where rank and titles meant nothing. Not to mention, Casey no longer had a position in the Army. He didn't owe Brad uncontested respect due to his military title, so instead of saluting, Casey extended his hand to Brad, a motion he hoped appeared natural, and in place of an introduction asked, "Captain Leon?"

"Brad," Brad said and clasped Casey's hand in his, giving it a squeeze which Casey returned. "No need for titles. I'm retired." They shook once before letting go.

"Welcome. I trust you're settling in?"

"Yes," Brad said. "Everyone here is quite accommodating."

"Good." Addressing Jaesen, Casey said, "What have I missed? What protocols are in place?" Casey indicated the cards in Jaesen's hand. "Besides Knaves and Knights, what do you do each day? Any progress on those improvements I talked about in June?"

Jaesen snickered and smacked Brad on the shoulder with the back of his hand, flashing his cards to Casey in the process, and Casey couldn't help but notice Jaesen had an excellent card hand. "See? What'd I tell ya?"

Brad grinned.

Casey frowned, not sure he approved of the implications. "What did you tell him?"

"Told 'im you wouldn't make it a full five minutes home before you went into Staff Sergeant mode, and I was right."

"It's called situational awareness," Casey replied, peeved. "You should try it."

"Relax Case. We got your back. The camp's secure."

"How do you know? You do patrols?" He wouldn't feel satisfied with the camp's safety until he had them all on a perimeter rotation.

"No. No patrols," Jaesen remarked with a one-shouldered shrug. "Not feasible with only the two of us. But we do check the area every dawn and dusk when we go out to hunt. Not that I've killed much. I'm a better shot with a gun than a bow."

Jaesen glanced at Brad before returning to Casey. "You'll have to let Brad measure you. He's got an extra set of blanks since none of the women—'sides Lottie—showed any interest in learning a bow." Jaesen stepped back and sat, waving his hand of cards to indicate the clearing at large. "We've been plenty busy. 'Tween Tristan's damn chickens, the wildlife eating the last of our crops from the garden, and our never-ending need for food preservations, we've had enough to do."

"You have time to play cards—"

"We're on KP," Jaesen said, cutting him off.

"There is a duty rotation?" Casey asked, clarifying.

Jaesen shrugged and set his cards down to poke at the fire. "Not a formal one, No. The ladies worked out a schedule early on, and we've been picking up the slack."

"Slack?"

"The others can't work. Not anymore," Lottie interjected, drawing Casey's eye. "Ally pretty much has twins. Nyah delivered yesterday, and Zoe delivered not even a month ago. Then there is Katie." Lottie paused to scratch behind Attila's ear, and the dog wagged her tail. "Poor Katie. She's gigantic and rarely comes out of her tent. So that leaves Grace and me to take care of everything." After a glance at Casey, Lottie turned to Brad and Jaesen. "Brad and Jaesen take turns to help us out."

"We also do a night watch rotation," Brad added.

Casey hadn't noticed it at first, but now that Brad had spoken, Casey wondered why his voice was so deep and scratchy. "Are you sick?"

"Nope."

Shifting his weight, Casey planted his cane more firmly in the ground. "Night rotation. You split it evenly or in smaller chunks?"

"Evenly. Had to," Jaesen replied, pointing to Brad's back. "This asshole snores. Can't sleep through it. Otherwise, I'd let King take care of it."

Lottie squeezed Casey's hand, and he looked down. "You look like you're going to take a bit. I'm going to go help, Zoe."

Her leaving was the last thing he wanted her to do, but aside from keeping her at his side, there was nothing he could do. He gave her a slight nod. "I'll be right back," she told the group before walking off. Casey watched her ass as she moved away.

Someone cleared their throat, and Casey jumped, embarrassed to be caught staring at Lottie's rear end.

"Here's what we'll do," Casey began, ignoring Jaesen's knowing smirk. "You and I'll do a perimeter check twice a day, every other day, and take zero-hundred to eight-hundred watch, starting tonight." Pointing to Brad, Casey added, "You and Tristan will do the sixteen-hundred to zero-hundred watch tonight, and then after tomorrow, you will take the dawn watch and the perimeter check."

"You think that's necessary," Jaesen balked.

"Yes," Casey affirmed. "Between the women leaving Gates and me disappearing, we already have the IRT on our asses."

Brad tilted his head in acknowledgment, turned, and sat. "Tristan warned us. He said that's where Noah went. To get intel."

Swallowing back his sigh, Casey shuffled over to a free seat by the fire and lowered himself onto it. He kicked his booted foot out toward the blaze. The heat made the bone ache deep inside the joint, and he wished he could take off his boot and rub at the sore spot on his ankle, but he refused to give in to the impulse. It was bad enough the cane announced his weakness. He wasn't about to give his men any other reasons to doubt him.

"The IRT may never find us"—he made sure to meet and hold both Jaesen and Brad's gaze with his—"But if the IRT does make an appearance, we're in a shoot-first/ask-questions-later situation. They're deadly, and I don't want anyone on our side to get hurt. Kill them. Understood?"

"Understood," they both said in unison.

"Good."

"What if they're someone coming to join the settlement? Noah did say we should be ready to accept newcomers," Lottie asked as she returned from her talk with Zoe. Lottie held a baby in her arms. She sat next to Casey, and he smiled at the infant bundled in Lottie's lap. He assumed the baby was Zoe's since it was too young to be Ally's and didn't have that squashed, just born, look to it.

Amending his prior statement, Casey said, "All right, don't use excessive force unless you need to, but I don't want any hesitation. The IRT isn't known for showing mercy, and we have to be ready for anything."

"Understood."

"Now for the lighter," Casey said. "What's been going on at camp? Hear anything from Fort Sutton?"

"Not much," Jaesen replied. "We need to form a few reconnaissance missions." Casey lifted his eyebrow in question. "The garden didn't yield enough for this many people. You and Tristan had barely planted enough for the original population, and we have twice that number now."

Jaesen pointed to Lottie, and she ducked her head, inspecting the infant in her arms. Casey's heartbeat doubled. He couldn't wait to see her with his baby. Jaesen continued, "She goes out almost every day—hunting and gathering—bringing back a kill or wild vegetation that her book says is safe to consume—or sometimes she comes back with both." Jaesen shifted his gaze back to Casey. "It's not enough."

"Were there any homes nearby," Brad asked in his hoarse voice. The sound reminded Casey of Matt's damaged voice, and Casey was distracted for a moment, thinking about Matt and his new post in Fort St. Louis. He wondered how the kid was doing in CPS. Had he found his calling as he'd hoped?

"We could use more supplies and tools." Brad's statement brought Casey back to the conversation at hand.

Casey said, "Noah, Tristan, and I cleaned out everything within half a day's walk from here. But now that there is help, we can expand our search."

"Then let's plan on an all-day excursion in a week," Brad said, taking control.

Casey balled his hands into fists. Lottie noticed and rested her fingers over his until he relaxed enough to grip her hand in his. Brad glanced at their twined fingers before continuing, "That'll give you time to settle back into things here and give the rest of us time to adjust to the new schedules you set."

"I agree, but we can probably move that discovery timetable up a few days. Won't take me that long to settle in," Casey said.

"Won't you need to let that heal for a few days?" Brad asked, indicating Casey's ankle with a tilt of his head.

"It's healed enough," Casey defended.

"What happened," Jaesen asked.

"Fell," Casey said with a frown. He didn't want to go into details.

When Casey didn't elaborate, Jaesen clapped his hands once and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when Attila lurched to her feet and growled at him.

"It's okay, girl," Casey said, rubbing her neck and ear, trying to calm her. Attila turned her snout and licked Casey's cheek. "You were going to say?"

Jaesen cleared his throat. "If you don't need a week, then let's reconvene tomorrow after breakfast to discuss the resupply missions."

"Sounds good." 

# Chapter 3

He couldn't sleep. Casey sighed and rolled over. Maybe if he covered his eyes and put a pillow over his ears, it would help. It didn't. Casey slowed his breathing and counted each breath. He had reached a hundred and thirty when he gave up and shifted to lay on his other hip. Casey opened his eyes. His gaze searched for Lottie in the darkness. When he found her, he realized she was awake and looking at him.

"You all right?" she whispered.

The affirmation hovered on his lips, but Casey couldn't voice it. He wasn't all right. His ankle throbbed, and the thought of falling asleep and revisiting his nightmares left him cold and shaky. "No."

She nodded and scooted closer to him, opening her arms, offering herself as a pillow. Once Casey was resting on her chest, Lottie wrapped her arms around him in a hug. The tension he hadn't even realized he had, leaked away, but he couldn't sleep.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked softly.

Casey shook his head.

"Okay. I understand."

He supposed out of everyone here, Lottie would understand his inability to discuss what happened the most. Her smooth inhale and exhale soothed his overactive mind, yet sleep eluded him.

It was frustrating. All the days Casey was away from Lottie, he had longed for this moment, but now that it was here, he felt as if something was missing.

At his sigh, Lottie's hand left his back and began stroking his head. Casey felt her soft murmurs in the rumbles of her chest. His fingers stroked her side, matching her motions in his hair. Eventually, he snagged the bottom of her shirt and slipped his hand under the hem. Her skin was so soft. Casey loved to touch her, and he occasionally let a caress stray, his thumb brushing the soft swell of her breasts. After one such pass, Lottie sucked in her breath, and Casey stilled. Intense arousal shot through him, and he pushed the feeling aside. As much as Case would like to act on his intense desire, it wasn't the right time. He removed his hand from under her shirt, and she relaxed.

Rolling to his back, he dragged Lottie with him, tucking her close to his chest and offering up the hollow of his shoulder as a pillow. She sighed and snuggled closer, her forearm draped over his abdomen. Within moments her breathing evened out, and he knew she slept. Maybe now he'd be able to rest.

"Lottie? Lottie!" Casey yelled over the din of voices. Why were all these people here?

"Get out of my way." Casey shoved at the bodies surrounding him. He had to get to her.

He stood on his tiptoes, trying to see over the crowd. "Lottie?! Where is she? Lottie?!"

Casey lurched forward, his steps faltered, and he fell.

The shine of metal reflecting sunlight caught his eye, and Casey looked at his hands. His wrists were bound. Why was he handcuffed? What had he done?

"Lottie?" he asked, his voice small and uncertain.

"Traitors don't get women," a man barked then spat on the ground in front of Casey.

Casey's gaze traveled up the speaker's legs, over his torso, to meet his eyes. He flinched at the hatred in the man's expression.

"Fucking rapist traitor," the man growled and backhanded Casey.

Casey touched his lips with his bound hands and shook his head in denial. He would never harm a woman, and he'd never turn traitor.

"Lanford," the man barked. "Get his arms. Hold him steady."

Casey put his hands up, appeasing, but it didn't help. Someone grabbed him from behind and immobilized him.

"This is what we do to traitors," the man who'd backhanded him said, then reared back and punched Casey in the gut. All his breath whooshed out of him, and Casey gasped, trying to breathe. "I'm not a traitor."

"Sure you aren't," the man—Lanford, Casey assumed—growled in his ear. "Then why have you been issued a bad conduct discharge? It's tattooed right there on your back."

"Casey?"

The words made Casey pause. Truth rang in the man's statement. Had Casey been discharged?

No. Casey loved his career. He'd never do anything to jeap—

"Daddy!" a tiny voice screamed, cutting off his thought.

Casey yanked his arms free. "Greysen!" He had to get to his son. He took a step forward and fell when a sharp pain shot up his leg from his ankle. Casey glanced down. His whole leg was in a white plaster cast.

"Daddy!"

"Coming!" Casey answered, pushing to his feet. He hobbled forward, shoving men in uniform out of his way.

A childish squeal of delight echoed in the room, and Casey ran into bars. His fingers wrapped around them, and he pressed his cheek against the cold metal, trying to look each way down the hall. "Greysen?!"

"Make love to me," a woman with bushy brown hair said.

"Casey?"

Casey licked his lips. His body responding to her request even as his mind told him no.

But why shouldn't he take her up on her offer?

The woman slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders. Her top bunched around her hips, exposing her breasts. She pushed the fabric off her hips, and as she did so, the light glinted off some metal around her left ring finger.

"Stop!" Casey swallowed hard. Lust clouded his mind, but he knew he couldn't make love to a woman if she were already married.

"What, husband?"

Casey shook his head.

He wasn't married. Casey was a career soldier and ineligible for a wife.

Casey stepped back from the bars and collapsed when his knees hit a log. He looked around. Where was he? It was late afternoon, not quite dusk, and his hands were bound.

"We'll go ahead and tell Fort Twenty-four to be ready for the prisoner."

Stewart nodded. "We'll keep the prisoner occupied.

The first speaker—Diador—laughed. "Remember, don't mark his face."

Diador spied Casey, and Casey looked down.

Casey held a gun, but it wasn't his military-issued revolver. No, this weapon was a decommissioned automatic pistol. One that the military forbade due to its mechanical complexity and tendency to break.

Casey lifted the firearm and sighted down the barrel.

He had to get home.

His base needed him.

Bang!

"Casey!"

Sitting up, Casey rubbed a hand down his face, wiping away the tears he felt drying on his cheeks.

"Casey? Are you okay?" Lottie asked, her arms coming around him, hugging him tightly.

He glanced at Lottie. Her concerned brown eyes inches from his. He nodded. His breath heaving in his chest as he tried to control every raw emotion he felt.

"Daddy?" Greysen called, his voice thick with distress.

"Yeah, buddy?" Casey acknowledged with a slight hitch at the end of the word buddy.

"Daddy's okay?" Greysen slurred.

Casey beckoned Greysen closer. The toddler crawled from his bed and came over to Casey, and Casey scooped him up, depositing him on his lap. "Daddy's okay," Casey reassured Greysen.

"Bad dream?" Lottie asked.

Casey nodded, his throat thick with emotion, and he didn't trust his voice. He hated trying to sleep. The damn dreams wouldn't leave him alone. "I'm fine. Sorry, I woke you."

"Momma? Case?" Tristan called from the other side of the tent flap.

Casey groaned, realizing that by the sound of it, half the camp must be up and outside their tent. "I'm fine," Casey barked. "Go back to bed or watch or whatever."

The sound of milling people stilled for several heartbeats, but after a bit, Casey heard people moving off. Some went to tend crying infants, and the others retreated into their tents.

"We're moving our tent tomorrow," Casey declared.

"To where?" Lottie asked, her breath a teasing puff against his neck.

Casey exhaled hard and rubbed his face again. "Our clearing."

He felt her nod. "I'll get us moved at first light," she said.

"Case?" Tristan called again. His voice a shade louder than a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Jaesen's up and on the watch. Need me to take your shift?"

Shaking his head, Casey loosened Lottie's grip around his shoulders. "No. Give me a minute, and I'll be right out to spell you."

Tristan acknowledged him with a grunt, and Casey heard him move away.

"Here," Casey said, handing Lottie a limp Greysen. His son's eyelids drooped with fatigue, and his lips were slack around his thumb. Casey leaned down to kiss Greysen on his brow.

"Daddy," he said, trailing off into a soft baby snore.

Smiling, Casey traced his finger down Greysen's cheek before shifting his focus to Lottie. Casey brushed his lips over hers. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"

She nodded, and after Casey left their bed, she lay down, tucking Greysen to her side and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Casey paused at the tent flap, and looked back at his family, sound asleep in his bed. A sincere, satisfied smile grew, leaving him content and with a heart fit to burst. Turning, Casey let himself out of the tent.

***

"What do you mean they left?" Lottie asked Jaesen, disbelief coloring her tone. Only last night, Casey'd agreed she would go with him when he went to search for supplies for the camp.

Jaesen folded one of his acorn flour pancakes in half and dipped it into some fresh honey from a beehive Lottie had found and raided a few days ago. "Case said not to wake you. Said he kept you up late"—Jaesen's eyebrows wagged on the word late and took a bite from the flat cake—"and you needed the rest."

"But..." She couldn't believe it. "But we agreed I would go. I know what plants to look for..."

Shrugging, Jaesen swallowed his food and said, "My guess is 'cause he didn't expect to find anything worthwhile and didn't want to wear you out."

"Shouldn't I be the judge of that?"

"Maybe, but you lost Grant when you were about this size,"—Lottie frowned at the reminder of her miscarried son and her arms wrapped around her belly—"and I know Case. He probably didn't want you to have a problem so far from camp. Besides, he's not coming back tonight."

"He's not?" Her appetite gone, Lottie set aside her plate. King inched closer and licked at her leftovers. She gave the dog a small nod of approval, and King launched himself at the remains, cleaning it in seconds.

"Na," Jaesen said. "He figured that since they'd cleared out anything nearby before we moved in, that they'd need more distance from camp even to have a remote chance of finding something worthwhile. You know this area didn't have many homes before the crisis."

Lottie nodded. What Jaesen said about her health and Casey's decision made sense, but she was angry with him for not giving her an option. "Did he at least take the book?"

"Yeah, he did."

She sighed in relief. Maybe Casey would find something worthy of gathering, like wild amaranth or buckwheat. Lottie didn't like to think about it, but they were low on non-protein based foods, and the fact she had to set aside so many starter seeds didn't help their plight.

"I hope he finds something," she murmured

Jaesen caught and held her gaze across his plate of food, and gave her a tense nod. He knew what she meant.

Picking up her plate, Lottie stood. She had to get going. Her to-do list wouldn't take care of itself.

***

Tristan whistled loud and low. "Would ya look at that."

The small house by the creek with the caved-in roof and high watermark above the windows didn't look like much, but that wasn't what had caught Tristan's eye. No, that honor went to the large shed set on a small hill some ways away from the water.

"Think anythin' good's in there?" Tristan asked.

"Only one way to find out," Casey replied and set his cane in motion.

Crossing the overgrown yard, they made their way to the outbuilding. They stopped at the padlocked door. "Break it off?"

Casey shook his head. "Circle around, see if there's a weak spot in the walls."

After a quick nod of agreement, Tristan left his side to do Casey's bidding. A moment later, he came out from behind the shed, shaking his head. "Nothin'."

"Damn." Casey crouched to get a closer look. It was a simple combo lock attached to an embedded hasp. "Damn," he muttered again and flipped it over, hoping the prior owner had a bad memory and had left the combo taped to the back. No such luck. "Have to brute force it."

Tristan pushed him aside. "Let me look."

Standing, Casey put his hands in the air and backed away.

While Tristan studied the lock, Casey made his way to the small house. He pushed the door inward and took a cautious step inside. The threshold proved to be a gateway to a small laundry room with a canary yellow kitchen beyond.

Casey took a tentative step, testing his weight on the floor. It gave with a spongy feel, and he grimaced at the proof of wood rot. If not for the fact they'd walked all day, and this was the first new house they'd encountered, Casey may have let this one pass, but they needed shelter for the night, and that made this home worthy of inspection.

With his next step inside, Casey found firmer ground. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad? He slowly moved past the washroom and took a good look at the kitchen. A wood table large enough for two sat in the corner. A metal chair with ripped upholstery leaned against the edge. At some point, the refrigerator had fallen on its side. Broken jars littered the floor under the opened door.

He turned away from the sorry remains and found ugly rusted cabinets, an old fashioned wood burning stove with raised burners, and a side cabinet that looked like an oven. On top sat a large cast-iron skillet.

Stepping past debris, Casey looked into the frying pan. A thick layer of dust coated the bottom and sides, but at least it wasn't full of someone's last meal. Casey left it on the stove for now but promised himself he'd take it with him when they packed up in the morning.

The sound of banging drew his attention, and Casey glanced out the window to Tristan, who was pounding away at the shed door. If anyone was going to succeed in getting inside that outbuilding, it was Tristan.

Leaving his friend to his task, Casey continued to check the kitchen, but aside from some ceramic plates and a few baking tins, there was nothing useful for the settlement.

Exiting the kitchen, Casey found himself in a living room. Parts of the ceiling were on the floor. The plaster mixed with unidentifiable fabrics. In the middle of the pile sat a stylized white stuffed dog with black spots. He picked it up. The toy had a red collar with a gold diamond tag, which read Pongo. Casey tossed it back to the ground and dusted his hands on his pants.

Casey left the room and headed down a short hallway. He passed a bathroom, an empty bedroom, and entered the last one at the end of the hall. It had a large bed. The wood frame had collapsed, and its pieces cluttered the ground around the large mattress, reminding Casey of a squished spider right before you removed your boot from its crushed body.

The image made him chuckle.

"What'er you laughin' at?" Tristan asked.

Casey faced his friend and thumbed over his shoulder. "Looks like a smashed bug."

Tristan stared at the bed a moment before smiling. "It does, a little." Refocusing on Casey, Tristan said, "Got the shed open, and you gotta see what's inside."

"Okay," Casey said and left the room.

They traipsed down the hall and through the living room and out into the waning sunlight. At the shed door, Casey paused to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. His mouth fell open. The sight that greeted him was astounding. "They left this?"

"Yeah. Guess they locked it up thinkin' they'd be back in the future."

Glancing over his shoulder, Casey caught the slight shrug of Tristan's shoulder.

Tristan continued, "Their loss, our gain."

"You're telling me." Stepping into the room, Casey began cataloging all the useful items. The prior owner must have had a woodworking hobby for the shed was filled to the rafters with woodworking tools. Casey saw jars of nuts and bolts, screws, nails of different sizes. There were saws, wrenches, chisels, in a metal toolbox. Along another wall were: rakes, a scythe, and ladders. The owner even had a table saw, lathe, and something else Casey couldn't identify.

"Come look at this!" Tristan yelled from the back.

Picking his way across the cement floor, Casey noted the two coolers, a wheelbarrow, and roll cart. The shed was like a shrine to the god of yardwork and carpentry.

Resting his hand on Tristan's shoulder, Casey leaned over. "What?"

"Solar panels," Tristan said, shooting him a grin over his shoulder. "Four of 'em."

That was—That was delightful news!

"We'll need to come back. No way we can carry all this back in one trip. Not even with the wheelbarrow and cart."

Tristan nodded. "Lottie would love that stove too." Tristan stood. "I'll go see if I can prize it free."

"Yeah," Casey replied. He hadn't thought about it, but it would be an excellent addition to the camp. "We'll need a cabin to house all this crap."

"Well, we were plannin' on one anyway."

_True_ , Casey thought but didn't voice.

"You see anythin' else of value in the house?"

"No, but I didn't look everywhere," Casey answered.

"Let's make sure there's nothin' else of value, then start dinner."

"Good idea. I'll get us a fire going while you check out that stove."

Casey and Tristan parted, each intent on their tasks.

***

Leaning back in his chair, Casey looked to the sky. The night was cold and clear, and the stars winked at him from behind the bright green, royal blue, and deep purple colors of a rare aurora borealis.

Wonder if Lottie's seeing this?

He hoped she could see the lights from the settlement. They were beautiful and awe-inspiring. Much like her, he thought with amusement.

"Beautiful aren't they," Tristan asked, his tone barely above a whisper.

Casey glanced at Tristan and huffed a laugh. "I was just thinking that." When Tristan didn't volunteer anything further, Casey focused back on the sky, content to watch the show in silence.

Letting his thoughts drift, he touched on many topics from their food shortage—a situation which became painfully obvious this past morning when he'd helped make breakfast for the camp—to his place at the settlement by Lottie's side. He wondered if she'd moved their tent as he'd asked. It would have been a big undertaking for her, and a twinge of shame snaked up his back, raising the hairs on his arms. _Coward_ , he thought. He'd left the settlement before she'd awoken on purpose, too embarrassed to face her after his nightmare and his tears last night.

Of course, thoughts of Lottie brought to mind her pregnancy and his part in it. He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself in the process. The sex had been good, but he knew it could have been better, but he didn't know how to accomplish that goal. He couldn't ask one of the women at the camp—too embarrassing. And he couldn't ask Jaesen, who Casey knew was a virgin.

Brad probably wasn't, but Casey didn't know him, so he wasn't willing to admit his ignorance. That left Tristan. Sighing, Casey knew he'd never hear the end of it, but he wanted to know how to improve, so after another fortifying breath, Casey began, "Can I ask you something?"

Tristan cracked an eyelid open, and his blue eye rotated in its socket until he was looking at Casey from the side of his eye. "Yeah."

Casey cleared his throat, his neck and cheeks warmed. "When you and ah..." Casey stalled. After a breath to calm his nerves, he tried again. "When you and that retired asset—uh, woman—connected... Did you..." Casey trailed off with a curse.

Tristan's single eye stopped looking at him in favor of staring at the stars. "Spit it out, Case."

"How do you make a woman orgasm?" There, he said it. Casey ran a hand through his hair and resolutely kept his eyes on the stars.

Out of his peripheral, Casey saw Tristan turned his head. Tristan whistled, his amusement evident in the tone. "Have you touched her yet?"

Casey raspberried. "She's pregnant, isn't she?"

Facing the sky again, Tristan snickered. "I don't mean with your dick. I mean, have you touched her with your hands? Lips? Tongue? Learned what makes her moan?"

Like a stone tossed into a pond, Casey's heart sank, remembering how she'd offered him her body. He'd been so surprised, so honored, so aroused, he'd skipped touching altogether and gone straight for the result. Hell, it wasn't until he'd finished that he'd even thought to give her pleasure.

Casey cleared his throat, forcing his voice steady. "No."

"Well, if you get another chance—and I'm sure you will—take some time to learn what she likes. Kiss her neck. Her lips. And? Well, lower. Women like that sort of thin'."

Casey had to clear his throat a second time. "And the retired asset told you this?"

"No," Tristan said. "I didn't need the advice by then."

"Why not?"

"It wasn't my first rodeo."

The admission didn't fit with the conversations Casey remembered. "Wait. Didn't you tell Lottie—"

"—No. I never said anythin' about virginity, that's all on you. You assumed," Tristan barked, cutting him off.

Casey sat up and faced Tristan, making the other man sigh.

"I don't kiss and tell, Case."

Casey had no right to press for an answer. Waving a hand in dismissal, he sat back and stared at the stars.

Curiosity burned in his stomach, even as Casey admitted that he didn't need to know the details. He'd gotten the advice he needed.

Tristan sighed. His exhale breaking the silence. "I've had two partners. Cynthia and Zoe."

"Zoe." It wasn't a question, and Casey wasn't quite sure why he repeated her name. He'd known Tristan had loved her. Hell, that was the reason she now lived at the settlement.

"I was removed from FAP because of my involvement with her."

"You're file didn't say—"

"—It wouldn't," Tristan said, once again cutting him off.

Casey lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Tristan's emotions were running hot.

"When Zoe 'died' after miscarryin', I put in a request for transfer. I couldn't do it anymore. And to think it could have been..." Tristan fell quiet for a few moments. "The women there? It was too hard. The Army accepted my request in July, and by August, I was at Fort Sutton." He smiled at Casey. "It was a good fit. I liked it there."

Guilt closed Casey's throat, and he tried to swallow past the lump.

Tristan bumped him in the shoulder with his. "No regrets, Case. I'm here. With you. With her. And I'm glad."

Casey ran his hands through his hair, only to lace his fingers at his nape, and let the conversation lapse into companionable silence as he watched the stars with his friend.

***

A tap to Casey's boot woke him, and he glared at Tristan from his nest of blankets on the ground by the fire.

"If we're gonna make it back to the settlement by tonight, we need to load up now."

Casey groaned and looked to the dark sky. Dawn was a long way off yet. Rubbing his face with his hands, he tried to get his brain into gear. Sitting up, Casey took the steaming mug that materialized in front of his eyes and sipped at it carefully. He recognized the flavor. It was their stew from last night thinned into an easy to chug broth guaranteed to warm him up and give him energy for the task at hand. "Thanks."

"Sure."

They sat quietly and ate their breakfast while the morning dawned clear and bright, glinting off the frost that covered the ground, and the light lifted Casey's spirits. Setting his cup to the side, Casey pushed to his feet and stretched, pausing to scratch his stomach before heading off into the brushes to piss. On his way back to the fire, he asked, "You ready to pack up?"

"Yeah, Case," Tristan replied, set his cup to the side, and stood.

Once on his feet, Tristan joined him, and they meandered over to the two piles of tools and gear they planned to take back with them on this trip. Half an hour later, they'd struck their temporary camp, and they were loaded up and ready to go. Adjusting the pack on his back, Casey turned south for the settlement.

It wasn't long before the reality of his injury made itself known, and he had to call a stop.

"Should we come back tomorrow for the rest?" Tristan asked, tactfully ignoring the real reason they were resting.

Casey grimaced. He didn't want to admit it, but he'd overestimated what he could carry. Casey shook his head, debating whether or not he could unload some of the hand tools onto Tristan's wheelbarrow. Casey dismissed the thought as fast as it formed. He wasn't a weakling and could pull his weight. This experience would be good for him. "We won't get back early enough to set up for another excursion. We'll need a day to unload and another to pack up again."

Tristan nodded as if Casey's response was expected and not because they both knew he was pushing too hard—again. Irritation pricked his skin.

"Sounds good." Tristan smiled.

Tristan's grin was too broad, an exaggeration, and Casey braced himself for the teasing remark coming his way. "Besides, you'll need a whole night to get back into her good graces. Maybe use those lips and tongue to good effect before you tell her you're off to forage again without her."

Casey's shoulders slumped, and he swung his cane forward, stepping alongside it. Tristan snickered, and Casey heard him take the handles of the wheelbarrow. A moment later, the wheel squeaked as Tristan's gait picked up speed.

"You know, Momma's gonna be pissed you left her behind."

"I had to," Casey defended. "You know the success rate for this mission was low. I didn't want her to get tired or have a problem."

"She's gonna give you an ear full."

"Maybe," Casey thought Tristan was more than likely right. Casey had promised her he'd take her and then didn't, but dammit, she'd barely had any sleep due to his tossing and turning, and Casey thought it would be best if she sat out this trip.

He glanced over his shoulder. "What about you? Zoe's got an infant, and you're not there helping her."

Tristan's mirth died, and a flash of despair crossed Tristan's face before it was chased away by anger. He pinched his lips into a thin line and glared.

_Shit._ Casey stopped, his lack of motion made Tristan stop as well.

Casey asked, "What'd I say?"

Opening and closing his mouth, Tristan appeared to think of several retorts only to discard them. Declining to answer, he lifted the bars of the wheelbarrow. As Tristan pushed past Casey, he muttered, "Never mind."

A few quick steps had Casey abreast with Tristan, and Casey dropped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "No. Tristan. What's up with you and Zoe?"

Tristan shrugged off his hand and continued walking. As the silence dragged on with only the sound of the wheel squeaking to break up the quiet, Casey wondered if Tristan would ever answer. After a few minutes, the tension holding Tristan's shoulders ridged, dissipated, and Tristan's soft voice floated back to Casey. "How'd you do it? How'd you accept Grey as yours even when you know— _you know_ —he isn't?"

Casey's muscles locked as he stopped dead in his tracks. Staring hard at Tristan's back, he couldn't believe what he'd heard, what Tristan implied. The fact Dexy wasn't Tristan's biological child was his problem? Casey couldn't understand it.

Shaking his head, Casey said, "I'll tell you the same thing I told Javier. I'd want any of the children Lottie has as mine _because_ they are hers."

Tristan came to a stop, but he didn't turn to look at Casey. The silence from Tristan dragged on and on, and Casey didn't know what to say.

"Tristan? Are you trying to tell me you can't get past the fact Dexy isn't yours biologically? I mean? You should be proud Zoe can conceive at all when so many can't. It's not like she had much choice in the matter. Rejoice. You have a daughter! It's a miracle. Embrace it. Love them both. Nothing but your prejudice and jealousy's holding you back."

A slight twitch of the head was Tristan's only response. Casey supposed that would have to do.

***

The soft rumble of a dog's growl froze Casey in his tracks. Motioning for Tristan to stop, he waited for the wheelbarrow's squeaky axel to quit making noise before he whispered, "King?" hoping the growl was from the dog and not a wild animal. His question elicited a creak of wood as if it were a bow releasing the tension of a nocked arrow.

"Shit, Case," a scratchy voice said. "I almost shot you."

"But you didn't," Casey replied and snapped his fingers, calling the dog forward. A cold nose touched the back of his hand, and he ruffed the dog's mane. "Good boy, King."

"How'd you know," Brad asked, stepping from behind a tree. "I can't tell them apart."

A chuckle rumbled in Casey's chest. "The growl." He could practically see Brad's eyebrow lift in confusion.

"Attila loves him," Tristan supplied. "She wouldn't growl."

"Good to know," Brad answered, humor evident in his rough voice. Shouldering his bow, he said, "When you didn't show for dinner, we figured you wouldn't be back tonight."

"Almost didn't make it," Tristan whispered, earning a glare from Casey. It was too dark to see with any certainty, but Casey thought he saw Tristan flash him a grin. "I'm beat, help me out here."

"Sure," Brad replied, stepping forward. "What do you need?"

"Take a pumpkin or two off the stack. The wheelbarrow's overloaded, and the damn thing keeps wanting to tip over."

Brad patted Casey on the shoulder as he passed and then exclaimed, "Look at the size of those monsters. Where'd you find them?"

"About two kilometers back," Tristan replied. "If not for the fact Case tripped over one, we would have missed the vine completely."

Casey snorted and kept walking. His back burned from lugging the supplies in his pack, and he couldn't wait to sleep. Several shuffling steps later, Casey left the tree line and skirted the smokehouse on his way to the supply shed. He pushed the door open and set his pack down with a groan. Stepping from the structure, Casey rubbed his shoulders where the skin felt raw from the pack's straps and reacquainted himself with the camp.

Disappointment hung heavy in his heart when he saw Lottie's tent where he'd left it. It wasn't a huge deal—sleeping next to her had a more definite draw than sleeping tentless in the woods—but Casey didn't want a repeat of the other night.

Footsteps in the woods pulled his attention, and he retraced his steps. Spying Brad juggling two pumpkins, Casey set his cane aside and stepped up to take one from him. They headed back to the shed. Casey set his pumpkin on the picnic table that no one ever seemed to use.

"Think one of the ladies knows how to make pumpkin pie?" Brad whispered.

"No flour," Tristan replied as he set the last two pumpkins down.

"Damn." After a beat, Brad added, "Crustless?"

"Come on. Let's get the last of it," Tristan urged. Brad nodded once and followed Tristan back into the trees. Casey debated whether or not he should follow, but figured Tristan had it under control.

Grabbing his cane, Casey limped his way to his tent next to the central fire. He paused outside the tent flap. Something wasn't right. He glanced around the clearing, unsure of what his intuition told him.

A tap on his shoulder drew Casey's attention. "They're off that way," Brad said and pointed into the woods. "She moved her tent."

"Ah." That was what his instincts were trying to tell him. Casey hadn't heard Greysen or Lottie inside. "Thanks," he said, moving off in the direction Brad had indicated and several feet into the woods, he found his tent. It sat right where Casey wanted it.

Unzipping the flap, he eased inside, letting his eyes adjust.

Lottie's blond hair fanned the pillow, giving her a halo of white. Her arm wrapped around Greysen as he slept in Casey's spot. Casey set his cane and clothing aside and carefully crawled up the bedroll. Scooping the toddler into his arms, Casey situated himself next to Lottie and draped Greysen on his chest. Greysen sighed and popped his thumb in his mouth but did not wake.

With a final shift of his arm, Casey managed to pull Lottie closer. Her firm belly resisted the closeness Casey desired, but before he could work to fix the problem, she shifted and snuggled into his side, fitting them together perfectly.

He was home.

***

The loud calls of hundreds of birds migrating woke Lottie from a sound slumber. One of her legs rested on top of a firm, warm surface, and her cheek felt slick from sweat. She bunched the bedroll in her flexing fingers. She felt oddly elevated.

Blinking her eyes, she brought her world into focus. Grey lay facing her. His thumb stuck in his lax mouth, and a bit of drool pooled on a slightly hairy chest.

Chest?

Jerking upright, Lottie dislodged the blanket that covered them, and Casey muttered something in his sleep before patting the ground for the lost bedding.

Lottie eased herself away from him and replaced the covers. Casey settled, a sleepy smile gracing his lips, making him look several years younger than his twenty-six. She could picture him as a little boy, hazel irises flashing with merriment as he drove the Communal Home Director nuts with his antics. Lottie snickered at the thought but quickly sobered, remembering that she was still mad at him for leaving her behind.

With a soft, derisive snort, Lottie dressed, grabbed her bow and arrows, and let herself out of the tent. A quick walk brought her to the central fire, where she found her mother tending a hot pot of tea. Lottie poured herself a mug and blew on it to cool it.

"You hunting?" Grace whispered, indicating the bow across Lottie's shoulder.

"Not yet. Going to the range."

Grace nodded, handing her a fresh travel cake.

Taking a huge bite, Lottie chewed the food and washed it down with a mouthful of tea.

"The guys found some pumpkins," Grace said, pointing.

"Pumpkins?" Lottie looked to where Grace indicated, seeing the large squashes on the picnic table. She went to look. After inspecting them, she rejoined Grace at the fire. "Not sure what we can do with the flesh, but I can't wait to eat roasted seeds. We'll have to save some, though. To plant for next year."

"We have some roasted venison in the smokehouse," Grace replied. "I'll mash the pumpkin as a side dish and roast the seeds."

Lottie bent and hugged Grace. "Thanks."

"Get going," Grace said, waving her off. "I'll babysit Grey for you when he wakes up."

"Thanks," Lottie said, and with a final smile for Grace, Lottie took off for the range.

***

Sighting down the shaft, Lottie lined up her shot. Letting the arrow fly, she yanked a new one from her quiver and aimed at her next target.

"You're good." Casey's warm voice sounded behind her, and Lottie released her arrow in surprise. It shot past bullseye, landing on the edge of the target. "You kill anything yet?" he asked.

Lottie shook her head, pulled another arrow, aimed, and released it. It lodged into the target with a solid thunk.

Warm arms wrapped around her waist and his head landed on her shoulder. His nose nuzzled her neck, dropping tiny kisses along the column of her throat. "You should try it anyway. I bet you'd be surprised." A shiver chased its way down her back, and she turned her head slightly. His caress stopped, and he met her stare.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

She didn't know if he meant to apologize for his teasing kisses or something else. Pulling out of his arms, she turned to face him. He took the bow from her hands and set it aside. "I'm sorry I didn't take you with me."

Her heart thumped hard in her chest from the kiss and the unexpected apology. She took a deep breath, hoping to shed her anger. Casey was home, and she supposed she could to let bygones be bygones. "Apology accepted." Staring up into his eyes, she added, changing the subject, "The pumpkins are great. Thank you."

"Thank Tristan." Casey gave a soft snort and pulled her into his arms again. His hands rested on her low back, and he brushed his lips against hers in a light, quick kiss. "He's the one who saw their potential. All I did was trip over them."

Lottie wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing their faces close together, but she couldn't quite bring herself to kiss him back. Casey licked his lips as he stared at hers for several heartbeats before dragging his gaze upwards.

"I need to make a trip of my own."

"Why? Why can't one of the other women do it?" he asked.

Resting her head on his chest, she listened to the beat of his heart. "They don't know what to look for and..." Lottie pushed against his chest with her palms and stepped out of his embrace. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she studied the targets at the other end of the clearing. "I'm worried, Casey," she admitted. Her stomach clenched tight with unease.

Casey's arms wrapped around her once again, his hands finding her stomach. "Why? Is it the baby? Are you okay?"

"We're fine, right now. But, we don't have enough food to last all winter." His arms tightened around her, but he didn't respond, so she continued, "We can't live on meat alone. We need greens, fruit, grains. I held back all the corn for next year's seeding and most of the beans. We've already eaten the fresh leafy greens, broccoli, and carrots. The seed potatoes are doing fine—as long as we don't eat any of them. And I've dried as many as I can. It's not enough."

She turned her head to gaze at him. He looked to the distance, but Lottie doubted Casey saw anything. His expression showed no acknowledgment, but she thought, maybe, just maybe, that meant he was worried as well, but when he didn't validate her concerns, she sighed and slipped from his arms to pace the clearing.

"You planned well for us, but not enough, and what I was able to steal from Gates hasn't lasted as long as I would have liked. I'm not a farmer, Casey. I'm doing the best I can." Casey made a soft noise in his throat, drawing her attention, and she wondered what it meant. Did he doubt her?

"Can you teach me what to look for?"

"Yes," she replied. "But it will be faster for both of us if I go with you."

She pivoted on her heel, heading back across the clearing. As she walked, she glanced at Casey frequently, trying to gauge his expression. Frustration choked her and made it hard to breathe. "I need to find some supplements for our diet. You realize that before the end of winter, every woman here except for Grace will be lactating, right?" A blush crept up Casey's neck. "That means we will all need additional calories to produce milk for our babies. Without it, they'll starve." He gave her a slight nod, but Lottie didn't think she'd swayed him. She tossed her hands in the air, only to drop them to her hips as she came to a stop. "All this could be avoided if one of us could go to Fort St. Louis and barter for our supplies."

A flash of—something—in Casey's gaze made Lottie pause, but before she could decipher what it was, the baby in her womb stood on her bladder. The sharp pain and immediate need to pee, left Lottie gasping, and lifting her belly with her hands. Ever solicitous, Casey tried to ease her down to the ground. She batted away his hands. "I'm fine. It was nothing."

"But the baby," Casey urged.

The sound of panic in his voice brought her head up sharply. Lottie touched his cheek. Her worry and frustration evaporated in the face of the stark fear expressed in his eyes.

"I'm fine," she reassured him. "It was nothing."

He opened and closed his mouth.

"The baby stood up is all."

"You sure?" Casey forced out. "You're not hurt?"

"Really. I'm fine."

Casey didn't look convinced. "That's why I didn't want you to come with us. What if this wasn't 'nothing'? I can't—I—"

"—I'm not an invalid, Casey. Let me be the judge of what I can and cannot do. I lived on my own long before you captured me, and I managed not to die. Besides, no one tells you what to do—."

"—Well, maybe they should," Casey barked. The surprise that froze him at that pronouncement would have been comical if his statement hadn't been so unexpected. Lottie peered at him, hoping for an explanation. His face blazed red, and he stalked toward the targets. When Casey drew near them, he dropped his hands to his hips.

Lottie didn't know if she should comfort him or leave him be, but when he didn't come back right away, she edged nearer. Sidling up to his side, Lottie leaned close and threaded her arms through his. Resting her cheek against his back, she felt his body quivered in her embrace. After several minutes of utter silence, he heaved a deep, shuddering breath and acknowledged her by rested his hands over hers.

"What did you mean?" she asked.

He patted her hand. "Nothing. Never mind."

Angry that he wouldn't confide in her had her yanking her arms from around him. "Don't shut me out, Casey. What did you mean by 'maybe they should'?"

When he turned to face her, the anger in Casey's expression made Lottie's stomach churn, and she regretted pushing him. The urge to tell him everything was fine, that he didn't need to explain burned like acid on her tongue, and she swallowed it back, determined to not back down from his fury. If they were going to be a couple, then she needed to stand up for herself, as Noah had said. Firming her shoulders, she bit out, "What did you mean?"

For several moments, it didn't look like he would tell her, but then his face contorted into an ugly mask, and he yelled, "I'm crippled, Lottie! I'll never walk right again!" His mouth closed with a snap, and his eyes glittered with—Tears?

Sympathy squeezed her heart. Casey's shoulders slumped, and he staggered over to a tree. Spinning, he leaned against it and eased himself to the ground where he stared at his outstretched feet.

She took a hesitant step forward. "Casey—"

"Don't," he barked, his voice thick with emotion stopped her in her tracks. "How can I provide for you if I can't even fucking walk? How can I keep you safe? How can I work?" His voice hitched, and he took a deep breath, turning his anguish filled eyes to hers. "How can you want me? I'm useless now."

Lottie dropped to her knees and pulled him into a hug. She didn't understand her feelings for him or his for her—they barely knew each other—but she couldn't imagine leaving his side. Not for anything, not even his injury.

"Because you're my husband," she whispered into the top of his head and dropped a kiss there. "That's why I want you."

He lifted his arms and pulled her onto his lap. Casey buried his face into the hair at her neck, squeezing her tight. She ran a hand down the back of his head, comforting him the same way she would Grey. Casey's hot tears stung her skin, and he hiccupped once.

Casey mumbled, "I don't even have the backing of my post anymore. I'm fucking worthless."

"No, Casey," she said, cradling his head between her two hands and pulling him from the crook of her neck, looking deep into his eyes. "You're not worthless." She thought about the women at the settlement. None of them would have been here if not for him. "You do so much for us." A flash of hope danced deep in his eyes before the light extinguished. Maybe humor would help, she thought. Seeing his self-doubt nearly choked her. "Just because you can't walk as well as before doesn't mean you can't provide. I mean, look at those pumpkins," Lottie said. A thin, weak smile lifted the corner of his lips for a moment before being dashed.

Lottie continued, "You need to realize that even if you never did anything else for us, you gave us the world." Curiosity sparked in his gaze. When it remained, and he hadn't discounted her statement immediately, Lottie elaborated, "Because of you, we get to keep our babies. That alone raises you above everyone else. Without them, we'd be nothing."

A more energetic smile graced his face, and his arms dropped from her shoulders to her waist. One of his hands slid toward her stomach and rested there. He placed a gentle kiss on her lips, and when he deepened it, it silently reaffirmed his place in her heart. 

# Chapter 4

Lottie collapsed against Casey's chest in an exhausted, sated lump. She couldn't believe how good she felt. Her skin tingled and her body quivered with pleasurable aftershocks. Casey's calloused hands gently rubbed the skin of her back.

"I didn't know it could feel like that," she whispered into his neck. Goosebumps from the chilled morning breeze lifted the hairs on her arms.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. "So? I did a good job?"

"More than good. Perfect," Lottie confessed. Sitting back on her heels, still straddling his hips, she looked down at Casey and teased at the few coarse strands of hair that cover his chest. The edge of her lip turned up into a smirk. Lottie couldn't believe it. She hadn't wanted to admit it—not even to herself—but after that first unfulfilling sexual encounter with Casey, she feared a lifetime of no pleasure except by her own hand. Thankfully, he'd proven her wrong. Casey had been gentle, attentive, coaxing her toward that shared goal slowly but surely. She loved him a little bit more for all his care and effort.

Casey, spying her grin, returned it with one of his own. Wrapping his fingers around hers, he squeezed them and whispered, "Come here."

His palms slid up her arms as she leaned forward until he could wrap a hand around her nape. Pulling her closer, he guided her lips to his where he kissed her deep and slow. Their breaths mingled, and she opened her mouth, letting her tongue dance with his. When their kiss ended, she rested her head on his shoulder. Her knees protested her position, but she couldn't find it in her heart to move off of him yet.

Lottie shifted her weight to get more comfortable, and Casey groaned. Every part of him tensed with her movement, even the part still inside her.

"You're so warm," he murmured, his hands resuming their languorous strokes on her back, and she sighed. She didn't want to move. "Am I forgiven?" he asked.

Lottie pushed back upright. Casey's hands slid down her arms to rest on her stomach. She pressed his palms into her skin and studied him for a moment. "For what?"

"For being a knuckle-dragging caveman and not letting you make your own decisions about what you can and cannot do?"

She kissed the tip of his nose. Like he had to ask. "Yep."

"Good."

His hand left her stomach and scratched at his neck.

Shifting under her, Casey tugged at the chain holding his identification tags, pulling them from where they rested in the dirt. He placed them back on his chest and toyed with them for a moment. Something caught her attention, and Lottie squinted, trying to see. Was there something between the two tags?

When Casey touched the item, his eyes widened, and he lifted them. Spreading the identification tags apart, he exposed a small band of woven metal. After some quick maneuvering, Casey removed the metal band from the chain and let it drop. They landed on his chest with a hollow thump, metal scraping against metal as they settled.

Lifting her left hand from his chest, he slid the metal onto her ring finger. "There," he said. His gaze caught hers, and he grinned. "Now it's official. You're my wife, and I plan to honor and cherish you forever."

Her cheeks warmed, and she brought her hand to eye level. The ring was three strands of braided metal.

"When I saw it at the fair, I knew it was perfect," Casey said. His finger touched the outer part of the band. "One strand for you," he said, then moved to the center, "One for Greysen." He pointed to the opposite outer band. "And one for me."

The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and she feared she would cry from joy. The intensity of her feelings was a bit of a surprise. She hadn't thought she needed proof of their relationship, but now faced with a tangible declaration, Lottie realized she craved this physical proof of her desirability. "Thank you," she whispered, unable to disguise the emotional waver to her voice.

Casey hugged her tight. "You're my everything." But before she could respond, he swatted her behind playfully. "Let's head back to the settlement. I want to show you what we recovered last night."

She nodded and eased herself from his lap. Evidence of their lovemaking trickled out from inside her, and her chest constricted painfully.

I'll fill you so full of come. It'll take you nine months to get rid of it.

"Lottie?" a voice called from far away. "Lottie?!"

Use her mouth first. I want to watch.

Her vision blurred. Hot tears burned tracks down her cheeks. "No! Don't touch me. Please!"

"Lottie!"

Hold her open.

She wrapped her arms around her chest and rocked. She was so cold. So, so cold. Lottie's skin tingled, and violent shivering wracked her body. She couldn't catch her breath. __

I wanna watch it leak out.

"No," she whimpered. "Please?"

"Lottie? Lottie! Come back to me. Come back to me right now!"

The searing heat of bare skin enveloped her, and she screamed and screamed and screamed.

"Sh. Lottie! Sh. It's me, Case."

Her fearful cries hiccupped into silence, and she turned her head. Beautiful hazel irises floated in front of her.

Hazel.

Not green.

It wasn't her attacker. She was safe.

"Lottie? Bean? Are you all right?

"All right?" she repeated the question in a murmur. Was she all right? Lottie shook her head and focused on his nose an inch in front of her face. __ "What happened?"

"You tell me." Casey's breathless voice sounded angry. She leaned back to get a better look. No, that was the wrong emotion, she amended. He was worried.

She cringed in embarrassment. "I had a flashback, didn't I?"

"I think so," he replied. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

Lottie covered her face with her hands. "I'm fine. You can let go."

"Tell me what happened first."

She shook her head. Telling him what happened was the last thing she wanted to do. Shivering and intensely uncomfortable in her nude state, Lottie stood. She needed to get dressed. Thankfully, Casey didn't restrain her.

While she yanked on her clothes, Casey shifted to face her.

Finally covered, Lottie wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked on her heels. She couldn't remember everything she'd told Casey about that time with the rogue soldiers, but she knew he'd figured out what had happened back when he learned her name.

Lottie's cheeks heated at what she was about to admit, and she shot him a concerned glance, trying to gauge his mood. He looked back at her, with his arms draped casually around his bent knees. His naked body drew her gaze lower. Snapping her attention back to his face, she caught his smirk. "Don't you want to get dressed?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

She shrugged at his response. Even if it was a bit distracting, who was she to stop him if he wanted to sit around nude?

"Tell me what happened?" he prodded.

"It was like I said. I had a flashback." She had them often enough to recognize the panic attack. Her lips turned down in a frown. At least she hadn't thrown up this time.

"Tell me. What did you see in your mind a few minutes ago?" His statement wasn't quite a request, and the warmth in her cheeks grew stronger.

Steeling her shoulders, she said, "Grey's donor"—She had to stop to swallow past the lump in her throat. Casey calmly waited for her to continue—"he said he'd fill me so full it would take nine months to get rid of him."

Lottie snuck another glance at Casey, he looked furious, and she released a shuddering breath. He had to be angry at the donor and not her, right? It wasn't like she'd done anything wrong. She lifted one shoulder and dropped it. Why was it so hard for her to explain? "Anyway... I kinda—leaked—a lot, and—" Lottie couldn't continue.

Leaves rustled as Casey stood and gathered her in his arm. She hugged him back.

"Our lovemaking reminded you of your ordeal?"

She nodded. "Sort of." It had been more than that, but close enough.

He nodded. "Not sure how we can overcome that type of conditioning, but we'll work on it, all right?"

Lottie nodded again.

"I wasn't—isn't—your fault," he reassured.

"Okay."

They stood there silently for several moments, but eventually, Casey released her. As he bent to pick up his pants, someone cursed, "Jesus, Huxley! Every time I see you, you're butt-ass naked. Do you ever wear pants?"

"Fuck you, Tristan," Casey said calmly, pushing one leg in and then the other.

"No, thanks. You're not my type," Tristan said. Leaning around the barrier of Casey's body, he wiggled his eyebrows up and down at her. "Hi, Momma."

"Hi, Tristan," Lottie returned.

Tristan then addressed Casey's back as Casey did up his cargos and fastened his belt. "I hope you didn't harm any chickens this time."

_Chickens?_

Casey rolled his eyes and said a little more forcefully, "I said, 'fuck you' Tristan."

Tristan winked at her the broke into a spirited rendition of Isabel, the chicken. "Bawwk! Bawwk!"

Lottie tried not to smile as Tristan continued to cluck like a chicken while Casey growled, "Fuck you, Tristan!" She didn't understand Tristan's amusement, but Casey's face was beet red, so whatever this 'chicken' comment meant, it had embarrassed Casey.

Plucking his shirt from the ground, Casey yanked it over his head and then donned his jacket. He caught her gaze and gave her a brief smile before rounding on Tristan. He reared back, his hand balled into a fist. Casey let it fly, but Tristan danced out of the way of his punch. Lottie figured Casey hadn't tried very hard to hit his friend, or he would have made contact.

Tristan, for his part, wiped at his eyes with his thumbs and 'bawwked' one more time before calming enough to stop laughing like an idiot. "Man..." Tristan bent over, his hands resting on his knees as he panted, clearly trying to suppress his giggles, which threatened to resume. Pushing upright, Tristan glanced at her. "Sorry, Momma. Couldn't help it."

Lottie shrugged, completely lost.

Facing Casey, Tristan said, "Sorry to interrupt, but we have a situation."

"Situation?" Casey barked.

"Yep. Some'un's lookin' for Noah."

"Shit."

***

The drag-step-clomp of his footsteps sounded loud in the quiet forest, and Casey cursed his stupidity once again. He'd been safe in that drainage pipe! If he'd stayed there a week more—one fucking week—he never would have permanently injured his ankle.

"Who's looking for Noah," Lottie asked.

Casey's gaze found and then lingered on Lottie's ass, and a jolt of lust shot through him. The desire to drag her back to a semi-secluded location burned in his chest.

"Said name's Ayers," Tristan answered.

Resentment flared in Casey's chest, and he scolded himself on the inappropriateness of the feeling, but chasing after Noah and his friend was not how Casey wanted to spend his third day back with his family. Per the usual, though, Noah hadn't left him with any palatable choices. It was either insult this Ayers by telling him to wait while Casey relaxed with his wife and son or be polite and receive him. Casey growled under his breath.

"Did he say what he wanted," Casey called to Tristan.

"You mean aside from askin' if Noah was here?"

"Yeah."

"Nope."

"Who found him?" Lottie asked.

"Did he trip one of our alerts?" Casey made a note to reset whichever alarm Ayers had triggered. Tristan's shoulders tensed. A movement so slight, Casey wasn't sure he would have noticed if he hadn't already been staring at Tristan's back. "He did set off one of the alarms, didn't he?"

Tristan shook his head. "I was on my way back from my first perimeter check, and there he was, standin' in the middle of the clearin' talkin' to Grace and Nyah."

"Dammit," Casey muttered under his breath. "How'd he get past Noah's booby-traps?" But another worrying thought pushed his irritation aside. "You said Ayers was in camp? Alone? Was Brad there?"

Glancing back to Casey, Tristan gave a firm shake of the head. "We split up to do the check. We wanted to get done fast so we could be back to help the women."

Casey cursed and ran a hand through his hair. An unknown at his camp without one of his men serving as protection? It made his blood boil, and the desire to protect the women and children at the settlement had overruled any response he may have been inclined to give at Tristan's admission. "Step it up," he ordered. "I needed to be at the camp yesterday."

"Understood," came Tristan's clipped reply.

Lottie glanced back at him. Her eyebrow cocked in silent question. She didn't look nearly upset enough at the news of a stranger in the camp, and, in light of her panic attack moments ago, Casey wondered why. In the end, it didn't matter. The three of them were heading to the lone figure standing at their campfire.

"Huxley?" a short, muscular man called when Casey limped into view.

"Yes."

The man extended his hand to shake. "Agent Ayers, here." Ayer's inclined his balding head in Tristan's direction, which Tristan acknowledged with a similar motion. Facing Lottie, he twitched his head in greeting and said, "Forrester."

"Hello."

Refocusing on Casey, Ayers said, "Care to tell me why Captain Kenzie is discreetly asking around for a 'Noah Ives'?"

"Captain Kenzie?" Casey asked perplexed. Who was that?

"Yes. Agriculture and Husbandry Cultivation Captain Emilio Kenzie"

Lottie wove her fingers in his, and he felt her trembling. The skin around her eyes was tight with tension, but when she spoke, it was with a steady voice. "I can."

"Elaborate?" Ayers ordered.

Casey saw her swallow hard. Dropping her chin to her chest, she murmured, "He was at Gates."

No one spoke for several moments. Lottie glanced up and caught Casey's eye, silently pleading with him, but he didn't know why. When Casey didn't reply, her shoulders fell in defeat, and she faced Ayers. "I told Leo"— _ah, Leo_ , now Casey understood. She'd feared his reaction—"about my plans to rescue Grace and Zoe from the secret facility. He helped us get out through the men's barracks."

"And because you'd never see him again, you felt telling about Ives was acceptable?" Ayers asked, taking a step toward her. The threat clear in his words and actions. Casey pushed Lottie behind his back, and Tristan stepped next to him, shielding Lottie from Ayers' view. Casey sent Tristan a silent thank you for his show of support.

"Watch it," Casey growled.

Ayers took a deep breath, gave him a curt nod, and relaxed his posture. "Why was telling Kenzie about Ives acceptable to you?"

"Leo wanted to help."

"I doubt that."

"Why?" Lottie asked. "He helped us escape, didn't he?"

"Debatable."

Lottie groaned. "Getting out of Gates proved to be harder than Noah'd thought. If Leo hadn't helped us, then we would have left a usually-locked-door unlocked. Discovery by the guards would have happened during their first perimeter check of the facility. As it was, letting us out through the barracks gave us several hours of a head start." Taking a deep breath, Lottie added, "I think that alone proves Leo is trustworthy. None of the other men there would have risked their careers for us."

Casey had to agree. Any soldier—a captain, no less—willing to let the women leave a super-secret breeding facility got an automatic pass in his book, and now Casey wanted to meet this Captain Kenzie. They had something in common, after all.

"Ives secrecy is his security. His missions require it."

Lottie exhaled forcefully, blowing the tendrils out of her eyes. "He's still secret. If he wasn't, Leo'd send him a message through IPD, right? But instead, Leo asks around. 'Discreetly.' It seems to me, Leo knows to be careful."

Casey chuckled softly. _She's got you there._

"Do you know what Leo wants?" she asked, then as an aside, she murmured, "I wonder if it's about Zoe..."

"No." Ayers clipped answer caught all of their attention.

Dropping Casey's fingers, she stepped away from him, asking, "So your panties are in a wad, and you don't even know why?" Ayers grunted. "Why don't you find that out and then come back? Noah might even be here by then."

"Where is he?"

"Don't know," Lottie said with a shrug. "It's classified."

Tristan barked a laugh before smothering it under his hand.

Giving Lottie a dirty look, Ayers growled, "I don't have time for this."

"Okay," she said, drawing the word out. "Don't take the time for it. No one asked you to come here."

If only they had an I-Comm soldier who was trustworthy enough to keep their secrets yet had the autonomy to be a go-between for them. Casey stepped further away from Lottie. His finger touched his lips, partially covering his mouth as he thought. The answer eluded him.

"What're you thinkin'," Tristan whispered, pulling him aside.

"We need a messenger who we trust. If we had that—"

"—Then, Noah and Ayers wouldn't be inconvenienced."

"Exactly."

"Wonder why they don't have someone in their pocket yet."

Casey shrugged. He didn't understand half the things Noah did or why he did them.

"Cameron," Tristan whispered in his ear, interrupting his thoughts.

"Cameron?"

"Yeah," Tristan replied. "He's good, right? Solid? Didn't you say he was in IPD? He might be pissed enough at his demotion to throw his career to the wind."

"Wouldn't have to." Casey found himself nodding. "He's perfect. Trustworthy. Said he wanted to see the countryside."

"And he will if he's off tryin' to find Noah all the damn time." Tristan and Casey both snorted at that.

Turning back to Ayers, Casey said, "Why don't you vet Private Cameron Busch. He's IPD. He could help out."

"No."

Undeterred, Casey said, "Do a background check. Ask around," Casey said with a sigh. "If he doesn't seem like a good fit, then don't contact him. No harm. No foul. But I think you'll find he's what we need."

***

"This one's disabled too," Casey said, tossing the bent metal pin that had held the tripwire in place.

"You serious?"

"Yep." Casey stood, dusting his hands on his pants and glared at the disarmed booby-trap in disgust. "What the fu—" Casey cut himself off in the middle of his curse, and began again, "What's the point of having the damn early warning system if someone from the RAC is going to disable them?"

"I don't know, Case. Maybe he did it as a professional goal?"

"No. If that were the case, he could have left them intact." Casey walked around the broken alarm. As an aside, he said, "At least this one's repairable, unlike the last one," then louder, Casey said, "Leaving them alone would have sent a stronger message." Pulling a new pin from his pocket, Casey bent and grabbed the wire, and worked at resetting the trap.

"Maybe he thought if he avoided them, we would think they didn't work or that he never encountered one. Disablin' them made sure we knew he found them."

Dropping the pin back in place, Casey said, "But Ayers had to go out of his way to hit all of them." The exercise seemed excessive and unnecessary. Once finished, he joined Tristan. With a wave of his hand, he motioned Tristan forward. "After you."

Tristan nodded. "Want me to run ahead? Check out the next one?"

Sharp pain in Casey's chest left him breathless. How many times had they jogged through a perimeter check? Never again. "No," Casey said, shaking his head. "I can pretty much guarantee it's disarmed. Besides, walking will give us enough time to talk about our next reclamation mission."

"Okay. Shoot."

"I think it will be more efficient to take Brad and Jaesen as well as Lottie and Grace."

"She gave you hell, huh?"

"A little bit."

"Brad and Jaesen, though?" Tristan asked. "What about camp security."

Huffing a laugh, Casey asked, "What security? We don't have any. Ayers made sure to rip that wool off my eyes."

"What about the IRT?"

"What about 'em?"

"The women won't have anyone here to help them if they show up while we're gone."

Casey shook his head. "I doubt the IRT is close yet, and I think it'll be faster and more secure in the long run to have all able bodies go. Between the six of us, we should be able to strip out what we need and haul it all back in one trip." Swinging his cane, he pushed the leaves out of his path and adjusted his grip. He needed it to fall more squarely against the earth. He was getting better at being silent but had a long way to go.

"I don't know, Case. Those solar panels are pretty big. They won't fit in the wheelbarrow. And what about that stove?"

"It'll have to stay. We don't have a new home for it yet."

"True," Tristan agreed. "But do you want to make a third trip later?"

"Where would we put it if we bring it back now?" Casey stepped around a tree, pushing the bare branches to the side for Tristan, who followed him. "It's not like we can hook it up and use it yet, and if it stays at the house, then it's protected by the kitchen roof. I'd hate to have that stove sustain any damaged by bringing it back here and then leaving it to the elements, and the storage shed's already too small for what we have." Falling into step with Tristan, Casey added, "We need to make a bigger one."

"You wanna use the trees we ring-barked last spring?"

"No. I want those for our log cabin. The tents are temporary. Hell, half of them aren't even winter ones. That reminds me, we'll have to switch up who has which tent. I want to make sure the babies and moms stay warm all winter."

Glancing over at Casey, Tristan said, "Consider it done. But back to the shed, I don't see any other way to do it. If you want the homestead shed expanded this year, and you want to avoid usin' the trees earmarked for the log cabin, then we'll need to strip the framin' wood from that house as well what we take from it."

"We could chop down some more trees."

Tristan said, "Yes, but they'll be green, and we did that with the current construction."

"And you can already see the weathering damage," Casey added, running a hand through his hair.

They walked in companionable silence for a bit, and Casey resumed trying to soften his steps.

"So the way I see, if you want the solar panels, wood for the shed, _and_ all those tools brought back in one trip, then we'll need to build three travoises," Tristan began, revealing where his thoughts had been. "We'll use one for the solar panels—since they take up a lot of space—and then, one for the tools, and another for the last of the framin' wood for the shed." Tristan jogged ahead for a few steps. "Yep. You were right, Ayers disarmed this one too."

Casey sighed. "Repairable?"

"Nope," Tristan said, shaking his head and holding up the cut wire, and Casey swallowed back his curse.

Joining him again, Tristan continued, "Hell, we can even use wood from the house to build the travois, then repurpose it once we get back—it'll cut down on what we need to haul for the shed."

"How long do you think it will take?"

Tristan shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "A couple of hours?" Tristan glanced at him. "It'll be a three-day process at a minimum."

"Why that long?"

He shrugged again. "Even with help, it'll take a bit to prep the boards, build the travois, and load them up. And now that the days are shorter..."

Casey grunted in agreement, mulling over what Tristan said. "Pulling boards from the walls will expose the insulation and studs, and if we take too much wood, we'll have to take the stove. Who knows how fast the house will degrade once we start dismantling it."

With a snicker, Tristan said, "Sounds like we're bringin' that stove home sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, sounds like it."

"Oh, we should take some of the wirin's."

"Wiring?" A thought tickled at the back of Casey's mind, but he couldn't quite recall it.

"We can skip the insulation, but the studs are gold. And the wirin'? I had a good look at the kit attached to those panels, and they only had a few spools worth of wirin'. We'll want more of it for those panels, I'm sure."

Wiring? Why did Casey feel like he was missing something? Something big. Then it came to him, _...power supplies that weren't collected or turned in..._ The army was looking for wiring, among other things. Another memory grabbed his attention. _All this could be avoided if one of us could go to Fort St. Louis and barter for our supplies._ In a rush of adrenaline, Casey knew how to solve several of their problems. "That's it!"

Tristan's head whipped back and forth. "What? What is it?"

Grabbing Tristan's forearm, Casey stopped their forward momentum. "That's how we'll solve our food shortage problem."

"Where are you goin' with this," Tristan asked, his eyebrow cocked in question.

"You'll take wood from the house for the travois, right?"

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"And you figured we could take the wiring?."

"Uh-huh."

Casey's head fell forward on his neck, willing Tristan to see the possibilities.

"Yes," Tristan prompted.

Casey gave his arm a little shake. "If we harvest the wire and plumbing pipes and assuming they are in good condition, we can take them to Fort St. Louis to barter for the supplies we need to see us through the winter."

Tristan's eyes widened. "What made you think of this?"

"Something Cameron said back in June about how the PGD's branched out, sending soldiers into the countryside for unclaimed power supplies. And then, Lottie wondered why we couldn't go to Fort St. Louis to supplement our shortages."

Excitement sparked in Tristan's expression. "That's a great idea. Too bad we can't use the windows and shingles too."

The corner of Casey's lip turned up. "Yeah, not for barter, but we can use it on our buildings. It'd do a lot better than the wood shingles we made for Shelter Six."

"We could use the gas pipes from those houses closer to Fort Sutton. I bet they'd net us quite a bit on the market grounds."

"They might."

"This does highlight a few additional problems, though," Tristan said. "If we are goin' to deconstruct that house for items to barter, we won't do it in a day. Add to that, the coldest months are only a few weeks away, and now we're lookin' at an even bigger problem. Travelin' in January's dangerous, and conversely, if we wait too long, we'll have trouble with the food shortage."

Casey resumed walking toward the last of their early alert alarms hidden in the woods. "We'll have to do it in stages. And if we don't finish by January, then it will have to wait for March. But if we concentrate on the wire, we'll get the best return on our effort since it has the highest value. And if we bring Nyah and Zoe—"

"No," Tristan cut him off. "We have to leave the women with infants behind. We can't risk the children."

"You're right," Casey ceded. He couldn't ask the women—especially the new mothers—to take on such a daunting task. Casey knew better. That was how he hurt his ankle, after all, pushing for more when he should be resting. Casey shook his head. "So we focus on the wiring, and once harvested, we send someone back to Fort St. Louis to get what we need." Casey stopped, forcing Tristan to double back. "Who can we send? Can't be you or me."

Tristan gave him a tight nod. "Jaesen or Brad, maybe, or Noah if he gets back in time. We could ask him."

Casey shook his head. "You think it's smart to send two retires back to Fort St. Louis? What if someone notices their absence? And Noah has his RAC duties. He can't keep dropping everything for us."

"Well, if not them, then who? Can't be the women. They'd land their asses back at gates for sure."

It was times like these when Casey regretted getting caught breaking the law. He wished he had a full squad at his disposal. "I'd send Javier if I could."

They were quiet. Thinking. After a few moments, Tristan asked, "Well, why can't you?"

"What?"

"Send Javier."

"He's at Fort Sutton." Casey was surprised he even had to mention it.

"So," Tristan said. "You know he'd jump at the chance to be on a covert mission. Besides, he already knows all about us and the risks inherent in the mission."

"How would we get him? It's not like I can waltz right in and give him orders. We don't even know if it's Lincoln who's in charge."

"I'll go. I'll pack up and leave as soon as we get back."

"It'll be well after dark before you get to Fort Sutton," Casey said.

"That's an asset, not a hindrance."

Casey inclined his head once in agreement. "All right. You head there, and I'll prep the team on what is going on."

"Deal. When will he deploy?"

"Let's say it takes you tomorrow and the next day to discuss details with Javier and get recon on Fort Sutton, then a day of rest and prep before heading to the north cabin. A day of travel. A day to build the travois and load up. Two days to travel home with the spoils and a final day of rest," Casey said.

"So, ten days?"

"Sounds good."

Tristan clapped Casey on the shoulder. "Excellent."

***

"You doin' all right, Momma?"

Lottie glanced up at Tristan from her crouched position and swiped a soggy strand of her hair from her face. "Yep," she replied, dropping her handful of acorns into the bucket Grace had found. The sound of the seeds settling against the sides added a high pitch accompaniment to the more industrious sounds of a handsaw attacking the loose wood from the house and the steady pounding from inside where Casey and Jaesen worked to dismantle the walls and free the electrical wiring.

"Okay, you get cold or tired or need a break, there's coffee percolatin' on the stove in the kitchen."

Smiling at him, Lottie asked excitedly, "Your coffee?"

"You got it."

Dropping her new handful of seeds into the bucket, she raised her hand to Tristan. He grabbed it and pulled her to her feet. She dusted off the knees of her pants with her palms and grimaced. Moisture from the steady drizzle made everything clammy and damp. Could be worse, she thought, frowning at the newly formed mud on her hands, could be super cold and snowy instead of rainy.

"Thanks," she said, and they split up. Her steps took her into the dwelling, and Tristan joined Brad at the sawhorses set up next to the house. Walking inside, she groaned in bliss. It was a good twenty degrees warmer and a hundred percent dryer in the kitchen. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, Lottie poured herself a generous portion of Tristan's coffee. She blew over the top of the cup before taking a sip. _Ever-absent God, Tristan's coffee is good._ Lottie hoped he'd be able to plant more of the trees in their small orchard at the settlement. If not, she might have to send him back to Fort Sutton to steal some coffee beans from the trees there.

Warm arms wrapped around her torso, and Lottie's free hand found Casey's on her stomach. A light kiss landed on her temple. "How are you holding up?"

"Good. Hungry."

Casey snickered softly in her ear and squeezed her gently. "How's my son doing?"

Tapping her fingers on the back of Casey's hand, she said, "This one's doing summersaults every time Tristan or Brad make noise. Grey's with Grace, probably driving her to distraction by emptying her bucket of acorns onto the ground and playing with them."

"Well, if Greysen gets to be too much, send him in here. I'll watch him for a bit."

"No. It's okay. He's fine with us."

Casey spun Lottie in his arms and tipped her head up by the chin to stare deep into her eyes. "I am here, you know. You don't have to do it alone."

"I know that," Lottie said at the same time as Casey said, "I'm not an invalid."

Lottie nuzzled Casey's palm with her chin. The move was both comforting and a misdirection. She didn't want him to see her concern about him walking around with Grey in his arms. It would only aggravate his already aching leg, and she didn't want him to suffer unnecessarily.

"I'm serious, Lottie."

"I know."

His breath fanned against her crown, and his lips pressed to her hair. "What a pair we make, huh?"

Lottie chuckled and pulled away from his embrace. Sipping her brew, she smiled at him over the steam. "I'll get a stew going for lunch. You able to watch it if I go back outside?"

Casey brushed her cheek with his thumb. "You bet." Leaning in, he gave her a peck on the lips. Before it could deepen, a squealed "Daddy!" came from the doorway.

"Hey there, buddy," Casey greeted Grey, stooping down to scoop the little boy up into his arms. "You being good for Grandma?"

Grey spun his hands together and made exploding noises while he nodded.

"Good," Casey said. "Want to help me with wiring?"

"Yesh," Grey said. Lottie grinned at how cute he sounded with his little lisp.

Casey smiled over Grey's head and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. Pivoting on his heel, he entered the living room, calling out to Jaesen as he went. "Got us a helper."

"Hepper!" Grey agreed, drowning out Jaesen's reply as Lottie's two men rounded the corner and disappeared down the hall. Lottie took another sip of her coffee and set to work on the stew.

"You should let him help more," Grace said from the doorway. Lottie yelped in surprise. Her hand pressed to her chest as she whorled to face her mother, who added, "He's perfectly capable."

"I know that," Lottie replied, turning back to her task.

"Then why do you fight him on it?"

Lottie shrugged. It was hard to let go, to let him in. Lottie and Grey'd been on their own for so long, and Casey's absences still outweighed his appearances. Changing the subject, Lottie asked, "What do you think of Javier's plan? Having Casey go to the Six-Flags Pack to trade what we can salvage from here instead of going to Fort St. Louis?"

"I think it's a smart idea," Grace replied. "From what I understand, they're an established group. Couple hundred strong, right?" Lottie nodded. "They're a better fit for the items we have to bargain. We can even trade the cabinets and doors." Grace indicated the room with her hand. "And"—Grace stressed the word—"They're more likely to have what we need. I've been to the markets in Fort St. Louis. Plenty of things to trade for, but not a lot of stored food. No real need for it. The barracks and communal home provide that."

Again, Lottie nodded. She hadn't liked the idea of Javier going to Fort St. Louis. What if they caught him? She'd hate for him to get kicked out of the Army for her. But now? Now, he convinced Casey to go too. She swallowed hard, remembering her few seconds long encounter on the Pack's perimeter.

Drawing Lottie's attention, Grace continued, "Hard as hell to hide what we're bartering even if it was just the wire. Javier and Casey'll raise fewer eyebrows trading with the Pack than he would with any of Noah's contacts in Fort St. Louis—if he even has any." Lottie agreed with everything Grace had said, but it made her nervous.

Lottie relaxed her fingers and smoothed her shirt before returning to her lunchtime preparation. After a few moments of silence, she heard Grace sigh. "Need help?"

"Sure," Lottie replied. They worked quickly and quietly, and in no time had a rudimentary soup prepped and on the stove. "Let's walk the grounds. See if the old owner had a garden or something."

"All right," Grace responded, using a scrap of wool as a towel for her hands. "I think I saw an apple tree on our way here."

"Sounds good." Lottie held a finger up. "Give me a second to let Casey know we're leaving."

***

Lottie stepped into the warm kitchen with Grace hot on her heels. Setting Grey down, Lottie quickly divested him of his wet, mud-covered clothes, while, behind Lottie, Grace muttered to herself. Taking a blanket from her pack, she rubbed Grey down until his skin turned pink from the friction. "You think he'll get sick?"

"No worse than the rest of us," Grace replied. "Toss me his clothes."

"They're filthy. I should wash them first."

"He's just going to get them dirty again tomorrow."

_True_ , Lottie thought, but the mother in her balked. It seemed lazy to settle for dirty clothes when there was a river not even fifty feet away. Besides, it wasn't like any of them could get any wetter, and she shook her head. Lottie couldn't let it slide. She had to clean his clothes. "I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder as she left the dwelling.

Running to the river, she waved to the guys as she passed. Tristan acknowledged her with a twitch of his head and resumed his task. Pity welled in her breast. All four of the men looked bedraggled, stuck as they were, out in the downpour, trying to secure the cargo on the travois and protect them with a tarp that was too small.

She shook her head and kept hustling toward the water. It was unfortunate that the coffee was gone, Lottie sighed, craving something warm to drink, but maybe she could find something else. Maybe a chicory tea. Hadn't she seen some stalks with wilted flowers by the river?

Hopping a few stones into the deepest part of the quickly flowing water, Lottie knelt and dipped Grey's clothes into the frigid stream, watching as the dirt swirled and disappeared. Once the water ran clear, she scrunched the fabric between her fingers a few times to make sure the garments were clean.

Gritting her teeth against the chill, Lottie wrung out the clothes and then snapped them a few times to shake the excess water loose before returning to the bank where she glanced upstream, searching. "There it is," Lottie crowed in glee.

A few steps later, she dropped to a crouch and quickly prized several chicory roots free. Lottie took the cleaned clothes, and the washed roots back to the house. Cheering, Lottie said, "I found chicory!"

"Mommy!" Grey yelled before dismissing her in favor of his toy. She smiled. He would have dropped his toy in a heartbeat had she been Casey.

Her heart gave a small lurch, and Lottie shrugged. There was nothing she could do about Grey's favoritism, so instead of dwelling on it, she took the wet clothes and roots to the table and dumped them there before hustling to Grace's side.

"Here," Lottie said, grabbing the rope Grace held. Relinquishing it, Grace finished hammering in a nail for the makeshift clothesline. After securing it into an exposed stud, Grace wound the rope around the nailhead and then stepped away.

Lottie tested it and said, "That should hold well enough." Moving back to the table, she retrieved Grey's wet clothes and draped them over the line to dry. Grace's shirt and pants followed a moment after.

Lottie lifted her eyebrow in question as she glanced at Grace.

"What?" Grace said, shrugging her shoulders and dressed in a dry shirt from her pack.

Grace had a good point. No reason to stand around in soaked clothes. Lottie quickly stripped out of her jacket, shirt, and pants. Goosebumps erupted down her arms and back as she retrieved her pajamas from her bag. After dressing in her shorts and tank, Lottie liberated her bedroll blanket from her knapsack. "Come here, Grey," she called.

Grey stood and walked toward her. Lottie brushed a thumb across his blue lips, worried. "Sit with him, will you?"

Wrapping Grey in the blanket, Lottie handed him to Grace, who then found a comfortable spot near the stove. Grey looked content. His hand patted Grace on the chest, and his thumb found his mouth. As Lottie watched, Grey relaxed. His eyelids grew heavy, and within moments he was asleep, his lips falling slack around his thumb.

"That didn't take long," Grace murmured, leaning back against the wall.

"Nope," Lottie agreed with a grin.

But now that Grey was warm and safe, she had work to do. After dropping her clothes on the line as well, Lottie made her way to the stove. Opening the front loading draw, Lottie dropped some more wood onto the coals. Reaching underneath, she adjusted the temperature control, dampening the flow of heat to the oven. Satisfied with the settings, Lottie returned to the table with a sharp knife where she made quick work of the Chicory roots.

Scooping up the small disks, Lottie spread them out evenly on the cooking tray they'd found amongst the other useful items in the house. Once finished, Lottie put the sheet in the oven to roast. Hopefully, it wouldn't take too long—two hours at most—then she could grind the pieces and begin the tea.

***

"How about Star Wars?" Brad asked. "You saw that video in the communals, right? It's like a rite of passage or something."

"Sure," Jaesen responded at the same time as Tristan replied with a "Yep."

"Good," Brad said with a grin and then launched into the famous quote with a perfect imitation of Darth Vader. "Luke, I am your father."

"Nice," Jaesen said.

Affecting a deep, yet smooth voice, Brad said, "In your haste to save the world, boy, take care you don't destroy it."

"Where's that one from," Tristan inquired, snapping a tarp open with a flick of his wrist.

Casey dropped the salvaged boards he carried onto the travois, which also held the last of the woodworking tools from the shed. He brushed his hands across his thighs and then popped the collar of his jacket and grimaced. It didn't help keep him warm or shield him from the rain, which had started in the morning as a light, tolerable drizzle but was now a full-blown, gully-washing downpour.

"That came from a video game," Brad answered.

"Video game? When you get to play one of those?" Jaesen asked.

"Didn't," Brad replied. "It was part of a compilation video in my Social Studies class senior year highlighting how, historically, pop-culture was able to remark on societal issues covertly before the opportunity was gone forever. The game—if I remember right—was Assassin's Creed."

"Huh," Jaesen said, grabbing the corner of the tarp Tristan held out for him. Casey and Brad both stepped forward to catch their respective sides. The task seemed moot. Everything was already wet, and the tarp Tristan insisted they use to cover this travois was too small by several feet. Instead of arguing the point, Casey moved to his designated corner at the top of the travois.

Bending, Casey worked on securing the edge of the tarp with a bit of rope through the grommet. His fingers were stiff with cold, and he fumbled, dropping the line in the process. He glanced up to see if anyone noticed his clumsy attempt at securing the tarp and caught Tristan greeting someone behind him. Casey shifted and looked over his shoulder. Lottie had her head down, braced against the rain, off on some errand or another. Casey's gaze dropped from her back to her ass as she moved away. Need coiled in his belly, making it hard to think. When the tarp tugged from his grip, Casey looked up, surprised. Heat crept up his neck as his gaze collided with Tristan's amused one.

"You forget how to tie a knot?" Tristan asked with a smirk.

"No," Casey grumbled, pawing at the tarp until he had it in his grasp again. His over the top irritation was short-lived and tended more toward himself than at his friend. As a self-professed boob fanatic, ever-absent God only knew why he switched to an ass man with Lottie, but he couldn't deny the truth. Her rear end aroused him every time.

"Tristan, I thought you knew?" Jaesen said with a definite chuckle. "He already tied the knot. Gave 'er a ring and everything."

Casey glared at Jaesen.

"Yeah, I heard that," Brad said with a wink in his direction.

"How about another one?" Casey pinched his lips together to keep his smile hidden. The group found his reaction amusing, and Casey had to refocus on his task. Determined to ignore his friends' ribbing, Casey finished securing his corner of the tarp. "Done."

"Good, two more to go," Tristan said.

As a group, they moved to the next load, secured it, and then repeated the process one last time on the final travois. As they finished tying the last knot, Brad began his game again. "Okay, tell me who did this one? 'It is both an honor and a privilege to serve this great nation. We have come a long way America.'"

Brad's falsetto made Casey snicker. "President Platek?" he asked at the same time as Tristan remarked, "You're really good."

"Yep. And thanks," Brad replied, then launched into his next quote. "I ask you to ensure that humanity is served by wealth, not ruled by it." Brad paused, waiting.

Casey shook his head. Was that from President Ellington's 'Retraction of Services' speech? When no one took a guess, Brad sighed and said, "Pope Francis."

Jaesen cursed as he stood. "I should have known that."

"We can't all be perfect," Brad said in a breathy tone and clapped Jaesen on the shoulder, steering him toward the dilapidated, abandoned home. As they drew near, Brad broke into song. "Happy birthday, Mr. President. Happy Birthday. To. You.

"Now you're yankin' our chain," Tristan said on a chuckle and pushed the door open. Casey and his men spilled into the room, laughin' raucously. A child's wail rent the air with an excruciatingly loud cry. Casey whipped around in time to see Grace's dirty look before it disappeared behind Lottie's scantily clad form. Her shorts were an old pair of Casey's boxers, which he'd given her two years ago after her delivery of Greysen. Her sage green tank top was new, though. Probably from Gates, Casey thought, cataloging it during his usual quick pass of a location to update his situational awareness.

A hand smacked him in the chest. Casey turned to see who'd done it, and Tristan grinned, lifting his eyebrows repeatedly, and Casey mock punched him in the shoulder. Tristan, for his part, yelped as if Casey'd hurt him and earned another round of chuckles from the guys.

His tone dripped with anger and false hurt. "Wha'd'ya hit me for?"

"Watch it," Casey said with a glare, but there was no bite to his tone. "That's my wife you're ogling." Casey's light-hearted chastisement was interrupted by Greysen's tears. Hustling to Lottie's side, he offered to take Greysen from her.

"Daddy!" Greysen keened, lunging toward him.

Enveloping him in his arms, Casey hugged Greysen tight. His gaze momentarily arrested by the sight of Lottie's breasts as the wool blanket trailed down to reveal significant cleavage.

"Oh, guess this one," Brad's voice rose above the din, shaking Casey from his gawking. "And that is why the Supreme Court rules to uphold the five-star Generals law proposed by President Rionach."

"Judge Seerinbetty," Grace called out.

"Right you are," Brad agreed, but Casey barely heard him over the racket Greysen was making.

Lottie gave Casey a quick, relieved smile as Casey began to console Greysen. She then grabbed the coffee pot from the stove. With four mugs pinched between her fingers, she headed toward the men on the other side of the room.

Turning, Casey spied Tristan in his boxers, hanging his soaking wet pants on a clothesline Lottie and Grace must have strung earlier. Juggling Greysen, his swaddling, and the two mugs Lottie had left on the counter, Casey made his way to the small table on the other side of the room. He set the cups he down, and Lottie began filling them with hot liquid.

"Mmm. Smells good, Momma. What is it? Chicory?" Tristan asked. He ran a hand through his blond hair, flinging water drops everywhere.

Handing him a mug, Lottie replied, "Yep. Chicory tea. Freshly roasted and sweetened with wild raspberry. Oh, and there's smoked turkey soup with turnips, carrots, and wilted amaranth leaves for dinner." Turning to Brad, she asked, "Did I hear you singing Marilyn Monroe as you came in?"

"Yep."

"You're good."

"Thanks," Brad replied, smiling at her. "It's a bit of a hobby of mine."

"Who else can you impersonate?" Jaesen asked.

"Eh," Brad said, scratching the back of his head. "Mostly Presidents. That's pretty much all they showed us in school or had available during the sanction computer time."

"Can ya do another one," Tristan prompt.

"Sure," Brad paused, thinking. "Okay, here's another famous one, 'As I told General Trystone yesterday, "sacrifice" is precisely the proper term to use to describe this program's purpose of self-denial.'"

Holding up her index finger, Lottie said, "Oh, oh, I know this one." Letting her hand fall to her side, she stuttered for a minute before blurting, "President Roosevelt!"

"Wrong," Brad said with a grin. "But close. This president used similar terminology of Roosevelt's 'Call to Sacrifice' speech to prove his point."

Casey bounced Greysen gently and shook his head when Brad caught his eye. Casey couldn't guess. He had no idea who said those words.

Groaning, Brad replied, "I thought for sure you'd know it, Case, it was from President Ellington's 'Retraction of Services' speech, when he needed to convince the populous about giving up their modern transportation, fancy homes, and cushy, pointless jobs."

"Sorry," Casey said.

"Eh." Brad shrugged.

"Here," Lottie said, dropping blankets across the shoulders of Brad and Tristan before handing one to Jaesen. Her warm hands collided with Casey's as she took Greysen from him, and Casey shivered at the contact. Lottie nodded to the last chair, where a blanket rested on its torn upholstery.

Shifting so he had room to maneuver, Casey quickly stripped out of his wet clothes and slid into the seat she'd indicated.

"Why don't you tell Brad the story about the spirit board?" Jaesen prompted Grace.

"Okay," she replied, leaning forward over the table to begin, and Casey settled back in his seat, fully prepared to enjoy an evening of storytelling and jokes guaranteed to make everyone smile.

***

Fingers tickled his back, rousing Casey from a deep slumber, and he instantly identifying who touched him. His soldiers knew to kick his boot, and Greysen, well, Greysen was usually sticky, or slimy, or both, so that left one person.

_Lottie._

Controlling his breath so she wouldn't realize he was awake, Casey let Lottie tease his skin with her soft fingertips, and although her touch wasn't erotic, he felt his body stir. After several minutes of her gentle caress, Casey shifted, turning his head to face her.

"Hey," she whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Casey propped himself up on his side, clasping her fingers in his. He could barely see her eyes in the darkness of the front room. It had been an excellent decision to stay inside, even if the floor needed sweeping, and it stank of mildew, dry rot, and had dangerously soft sub-flooring.

He glanced around, confirming that the shapeless lumps of darkened shadows, which, in better lighting, would have revealed themselves as his friends, were safe and sound, snug in their bedrolls. It was a comforting sight, and Casey gave a quick passing thought to who was on duty at the moment. It didn't matter. He trusted whoever it was. "Can't sleep?"

Lottie shook her head, pressed against his shoulder, easing him back to his stomach. Her finger danced on his back. He didn't recognize what she traced at first, but after the first two letters, he realized she was marking the discharge tattoo. _BCD-TREASON._

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking on the words.

Rolling to his back, Casey pulled her into his arms, where she sobbed quietly against his chest.

"I never meant for this to happen to you—to any of you," she said.

Her remorse seemed out of place. Hadn't they already made their peace with her guilt? "What brought this on?"

She sniffed. "I didn't know they would mark you for it."

His tattoo made her weepy? It was true, it had pained him to get inked with anything other than the USA-ARA tattoo from his first military branch posting, but he'd come to grips with it several months ago. "Hey, Bean. It's okay. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. You, Greysen, and Junior are worth it."

Lottie's shoulders shook as her sobbing increased. Great, he'd said the wrong thing. Casey rolled her to her back and then to her other side, tucking her against his chest. He kissed the back of her head. How could Casey make her feel better? He didn't know what to say to ease her grief.

"Will you miss it? Fort Sutton and the squad. The army?" she asked.

He thought about it. He didn't want to give Lottie a rote answer. Before Casey met with Green or Casey's time in prison, he would have said yes, but since his incarceration and escape, he'd come to a different decision altogether.

"There were benefits to having a squad to command as I needed," Casey said. "but the answer is 'no' I won't miss it. I have a new home—here—with you, Greysen, and the baby."

"But your career—"

"—Sh," he said, cutting her off. "None of that matters now."

He snaked his hand under her tank top and placed it flat against her bulging stomach. There Casey felt son as he shifted and twisted in her belly. His tiny hands, elbows, knees, feet, or all the above made her skin ripple under his palm. Casey would never tire of that feeling.

"I have everything I ever wanted right here." Breathing deep, he kissed the shell of her ear, earning a shiver from Lottie in response.

Casey felt his arousal spiked through him hard but now wasn't the time for many reasons, not the least of which was her emotional state.

"I love you, Bean. Don't ever doubt that."

"I love you, too," she whispered.

Casey held her close, enjoying the feel of her pressed against him as she slowly gave in to her fatigue and slept in his arms.

# Chapter 5

Lottie wiped her hands on her cargos, grabbed the rope pull line at the same time as Brad, and began dragging their assigned travois. She was tired, her belly hurt with contractions, and she was clammy with sweat. "Who thought it would be a good idea to drag these damn things through the woods?" she grumbled under her breath, only half-serious.

"Casey," Brad muttered next to her. "Although I doubt the wisdom of that thought process at the moment."

Lottie snorted and glanced at Brad. He had his lips pinched in displeasure, but she didn't believe him. The laugh lines around his eyes crinkled in suppressed mirth. She huffed in exasperation and turned back to her task of staying upright and putting one foot in front of the other.

"Would you rather carry it all back piece by piece?" he asked in mock seriousness.

She sighed. "No. This is better."

"All right then."

"I'm still tired, though," Lottie complained.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Lottie kept pace with the travois in front of her by watching Jaesen and Grace's back. When they stopped, she groaned. _What is it now?_ "All this starting and stopping to either find a way around or through the woods is getting old."

"I hear you, but we can't break now. We only ear-marked two days to haul all this shit back, so we have to get as far as we can before we stop for the day."

Lottie nodded. Craning her neck, Lottie tried to see past Jaesen and Grace to Tristan and Casey's travois, which they'd loaded down with the large solar panels, the heavy woodworking tools, and the additional boards for the new-and-improved shed.

"Where is he," she murmured. Grey wasn't on the travois. But before her heart could flutter in alarm, she spied Grey sitting on Casey's hip as he held a sapling steady for Tristan as Tristan sawed through it.

"We're going to be here a while," she muttered, turning back to Brad, she asked, "Do you do any other impersonations?"

"Anyone specific?"

Lottie shook her head.

Brad appeared to think for a moment before pitching his voice high in another falsetto. "Thank you, President Rionach, for your introduction." Brad cleared his throat. "It is with a heavy heart that I stand before you today. In the years since the GCDH first identified the allergens responsible for our population decline, we have been unable to stabilize the threat. Our numbers continue to decline at an unprecedented scale. If we continue at our current rate, the world's population will be reduced by half within the next twenty-five years. And as our numbers dwindle, it becomes imperative for our smartest, most innovative, most dedicated of minds among us, to bind together and focus themselves, collectively, to the cause. That is why, as the Director of the Global Center for Disease and Health, I plead with you—citizens of the United States of America—to bring your focus, considerable power, and considerable might, to solving the fertility crisis. And, should you wish to alter history, it goes without saying, your dedication and focus—to tasks of which you may have otherwise have been devoted—should focus solely on the current cross we bear. Thank you."

Clapping drew Lottie's attention. Grace's eyebrow was cocked. "Nice. Dr. Rynnovich. I saw a video of that speech. The woman looked like a spider with glasses."

Brad chuckled. "Yep, that's the video."

Lottie's gazed bounced back and forth between them. She didn't remember seeing any video of a spider-woman with glasses. Had she even had a class on it? "What was she trying to do?"

"Oh," Grace said, her expression distant as if she were trying to remember. "I think it was the first inclination we had that things weren't as rosy as the government wanted us to believe."

"The population decline was noticeable by then. All those great-grandkids and great-great-grandkids of the baby-boomers"—as an aside to Grace, Brad asked—"What was that generation called? Millennials?"

"No. Not old enough," Grace answered.

"Generation Z?" Jaesen offered, joining the conversation.

"No," Grace disagreed. "It's right there, though. On the tip of my tongue."

"The Unconquered?" Lottie asked, uncertainty coloring her tone.

"That's it! The Unconquered Generation," Grace said, flashing her a smile. Warmth spread in Lottie's chest. She didn't know where she came up with the term—history hadn't been her strongest subject—but now that she was right, Lottie was pleased to have blurted it out.

"If I remember right, the middle of that decade found the world populace fearing almost daily terrorist attacks, but, the children that were born and survived, joined the world as an unconquerable force. Uniting in unexpected and unparalleled ways. They're in the history books as the most impressive generation since the Baby Boomers."

"Anyway," Brad said, taking back the conversation. "American's were aging out—dying in record numbers—and due to all the workman laws constructed in favor of corporations."

As an aside, Brad said, "Low wages, little to no maternity or paternity leave, a broken healthcare system, and the novel coronavirus with its required social distancing, conspired against women's modern desires. Of the women who _were_ able to conceive and deliver, none wanted to take time off from work to be new mothers."

Projecting his voice again, Brad continued, "Women started boycotting the injustice by not having babies at all. It didn't take long before it, and the allergen-induced miscarriages to become a problem of epic proportions."

Brad stepped back into the circle of the rope of their travois and motioned Lottie to do the same. When she moved, Grace and Jaesen hitched themselves to their travois too.

Lifting, Brad went on, "By the time President Ellington delivered his 'Retraction of Services' speech a few years later, which informed everyone of the mandatory"—Brad stressed the word with a one-handed air quote—"shift in resources—the damage was already done. It didn't matter that the loss of these freedoms was to protect the earth as we knew it from things like pipeline leaks or nuclear meltdowns. The world was pissed."

Brad grunted as he yanked on the line to get the travois moving. Lottie tugged on the rope as well and fell into step next to him.

"The government did a few things after that to try to reverse the declining population trend, but as you see, it didn't help. Last I heard, the army figures we'll be extinct in another hundred years or so," Brad finished up.

Lottie remembered some of what Brad had said, but he hadn't answered her question, yet. "But, what was Dr. Rynnovich trying to do with her speech?"

"Convince the smart people to go into medicine instead of something else," Grace said over her shoulder. It became law a few years later. About the same time as the US enacted the five-star law. Non-Medical research and development disappeared. No new technology, transportation, or country defense. Nothing. If development efforts weren't related to medical or focused on curing the fertility crisis, the US didn't develop it anymore."

Lottie said, "I thought that didn't happen 'til President Ellington. Besides, wasn't the five-star law enacted to remove the Legislative and Judicial branches of the government? Making the United States a military state?" At least, that is what she remembered.

"No, you're thinking of Rionach. She was the last president to be elected by official campaign methods—which is the whole point of the five-star law," Grace replied. "After her, the presidents were only chosen from the pool of eligible generals."

After Grace's statement, everyone fell silent, saving their strength for the long hours ahead. They must have walked for at least thirty minutes before Casey held up his fist in a stop sign.

Turning, he said, "We'll stop here for a few minutes."

Lottie dropped her side of the travois and headed toward him. He had to be exhausted. She saw Casey had abandoned his cane while Casey held Grey. Not an easy task as Casey did double duty by also pulling his share of the load.

"Here," she said, taking Grey from him. "Let me have him for a while."

The skin around Casey's eyes tightened, and his gaze darkened, but as quick as it happened, his expression cleared. "Thanks," Casey said.

She nodded. Turning, she rejoined Brad, where he sat on a musty blanket spread on the ground. Lottie groaned as she sat, shifting Grey so he could be on her lap despite her baby bump and let her muscles relax.

Dropping her forehead against Grey's, she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

"Lottie?" someone whispered.

She blinked. Her vision was blurry.

"Huh?" she grunted, trying to focus on the speaker.

"You ready to move," Brad asked, and she saw who woke her. "Case and Tristan are done clearing the way."

"Yeah," she murmured.

"Looks like he's asleep. Here. Let me help you."

"Thanks," Lottie said. As she took Brad's hand in her own, he helped her get to her feet slowly. She wasn't sure how they'd done it, but they'd managed not to wake Grey in the process. "Think we can strap him down on the travois?"

"Just a second." Brad went to work, shifting a few items around near the top of the load and adding the blanket from their brake to the top of the nest he made. "Will that work?"

"Sure," she whispered. After they settled Grey, Brad helped her lift the travois by its line. "Hopefully, he'll sleep some more."

Lottie didn't expect he would, but here was hoping.

As they got going again, Lottie looked up and caught Jaesen's hand as it drifted down Grace's back to smack her rear before he returned it to the rope.

What had she just seen?

"Does that bother you?" Brad whispered.

Lottie shook her head, slow on the uptake. "Huh?"

"Their relationship," Brad murmured with a twitch of his head in Grace and Jaesen's direction.

Turning to face Brad, Lottie repeated his words.

"Yeah," Brad answered. "I advised him against it. Not only does it have the potential of blowing up in his face, but having sexual relations without marriage is a sin." Brad shrugged. "He agreed, but I guess not strongly enough."

Oh my.

Lottie stared at her mother's back, wondering if she was happy. But something else Brad said gave her pause. "Do you think less of Casey—because of me—like you do Jaesen."

"I don't think less of him, nor Grace either," Brad reassured her. "God is all about forgiveness."

"Are you talkin' 'bout me?" Jaesen said over his shoulder.

"Yep," Brad affirmed, addressing Lottie again, he said, "Besides, if God wasn't all about forgiveness, then I'd be doomed to Hell."

"Why?"

"I had a common-law marriage with my life partner, Devon, before he died of a heart attack four years ago."

"Oh," Lottie murmured, then added, "I'm sorry for your loss."

"It's all right. Devon was a good man. I'll see him again someday, God willing."

Lottie nodded and murmured, "God willing."

***

"Throw me a stake," Lottie said.

Brad reached into the bag of tent supplies behind him and fished one out. It landed on the ground in front of her with a thud.

"Thanks," she said as she took it and pushed it into the soft earth, securing her side of the tent.

Sitting back on her heels, Lottie looked around. The small temporary camp was bustling with activity. Casey and Tristan were working on the fire pit, and Grace and Jaesen were erecting another of the tents they needed for the night, and Grey was? Lottie glanced to each side and behind her.

Where was he?

Lottie stood and slowly spun, searching. When she didn't see him, she cast her gaze further and tried again.

"What's wrong?" Brad asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"I can't find Grey."

Brad's expression showed his concern, as he stood and began his visual perusal of the campsite.

"Grey?" she called. "Grey?"

She caught Casey's eye and shook her head at his silent question.

"Jaesen. Brad," Casey barked. Brad dropped his mallet and made his way to Casey. Turning from their huddled group, Lottie stepped into the woods, yelling for Grey all the while.

A squeal of fear had Lottie's heart racing. "Grey!"

"'Ommy! 'Ommy! 'Elp!"

"Grey! Where are you? Grey!" Lottie cried.

Grey's disembodied voice dissolved into a fresh scream. The intensity of his fear evident in his tone.

Lottie took off running toward the sound, but within seconds Tristan caught up with her. His hand wrapped around her bicep, jerking her to a halt. "Wait!"

"No! That's my baby!"

"Stop it, Momma." Tristan gave her a rough shake. "You don't even have a weapon. Let Case and Brad get him. You don't know what you're facin'."

"I don't care!" Lottie screamed, throwing her body backward roughly, trying to break Tristan's hold. "He needs me!" A sob caught in her throat. What if the IRT had him? "Grey! Grey! Where are you?"

"'Ommy! 'Ommy! 'Elp! Baiwr! Baiwr, 'Ommy!"

_Bear?! No!_ Lottie pulled harder against Tristan's hold. "Let go," she growled at the same time as Tristan whispered, "Jesus." His grip loosened, and Lottie yanked her arm from his grasp. She had to get to Grey! Pivoting on her heel, Lottie charged through the trees. "Grey!" she screamed. "Grey!" Something heavy collided with her back, taking her to the ground in a controlled fall where she landed facing the sky, cushioned on top of Tristan's chest. She struggled to get to her feet.

"Momma, stop," Tristan said, wrapping his arms and legs around her. "It isn't a bear."

"Grey!" she yelled. She had to get to her son.

"Momma. Enough. Case and Brad will get Grey."

A third scream rent the air, followed by several sharp retorts of a firearm discharging.

"Grey," she cried and thrashed harder in Tristan's arms. "Grey! Dammit, Tristan, let me go!"

"No. Grey's not going to be hurt."

"But?"

"But, nothin'," Tristan said as he hugged her tight.

Another gunshot sounded in the distance, then silence.

"What's happening," she sobbed. She didn't think it was possible, but the silence was worse than the cries of her son.

Someone whooped in excitement. "I got it!"

"He got it?" Lottie sagged in relief.

With her surrender, Tristan released his hold and wiggled out from under her. He stood and offered her a hand. When she gripped his wrist, Tristan pulled her to her feet.

Lottie dashed the tears from her cheek. "Grey?" she called, needing to hear his voice.

"'Ommy," Grey answered. Not only was his voice closer, but it also rang without terror. Lottie exhaled the breath she'd been holding.

He was okay.

"Grey?" she tried again, aiming for the last direction of his voice.

"Bean, I have him," Casey said as he limped out from behind some trees with Grey in his arms. Closing the remaining distance, Casey handed her Grey and addressed Tristan, "Get Jaesen. We'll need help bringing back the pig."

"Pig?" she asked at the same time as Tristan said, "Will do."

She held Grey tight to her chest. Her hand pressed against his tight, black curls and kissed his forehead.

With a grin, Casey said, "The _bear_ was a feral pig."

Lottie didn't share Casey's amusement. A feral pig was worse than a mythical bear. _Nasty beasts,_ she thought with a shudder. Bears protected themselves, but pigs attacked for the fun of it.

"Hey, Bean," Casey said, pulling her into a hug under his free arm. His hand rubbed her back as she shook. "He's fine. Aren't ya, kiddo?"

"Daddy!" Grey said, patting Casey on the cheek.

Lottie removed her son's hand and held it in her own. Her thumb rubbed small circles on the tops of his fingers.

"This is the second pig we've found since we moved in," she murmured. "How many more are there?"

Casey sighed. Leaning in, he kissed her on the cheek. "I don't know, but probably a lot less than you think."

"I hope so," Lottie said. _I hope so._

***

Boredom and a numb ass had Lottie shifting her weight to get more comfortable. She let her head fall back to rest against the rough bark of the tree trunk, before casting her gaze upwards, eyeing the sun through the bare limbs. She guessed it to be mid-morning at the latest. Lottie sighed. She probably had a few more hours to wait before Casey could get back to her, and the butchered pig he left her to guard.

Lottie closed her eyes.

A snap of a branch breaking pulled Lottie's attention. Craning her neck, she tried to identify what made the sound, but the task proved impossible. The noise she'd heard had bounced from tree to tree disguising its origin, but she thought it came from her left.

She eased to her feet, bow in hand, and braced herself behind a tree. Taking an arrow from her quiver, she notched it and pulled the bowstring taut. She didn't _think_ the noise represented a danger, but it was better to be prepared than caught unaware.

After several minutes of tense waiting for a repeated sound that never came, she slowly relaxed and lowered her weapon. "It was a deer or a turkey," Lottie told herself, shaking the tension from her arms, but a fresh snap had her ducking behind the tree once again, her weapon at the ready.

She glanced upwards at the plastic boxes wedged into the branches and silently debated whether or not she should stay with their kill or go and investigate the noise.

"I'm sure it's nothing," she said as she decided not to go courting the unknown. If it were a threat to her or the kill, she'd know soon enough.

Relaxing her hold on her bow, she settled back down to wait for Casey. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, enjoying the crisp smell of autumn after a rain.

She was tired. Tired of waiting and tired of being idle. Maybe she should go collect more acorns? Lottie snored. The snort echoed around her, and she snapped awake. Glancing around, she nickered to herself, embarrassed.

"You _finally_ let him fuck you."

Lottie twitched, and she lifted her weapon on instinct. The voice hadn't come from Casey. She drew her arrow and fired toward the sound before she quite registered who was with her in the woods. Luckily for her, Javier ducked, and the arrow lodged itself in the tree instead of him.

"Nice shot, Chica," a different voice said, and Lottie aimed at the new speaker.

Her eyes widened, and her bow dropped to her side. "Jules?!"

"Yep."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, breathless with surprise.

Jules winked at her. "I heard there was bacon, and I wanted some."

She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow, and waved away his non-serious answer. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the delicious bacon," Jules said, his voice trailing off.

"No," she corrected. "I mean, why are you not at Fort Sutton?"

"Oh, I decided I'd join you and Case at the settlement," he answered.

"But why? What about your service? Won't you get in trouble?"

"Only if they catch him," Javier replied. His cocky attitude had returned, and his lip turned up in a smirk.

"You went—" Lottie glanced back and forth between Jules and Javier as understanding dawned. "—You went, AWOL?"

"Yep, like Tristan."

"What! Why?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Jules answered with defeat and contempt, coloring his tone.

Why would he do such a thing? She hoped it wasn't because of her. Enough people had done that already. "What's going on? Why would you throw away your career like that?"

"I told Case about it last night," Jules said at the same time as Javier volunteered, "Fort Sutton's a shithole since Huxley left."

Turning to Javier, Lottie asked, "Did you go AWOL too?"

"Nah." Javier put his hands in the air in a placating manner. "My RAC assignation came through in July. I got my tat in August and got sent back to Fort Sutton in September as an insider. Cummins ain't my CO, and I didn't need to stay anymore, so I left."

"Okay," Lottie said, drawing out the word. His answer seemed a bit to flip.

"So," Jules began. She sure hoped he was about to explain. "You know how, back in late June or early July, Case left for Fort St. Louis?"

Lottie nodded.

"Well, pretty much the next day, Staff Sergeant Cummins arrives, drops his bag, and starts barking ridiculous orders."

"Lincoln didn't take over?" Lottie asked. "I thought he was next in line in seniority."

"He was," Javier replied.

"But I guess, between Tristan and Case, enough shit went down at Fort Sutton that the Brass sent us new management"—Jules added air quotes around the words 'new management'.

Running a hand through his hair, Jules muttered, "Asshole." Louder, Jules said, "'Course none of us knew yet that they arrested Case or that Tristan was facing a formal inquiry."

Javier snorted. "But it was a good indicator."

"Ain't that the fucking truth," Jules added, chuckling under his breath. "Learned about it more when Tristan showed up at Base in the middle of the night. Slick like a ghost."

"What did he do?" Lottie asked.

"He told us what happened, packed a bag, stole some chickens, and disappeared."

"No," Lottie said with a shake of her head. "I meant, what did Cummins do?"

"Oh!" Jules chuckled. "Sorry. Cummins initiated mandatory roll calls three times a day, weekly interrogations, daily supply shed counts. He did away with the hunting trips, added more shelter and perimeter patrols, and for everyone else, twice a day PT sessions. And if you didn't meet his expectations, he'd discipline you with standard drill sergeant shame tactics complete with excessive spit in the face when he screamed at you to do better."

Jules rocked on his heels. "Altogether, it sucked, but tolerable." He shrugged "—pretty much like being back in Basic training again—but the real kicker, for me, was the food rationing."

"Which wouldn't be necessary if he kept the hunting as a required activity," Javier added.

Rocking on his heels, Jules said, "Or kept the chickens."

_Oh no!_ "What happened to Tristan's chickens?"

"The asshole fucking killed them."

Lottie gasped and covered her mouth. "Killed them?"

"Every last one of them—"

"—That he could find," Javier said, adding to Jules's statement.

Lottie's eyebrow quirked upwards. "That he could find?"

"Yep. Picked up on that, didn't'cha?" Javier said with a smirk.

"Asshole went into their coop and wrung their necks. Fuckin' waste of resources if you ask me." Jules smacked Javier in the shoulder. "But this dickhead learned what Cummins was gonna do before he did it, and we rescued a few of the brainless beasts."

"Good," Lottie murmured. "What did you do?"

"Hid them in the woods near the obstacle course," Jules added. "Gave them to Tristan last night," Jules said.

"How many did you save?" She hoped it would be enough for Tristan. He already felt guilty for leaving the majority of them behind.

Javier and Jules shared a look. She wasn't quite sure what it meant.

"Eight," Jules replied. "It's all we could carry."

She figured eight were better than none. "Roosters?"

"Yep. Two of 'em."

"Good," she said. Three roosters should help keep the future chicken population healthy. "What about the garden? Did he ruin it too?"

"Nah," Jules said. "He saw the merit in keeping it. 'Course, now he'll have a helluva time keeping it pest-free."

She nodded. The chickens were good for that. "How long have you been at the settlement?"

"Got here three days ago," Jules answered.

"What did you do while we were gone?"

Jules grinned. The mischievous twinkle in his eye nearly blinded her. "Reacquainted ourselves with the ladies."

***

"Careful with that," Lottie admonished, reaching to help. "The plastic's brittle."

Glancing down at her from his perch several feet up, Javier barked, "We got this. Get out of the way, Huxley girl."

Lottie dropped her hands and backed away. He was right. The boxes were high in the tree, and she was too pregnant to be of any real use to them. She wrapped her arms around her torso, cradling her stomach. The task seemed equally as tricky in reverse as it had when Casey and Tristan had wedged the boxes up there.

"Where the hell did you find these," Jules asked, his cheeks puffing out with the effort of getting a box of raw pork out of the tree.

"That abandoned house. If you could get past the smell of decay, you'd find a lot of useful things inside."

_Like that stove,_ Lottie thought.

She regretted the need to leave it behind, but there had been no room on any of the three travoises to carry it or any of the other items she'd wanted to keep. Casey's argument for practicality for the tradeable wire and pipes won over her frivolous desires for waterproof storage and kitchen items, but it still stung. She _had_ been able to save a few plastic boxes, proving their merit more than once already, first, with keeping the recovered tools dry and now as a meat locker for their kill.

"Watch out," Jules gasped as the box slipped from his hands and fell the remaining distance. A distinctive crack accompanied it as it landed hard on one corner. She swallowed back her disappointment. It wasn't his fault, and as he hopped out of the tree, Jules said, "Sorry, Chica. It slipped."

She dismissed the apology with a wave. "'S'Okay. It's useful even if it's cracked."

He nodded, a relieved smile plastered across his face, and hefted the box by its handles before taking it to the travois he and Javier had brought with them from the settlement. As he strapped it down, he spoke to her over his shoulder, "Tell me again, how did you guys manage to bag a pig on a reclamation mission?"

Lottie blushed. "Grey thought it was a bear."

Javier snorted, drawing her eye upward. He'd successfully maneuvered a box down another branch. "And why was a two-year-old out in the woods all alone?"

She puffed her cheeks and let the air out slowly. It pained her to admit her failure of keeping Grey safe and at her side, but she'd been so focused on setting up the tents with Brad and her future supper to notice Grey had wandered off. "I thought he was right there with me. But when I looked up, he was gone."

Javier tsked, and Lottie opened her mouth to defend herself further when he said, "Set that one higher on the travois. It's the lightest one." His gaze caught hers. "How far'd he get?"

"Casey said no more than thirty meters."

Jules whistled. "That's pretty far for a little tyke." As Jules passed her, he added, "Wonder what he was after."

"No idea." She shrugged. Grey had never wandered off before.

Positioning himself to be under Javier, Jules called up, "Ready." Javier grumbled something unintelligible in return before sliding the edge of the next box toward Jules.

The box looked ready to fall on Jules's head, and Lottie closed her eyes, unable to watch. When she didn't hear a thud or an accompanying grunt of pain, she peeked past partially cracked eyelids. Jules held the bottom edge of the box, and Javier was hanging from a branch. Lottie relaxed and watched as he let go and dropped gracefully to the ground. Taking the precariously balanced load from Jules, he said, "I've got this one. Go get that last one."

Jules gave him a weak salute and leapt for the lowest branch. He swung his legs forward and then back to get some momentum. On the backswing, Jules pulled himself upward, resting his hips on the tree branch before hauling himself up. From there, Jules climbed the next few tree branches, until he reached the one with the last box on it. Jules hooked his leg around the tree branch and pressed the other against the trunk, stabilizing himself. Once braced, he finagled the last box from its nook, grunting with effort. It took several tries, but Jules had the box low enough to hand it down to Javier, who, in turn, held it the same way Jules did with the one prior. Jules dropped to the ground, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. He grinned at her before dusting his hands on his pants and joining her.

"Get back here," Javier growled as Jules walked away.

Snickering, Jules winked at her and said, "You ready to go, Chica?"

Lottie glanced at Javier and covered her mouth, stifling her laughter at his scowl. Ready to play along, she faced Jules and added, "Sure, Jules. Ready whenever you are."

He dropped his arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the partially loaded travois. "Then let's blow this joint. You get one side, and I'll get the other, and we'll have this delicious bacon back to the settlement in no time."

"I said, get back here," came a peeved reply behind them.

Leaning down to speak quietly in her ear, Jules asked, "Does he sound a little winded to you?"

"Maybe a little," she whispered back, trying not to smile.

"Okay, then. Keep going."

She nodded, amused at the game.

"Jackass! I'm talking to you!"

"Uh-oh, daddy's pissed," Jules murmured but kept walking. Lottie wondered if there was a story behind Jules's antagonistic actions or if he was doing it just to annoy Javier.

"Jules!" Javier yelled, exasperated.

Jules turned and put a hand to his heart, affecting innocence. "Are you talking to me?"

A growl emanated from Javier's chest, and Jules chuckled.

Addressing her, Jules asked, "Should I help him?"

"Yes," Lottie murmured. Teasing Javier was all well and good, but she didn't want to see them fight.

Jules sighed. The skin around his eyes crinkled with his barely containing smile. "You expect too much from me."

She shoved him. "Jerk."

"You wound me."

Rolling her eyes, she reiterated, "Go help him."

"Fine," Jules said, drawing out the word.

A few minutes later, Jules set the last plastic box on the travois and secured it. "If we hustle, we can get back tonight."

Lottie nodded and took the lead. Getting back tonight sounded perfect. "Let's go."

***

Dusk had come and gone by the time they returned to the settlement. A cold and clammy sweat made Lottie's clothes stick to her skin, and fatigue dragged at her limbs. Her feet and back ached along with the skin over her pelvis, just under her belly button, and she couldn't wait to go lay down. Yet, the only thing keeping her steps from being sluggish was the excitement at seeing Casey and Grey again. It was silly, she told herself. It wasn't as if the three of them been apart for more than two days, but she couldn't wait.

She searched for Casey but didn't see him. That fact wasn't wholly unexpected—for all she knew, he could be at the outhouse—but not seeing him was a disappointment nonetheless.

But as she looked around the clearing, she saw one thing that warmed her heart. Tristan sat next to Zoe at the fire pit with little Dexy in his arms, and Grey peered over Tristan's shoulder. Attila and King both lay at his feet. Lottie shook her head. The dogs were doing a poor job at guarding. They should have met her, Jules, and Javier on the trail, but they hadn't. She'd have to ask Noah about it. Maybe their training needed to be refreshed.

Dismissing them, she returned her gaze to Grey. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she could tell he was chattering away to Tristan. Tristan, for his part, ruffled Grey's hair and then held Dexy so Grey could see her better.

_Aw._

The scene made Lottie's heart twang.

"Let's go around the back of the tents," Javier said, earning him a defeated sounding grunt of agreement from Jules and a twitch of surprise from Lottie. So focused on the domestic scene before her, Lottie had forgotten about Jules and Javier.

Continuing, Javier said, "I think there's enough room to get past them without knocking anything down."

She glanced at the two men. Their shoulders drooped with weariness, and Jules's head hung down toward his chest. They had to be exhausted. They'd marched with the travois for hours without stopping in the hopes of getting home before dark. They'd almost succeeded. Jules and Javier yanked on the line, leaning forward and straining to get the travois moving again. As they circled the edge of the clearing, the settlement inhabitants spied them and came forward to assist.

Lottie took advantage of the new help and bypassed the milling group to get to the smokehouse ahead of Jules and Javier. She needed to get the pork processed quickly, or it would rot. She hoped they weren't too late to preserve it. At least it was cold out. If they'd killed the pig in summer, they would have had to process all the meat at the kill site instead.

Stepping inside the structure, she shifted the meat already inside to make room, and by the time Lottie finished, the first sections of pork requiring processing were in her hands. In no time at all, all the unprocessed meat was hung, and the fire lit. She made one final adjustment before leaving the smokehouse.

Standing outside the structure, she breathed deep. The cold air had a hint of ozone, and she studied the stars sparkling in the sky. _Not a cloud in sight._ Lottie wondered why she smelled rain.

"I put the plastic boxes next to the butchering station," Nyah said at her side. "It's too dark to do it now, but I'll wash them for you in the morning."

Lottie turned and smiled at Nyah. "Thanks." After eyeing the clearing again, Lottie asked, "Where is Casey?" It wasn't like him to avoid work. Maybe his ankle bothered him. Should she make something for his pain?

"He left this morning."

"Wha-what? You're joking," Lottie stammered, her shoulders tensing. "He's not here? Where'd he go?"

Nyah shifted to face her. "I thought you knew."

"I was stuck guarding the pig, remember?" Lottie shook her head. Why had he left?

Nyah's gaze flicked to the smokehouse before coming back to connect with Lottie's. She licked her lips and cracked her knuckles. Lottie's eyebrows lift in amusement at the apparent evasion of her question from her friend. What was Nyah hiding? "Spit it out, girly," Lottie ordered, too tired and too irritated to phrase her request more nicely.

With a sigh, Nyah said, "If he didn't tell you, then I don't think I should either. It might be a surprise."

Worry welled, pressing against her chest, making it feel tight and uncomfortable. _He wouldn't leave, would he?_

"He didn't take off for the Six-Flags camp, did he? He promised not to go without saying goodbye."

"No. No, nothing like that," Nyah said, shaking her head. "No, he took Jaesen and said he'd be back in a few days. Said he didn't want you to worry. Oh, and he asked Tristan to watch over Grey."

"Okay." Lottie took a deep breath, blowing away her unease along with her exhale. He'd gone somewhere he didn't want her to know about, but it wasn't the Six-Flags camp. She didn't know if she was relieved or frustrated.

After a pause, Nyah changed the subject. "You want to roast some of that pork and have a feast?"

"No."

Nyah's mouth opened and closed, sputtering. Finally, she managed to ask, "Why not? It's fresh."

Lottie focused on the settlement. Everyone except Jules and Javier was sitting back down. Maybe she'd been too hasty, but it didn't take her long to catalog the supplies list. Lottie shook her head again. "Maybe after the trade... If it's successful." She swallowed hard. Worry and fear coursed through her veins, and the baby in her womb jumped and kicked.

The two women were quiet for a few moments, but eventually, Nyah nodded. "I don't like it, but you're right." She popped her knuckles again and brought her thumbnail to her mouth and began to chew it. After a bit, she stopped and wiped her hand on her pants. "It's just that it's almost Thanksgiving and..."

"And you wanted to celebrate."

"Yeah."

Lottie thought about it some more. It would boost morale, but at what cost. "How about this: You and I plan a solstice feast. And if Casey's successful, we can expand the menu to include the things we miss? And if he isn't successful, we'll have time to forage for what we need?"

Grinning, Nyah wrapped her arm around Lottie and hugged her. "Agreed."

"Good. Glad that will work." A chuckle bubbled in Lottie's chest. "But this means you have to help."

Nyah crossed her heart with her index finger and held out her pinkie. "Swear!"

Laughing freely, Lottie wrapped her pinkie around Nyah's, and they shook on it. They released their pinkie-shake, and Lottie leaned against Nyah's shoulder with her own, resting her head on the other woman's shoulder. "Ever-absent God, I'm so tired." She scratched her belly absentmindedly.

Patting Lottie's head, Nyah asked, "Need help setting up your tent?"

Lottie nodded, then groaned, "Never mind. It's too much effort. I'll sleep under the stars instead."

"Not a good idea," Jules piped up from where he knelt next to the partially erected tent he needed for himself. "Gonna rain."

She cast another gaze upward. "Still free of clouds."

"Check the moon."

Doing as he said, Lottie noted the subtle gray ring around it.

"Ringed, right?" Jules confirmed, though his voice sounded smugger than necessary.

"Yeah."

"Rain," he reiterated. "Before dawn, I'd say."

She groaned again. Lottie did not want to set up her tent. "Javier?" she called. He had to be nearby.

"Rain," he barked from the other side of the tent.

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Okay."

Javier stood. A tent pole in his hand. "Need help?"

She desperately wanted to take him up on his offer, but his weariness was evident in his slouch and in the way his usually steady baritone wavered.

"That's okay, Javier. I've got it," Lottie said. There was no way she could take him up on his offer—not in good consciousness, anyway.

"I don't mind," Javier said, tossing aside the pole and coming around the tent.

Zoe came up behind him. "She can stay with me tonight."

"You don't mind?" Lottie confirmed. "I'll have Grey."

"And I'll have Dexy."

Without any other arguments, Lottie nodded. "Sounds good. Thanks, Zoe."

Zoe smiled, patting Dexy on the back. The infant burped loudly, and the group chuckled. "Guess we know how she feels about the sleeping arrangements," Jules said, his light-hearted laughter petering out. "Fuckin-a, I'm tired."

"Almost done," Javier repeated, and Lottie, Nyah, and Zoe took their cue, leaving the two men to their task and their bed.

"Goodnight, Nyah," Lottie and Zoe said as Nyah headed toward her tent.

"Night."

Lottie glanced at Zoe. "Let me get Grey and our bag, and we'll be right there."

Zoe waved her on. "No worries," she said and disappeared into her tent.

_No worries_ , Lottie thought, wishing it was true.

# Chapter 6

"Should we get started tonight?" Jaesen asked.

Casey rubbed a hand over his face and knuckled his eye. "I'm too damn tired to look at it tonight," he said through his yawn. "Let's skip the tent and sleep in the shed."

After looking at the sky, Jaesen shook his head. The reaction drew Casey's attention upwards. The sky was clear. The sun's rays shown through the bare trees giving them brilliant halos. "Let's crash in the kitchen," Jaesen suggested. "If we have to sleep on the floor regardless, then at least we can be warm."

He couldn't fault Jaesen's logic. "Sold," he said and indicated Jaesen should take the lead.

Jaesen crossed the overgrown yard, passed flattened grass, torn up dirt, and fading imprints from their footsteps a few days prior. Casey reached the home behind Jaesen and stepped over the threshold. The room looked as they left it, and his gaze zeroed in on the stove. The ghost of Lottie greeted him, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips at the memory of her handing Greysen to him.

An elbow to the ribs broke his reverie. "What?"

"I said, can you get the fire going in the stove?"

He balked as his fatigue momentarily receded, allowing him to remember the reason why he suggested the shed in the first place. "If we start a fire in that stove, it'll be too hot to move come morning."

Walking over to the makeshift clothesline, Casey twanged the cord, set his cane against the wall, and took a seat in a kitchen chair. "It took us too damn long to get here, and I want to get an early start tomorrow."

"All right, Case. You want to set up in the shed or stay here?"

Casey lay his head on the table as another yawn stretched his tight jaw. "Here."

"Okay. I'll get our packs from the travois."

Casey nodded, his head cradled on his arm where it rested on the table, and within moments, he was sound asleep.

Clattering woke Casey, and he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth. He stretched, rolling his head from side to side on his neck, then pushed his fist against his chin. The resulting crack sent shivers of ecstasy down his back, and he groaned.

"Good nap?"

"Yeah. How long was I out?"

"Long enough for me to debated whether or not I should wake you. Figured you'd have the mother of all neck kinks if I didn't, but you beat me to it."

Casey nodded. "Need help?"

"Nah," Jaesen said. "Figured we could do cold rations tonight. Like on decoy patrol."

Again, Casey nodded. At Casey's agreement, Jaesen tossed him a ration bar—one of their last ones from when Casey left Fort Sutton.

"Thanks," Casey said.

They ate in silence and set out their bedrolls. Using Casey's pack as a pillow, he situated himself until he was comfortable. His gaze lingered on the old wood-burning stove.

"How long you think it will take?" Jaesen asked.

"Hmm?" Casey had been almost asleep, and Jaesen's question didn't make sense.

"How long do you think it will take to get that stove outta here?"

"Not too long. I want to get back on the road by mid-morning."

"Understood."

When Jaesen was quiet again, Casey murmured a goodnight and rolled to his back, slipping into the deep sleep his body craved.

***

"Shit! Muther—"Casey cut off in the middle of a curse.

"What?" Jaesen asked.

"I snapped the bolt."

"We'll check the shed for something that will work as a replacement."

Casey silently agreed. Pocketing the sheered bolt, he went back to work, decoupling the stove's pieces. "There," he said with exaggerated cheer. "Tug it."

Jaesen's fingers slipped into view and wrapped around the back edge of the stove. His knuckles blanched pale brown as he strained to move it. It gave way in small spurts of movement, and when the device was far enough from the wall, Casey squeezed behind it. With his back square against the cold metal of the stove, he used the wall as a leg press. Inch by inch, the oven moved outward. "That's good. Let's get this thing apart."

Grunting in agreement, Jaesen attacked the connectors on his side of the stove. Between the two of them, they had it disassembled in less than half an hour. Casey carried one of the smaller pieces out to the travois, Jaesen followed after with a one of his own. One more trip later, all the parts small enough to move individually were out and lashed to the travois. "Only one more part."

"Yeah, but it's the biggest, most awkward one."

"True." Casey didn't have anything to add, and it wasn't like the fireplace of the stove would move by itself.

"Come on," Casey said, and Jaesen followed him back inside. They looped two strips of wool under the carriage, wrapped the fabric pieces around their wrists, and lifted. The stove was heavy and threatened to tip over as they shuffled outside, but they managed the task.

Setting it down on the travois, they collapsed next to it with their feet outstretched. Mud from the other night's rain squished around their heels.

"What else do we need?" Jaesen asked, panting.

"Lottie wants the rest of the kitchen stuff, and we might as well take the rope and anything that remains in the shed."

"You think you can lug all this back? That stove weighs a ton."

Casey mock punched Jaesen in the shoulder. "If I can't, you can."

"Hardie, har har," Jaesen said, but then broke out in genuine laughter. Pushing to his feet, Jaesen said, "Why don't you rest. I'll go get the stuff from the shed."

"I'm not that fragile," Casey said, stopping Jaesen before he went too far.

Slowly, Jaesen turned and looked down at Casey, sitting on the travois. "I never said you were."

"You don't need to baby me."

"I'm not."

"You are."

Jaesen rolled his eyes, pivoted on his heel, and with a wave of his hand, he left Casey and the argument. When he returned, Casey continued, "This injury may have crippled me"—he pointed to his foot—"but I'm not gonna sit here and let everyone do my work."

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Jaesen asked, his tone incredulous.

"Isn't it?"

Throwing his hand in the air, Jaesen turned, marched a few steps away, and then came back, fury evident in his expression. "You know what? You don't have to do _everything_ all the damn time. That's why we're here—to help each other—to help you."

"I know that."

"This isn't a dictatorship—not like Fort Sutton—we're here because we want to be, not because the Army makes us. We all have our strengths and our weaknesses."

"I know."

"Then why do you keep doing this? Why push yourself to the point of breaking? I know I'm not the only one to talk to you about it."

Casey opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap. The truth was, he didn't know. Tristan and Lottie had asked him the same thing, and he hadn't had an answer for them either. "I'm working on it."

With a sigh, Jaesen shook off his anger. The hardness in his eyes softened, and he sat next to Casey. "Two years ago, I told you I supported you one-hundred percent. You remember that?"

"Yeah."

"Just because the venue changed, doesn't mean the sentiment did."

Bending his knees, Casey wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on them. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I know."

"Good." Jaesen fell silent, letting the conversation lapse.

When Casey felt strong enough to stand, he did and lowered his hand to help Jaesen up. "Let's get finished. I want to head home."

Grinning Jaesen said, "Now that's what I'm talking about."

***

Lottie stretched, reaching high above her head. The back of her hand collided with the tent wall when regularly her fingertips would barely brush against it. The oddity had her blinking, sleep crusted eyes, and trying to focus on the foreign ceiling. As sleep faded, memories returned. She was in Zoe's tent. Lottie meant to set up her's yesterday, but between the rain, the discussions about where to put the new shed, and the details about how and when construction should begin, she had decided to skip it.

Sitting up, Lottie looked around the tent and found everyone missing. With an eye to the blue-dark of the ambient light, Lottie wondered at the hour. Tossing the blankets to the side, Lottie shed her sleep clothes. A shiver racked her naked body, and she rapidly dressed for the day. Her army issued long-johns quickly warmed to body temperature, and, after pulling on her jacket, she slipped from the tent for a quick bathroom break.

A knock on the outhouse door proved it occupied, and Lottie stepped back a few feet to wait for them to finish. A few minutes later, Grace exited. Once finished with her turn in the restroom, Lottie meandered her way toward the central fire. Her scenic route took her past the smokehouse, and after a slight detour to check on the meat, she finished traversing the clearing to the warm blaze and accepted a mug of chicory coffee from Alley.

"You helping the men today?" Ally asked.

Lottie shook her head. "No." She wanted to, but even she had to admit her body wasn't ready for additional manual labor. "I'll leave it to the boys."

Ally agreed with her and then said, "Tristan and Brad sent Javier and Jules off on patrol."

"Huh, wonder why," Lottie replied between sips of the hot brew.

"Tristan said something about not wanting to lose an eye."

Lottie snorted. She knew Jules wasn't completely handy with a hammer, but Javier? "They that bad with construction?"

"Guess so," Ally said with a shrug. "What are you going to do instead?"

"Don't know yet." Lottie put the mug to her lips and drank while she thought about it. She had plenty to do, but no real motivation to do any of it. "I'll check on the chickens, and then I guess I'll start some water boiling for laundry."

"Grace and Nyah did that already," Ally said and pointed her thumb over her shoulder, drawing Lottie's gaze to the butcher station.

Sure enough, there was the wood tub sitting near the fire pit, and two abandoned buckets sat next to the flame, but Nyah and Grace were absent. "Where'd they go?"

Glancing over her shoulder, Ally confirmed the other women were gone and shrugged. "No idea. They were there a moment ago. Maybe they're off collecting the stuff needing to be washed."

"Maybe."

Ally's explanation made sense. Lottie had bumped into Grace less than five minutes ago. "I'll go check on the water. Don't want to leave it unattended for too long. It'll boil away and burn the buckets. You need anything?" Lottie asked as she set her mug down.

Nodding, Ally said, "Yeah. Can you look in on Katie? I left her with Max, Cody, and Hunter while I got breakfast ready, and I'm worried about her."

"Sure." Lottie nodded and headed toward Katie and Ally's shared tent. The sounds of happy babies grew louder as she came near. Stopping at the tent flap, Lottie scratched at the door. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Katie replied at the same time as Grey squealed, "Mommy!"

As Lottie unzipped the tent enough for her to be able to enter, her shoulders relaxed, letting go of the tension she hadn't realized she harbored.

Stepping inside, she sat across from Katie on Alley's bedroll. Grey came to her and wrapped his arms around her neck. Lottie patted his hands and looked to Katie, who reclined against a bed of pillows with Hunter in her arms. Her pregnant belly spilled out from under the edges of her oversized clothes she'd borrowed from Brad. Her leg was flat on the ground, and her foot was angled to help Max with his balance. He was on all fours, rocking back and forth. A thin trail of drool forged a path from his lower lip to the blanket beneath him. He cooed in greeting and plopped onto his belly, waving his arms and legs frantically. Lottie smiled.

_Won't be long, now_ , she thought, _and he'll be crawling all over the place_.

Looking back to Katie, Lottie saw Cody. The little girl reclined against Katie's side, blinking her slightly almond-shaped eyes. Cody shoved her hand in her mouth and smiled around her fingers, but didn't show any other signs of wanting to move from her comfortable position. That fact—along with Cody's inability to roll over or sit up—worried Lottie. She hesitated to tell Ally of her fears. No mother wanted to think their baby was developmentally behind, but Cody didn't seem able to keep up with her sibling.

Shaking off her concern, Lottie met Katie's gaze. The petite young woman had dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks were puffy and flushed. She looked like—well, like—shit. "You doing all right?" Lottie asked.

Katie huffed a laugh. "As good as I can with these monsters in me. I feel like an entire squadron is in there battling each other for more room."

Patting Katie's knee in sympathy, Lottie recalled how the last few weeks of pregnancy sucked, and she knew it was even worse for Katie. "Any labor pains?"

"Not really, but hopefully soon," Katie answered, her tone was bitter. Lifting Hunter as an example, Katie said, "I never wanted this."

Lottie understood completely. She'd run away from Fort St. Louis for the same reason as Katie, but that was where the similarities in their stories ended. She knew the basics—a runaway tricked into sex with some of Casey's men—but the not the specifics. It was a touchy subject—one neither Katie nor Case would go into—but Katie seemed more open today than in the past.

Willing to risk Katie's ire, Lottie dared to ask, "What did you want?"

A snort of derision greeted her question. "I wanted to be a great scientist, like Doctor Kauffmann or Maria Agnesi. But no,"—Katie drew out the vowel in a sing-song, shifted Hunter to her shoulder and patted him on the back.—"girls can't join Fecundity Analysis and Remediation. Nope. The only thing they can look forward to is being a baby factory."

Katie's words were like déjà vu, transporting Lottie back six years to her first weeks in Basic training, but Katie's next words shook Lottie from her revere. "Who would have thought—that in a society comprised almost solely of men—that a woman couldn't use her body to get what she wanted."

Maybe they weren't as similar as Lottie had first thought. "Why didn't it work, Lottie?" Katie continued.

Lottie shrugged. She had ideas but suspected it was the renewed objectification of women, or how the men felt starved for an emotional connection with a partner, no matter how hard they denied it. Of course, then there was the resentment over women's healthcare. Lottie could think of a few more reasons.

Cody blew a raspberry around her fingers, pulling Lottie's attention. To buy some time and to give her hands something to do, Lottie picked Cody up. Lottie blew bubbles on Cody's tummy while Cody buried slobber covered fingers deep into Lottie's hair and pulled.

"Ow," Lottie murmured, trying to force Cody to relinquish her punishing grip.

"I still don't get why offering my body didn't buy my freedom?" Katie continued.

Shocked into stillness, Lottie thanked her lucky stars Cody's body blocked her view of Katie for it meant Katie couldn't see Lottie's mouth drop open in surprise. The superficial similarities between Katie and Lottie were destroyed, much like a Knight taking a Knave in a winning move of Knaves and Knights. Lottie would never sell her body for a chance at freedom, but she had an inkling why Katie would have tried it. When she felt collected enough to speak, Lottie said, "Is that what happened?"

"To get pregnant? Yes." Katie exhaled hard through her nose as Lottie slowly lowered Cody to look at her. "But it didn't work. Adan lied. He said all I needed to do was sleep with his friends, and he'd keep me from going back. And when he tired of me, he handed me off to Huxley."

Katie huffed a laugh and gave Lottie a dark look. "You know I propositioned Huxley that night, right? Trying to get out of being sent back?"

Lottie nodded. Casey had told Lottie all about it.

With extreme effort, Lottie subdued her flare of jealousy over wanting to keep Casey as her own.

"I can remember his look of shock and horror," Katie added. "I've never felt more humiliated than I did at that moment, and he never even touched me—well, sexually at least. He did have to handcuff me a few times."

Swallowing back her retort, Lottie opted to ignore Katie's incising words.

With a sigh, Katie's antagonistic tone turned petulant, "If I could do it all again, I'd do a lot of things differently—but not this." Her gaze caressed each child before returning to Lottie's. "This is awesome, and you guys are the best. I'm glad to be here, ya'know, despite it all."

"Really?"

Katie's eyes widened, and Lottie figured her question caught Katie off guard.

"Of course, I'm glad I'm here, and maybe I can do some good for humanity besides increasing the population." This time when Katie said it, Lottie noticed the gesture had morphed from disappointment to one of self-deprecating amusement.

"Mommy?" Grey called, tightening his arms around her neck.

She set Cody back down and pulled Grey into her lap. "What bud?"

"'Gree, Mommy."

Lottie gripped one of his hands and kissed the back of it. "All right."

Bundling him in her arms, she asked, "Need anything?"

Katie glanced around her and shook her head. "Nope. I'm dulce."

After a quick nod, Lottie left Katie to her babysitting.

***

Lottie pulled the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her fingers were numb and stiff with cold, and she shivered. A cold front had come through during the night, snapping the unusually warm temperatures and leaving a frost on the ground.

The wind gusted, billowing out the bottom of her makeshift cape and cutting through her clothes with brutal efficiency. _I should have worn my coat_ , she lamented. She could go back for it, she supposed. It wasn't like it was all that far away—only a few feet through the woods to in her tent—but she didn't want to take the time to get it.

A fresh shiver raced down her spine, and her hands shook. She silently admitted she was ridiculous. She should get her coat. It wouldn't take her that long. Besides, it wasn't as if Tristan would let her help with the construction of the shed in any case.

Lottie had made up her mind to go when the wind abated. Taking that as her cue, she called, "Think you'll finish tonight?"

Tristan and Brad had made significant progress yesterday. They had framed the walls of the shed, set the ceiling joists in place, and attached the rafters to the tie beam. To Lottie's untrained eye, they looked ready to shingle the roof and put up siding.

Tristan glanced over to her and shook his head. "Won't be done 'til tomorrow."

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, stamping them to return circulation to her toes. "What do you have left other than the siding and shingling?"

"Way more than we'd like," Brad answered. He stood off to the side, a hammer held loosely in one hand. He pushed his glasses up his nose with his free hand. "And what we still have to do, we hope to get done before Casey shows up."

"Why?"

"Well, one he asked us to," Brad replied. "And two, I want to be done with it."

Tristan nodded and added, "Plus, I'm freezin' my balls off."

Brad snorted. "That too," he said over the sound of his hammering.

At the mentioning of Casey, Lottie couldn't help but ask, "You think he'll be home tonight?" She missed him, and according to her highly scientific method of theorizing when Casey'd be home from the information given to her by Nyah and Tristan over the past few days, Lottie concluded he was late.

They shrugged.

Lottie didn't like their answer.

Turning to Brad, Tristan said, "I've got the shingles. Can you start on the shelvin'?"

"We repurposing the originals?"

"If you think you can, but if not, you can dismantle the last travois for them."

Brad acknowledged Tristan with a nod. As he went by Lottie, Brad patted her on the shoulder and yelled to Tristan, "I'll take care of it."

Taking a deep breath, Lottie debated whether she should follow Brad or if she should stay with Tristan. Before she could decide one way or the other, Tristan slung a sack over his shoulder and jumped, catching a cross beam in his hands. He hooked his leg over it. The bag on his shoulder swung freely beneath him. He gave her a tight smile and shimmied his way down the support until he reached the center. From there, he quickly finagled himself up and over the joist and onto the rafters.

Plunking himself down near the soffit overhang, he opened the bag and set to work. He set a single sheet of harvested shingles down and adjusted its placement before reaching into his pocket. He slipped a few short nails from it and pursed most of them between his lips. Tristan pressed one in place on the shingle and fished his hammer from his cargo-pants loop. He proceeded to tap the nail lightly once, and with a firm swing, then two, he had it fully seated.

Lottie watched him inch his way along the bottom of the roof. Each shingle sheet depleted the lumpy sack until it lay flat by his side.

"Toss it down," she ordered.

He looked at her quizzically for a moment, but then understanding dawned, and he emptied the sack of the remaining shingle sheet before dropping it to the ground where Lottie retrieved it. She brought it to the pile of unused shingles and stuffed the bag full. Now he wouldn't have to get down. Lottie heaved the heavy sack, arm muscles straining, and after a quick assessment, she realized it was far too heavy for her to lob up to Tristan.

She cast around for a solution before resorting to using her blanket-cape as a rudimentary pulley. Up and over it went. Tying the sack closure rope to the blanket without releasing the free end, she yanked down on it. Her knot held fast. She drew the sack upwards until Tristan could retrieve it from the line.

"Thanks," he said as he untied it from the blanket and resumed working.

Lottie grinned. "Glad to help." She watched him work for a few minutes, but it didn't take long for the chilly air to drive her back to her tent. She grabbed her heavy wool coat from inside and went back to Tristan. Once again, they worked as a team, one took a break to warm his or her fingers while the other performed their task, and in no time, Tristan was ready to tackle the other side of the shed.

He was settling in over the soffit when a whistle drew their attention. Brad walked toward them, a large, flat piece of wood under his arm. Lottie recognized it as one of the shelves from the current shed. "I thought you said it would take you a few hours to get each side done," he said.

"It would've," Tristan answered around a mouth full of nail heads. "Momma's help cut my time in half."

Brad nodded and murmured, "Thanks" as he passed her. "We might make our deadline now." Addressing Tristan, he asked, "Will it bother you if I start installing these shelves?"

"No. Not at all," Tristan replied. "Here," he added and tossed her the empty bag.

Lottie took it, even though she saw a small stack of shingles next to Tristan. After filling the bag, she lugged it back to him. He waited for her to attach it to the line before hoisting it up. While he lifted the bag, she rubbed her back. A full day of carrying the weight of the shingles was almost too much for her to handle.

"You don't have to stay, ya'know," Tristan said.

She smiled sheepishly. Tristan must have caught her staring at the fire longingly. He patted his pocket and made a face. "On second thought, can you get me some more nails before you go?"

Well, that decided it. Lottie wasn't going anywhere yet, and she chuckled, bent to retrieve the requested item for Tristan. She dropped the remaining nails into the bag and tossed it up. He caught it before it could finish its upward path. It rattled in his hand, and he pulled what he needed from its depths, and went back to his task.

Inside the structure, Brad continued to pound away, but periodically he left them to get new boards for the shelves. By the time Tristan was ready for the roof cap shingles, he was too.

Brad jumped, hooking his fingers on the roof, and shoving his foot into a wooden crossbeam. When it slipped, Tristan grumbled a 'careful' but strode over to help him. Once safely on the roof, they set to work finishing off the top.

Lottie watched for a while, but there didn't seem to be anything else she could do at the moment, so she grabbed her blanket and meandered back to the central fire where the other women were congregating. She greeted everyone as she scooped two mugs full of hot water. Heading back to the men, she stopped and added some mint from the supplies laid out on the picnic table.

Back at the new shed, both Tristan and Brad sat on the roof, resting, their arms casually looped around their knees. She smiled up at them and showed them the mugs full of tea. "Thought you could use these."

Tristan grinned and slid down the roof and hopped to the ground in front of her. Brad followed a moment later. "Thanks, Momma," Tristan said and took one. Turning to indicate the new shed, he asked, "How's it look?" The shiny new shed had a fancy roof and several shelves but no siding.

"Airy," Lottie answered.

Tristan's brow pulled together as he frowned, and Lottie barely kept from smiling. Tristan—when he realized her jest—tried to suppress a snort and failed. "Well, 'side from that."

She reached up and pulled Tristan into a hug. "It's perfect. Thank you." Now all they needed were some more food supplies to fill it.

***

"We need to stop," Casey panted, completely winded. He could no longer deny the burning sensation buried bone deep in his ankle.

"All right," Jaesen said, dropping his half of the line attached to the travois. "This a quick break, or do you need me to set up the tent?"

Casey's brows furrowed, and he rubbed the back of his neck. His limbs shook with fatigue, and his back ached. He hated to give Jaesen the order, but he didn't see any other option. Clearing his throat, Casey said, "Set up the tent. We'll stay here for the night."

"Sounds good, Case," Jaesen agreed and set to the task of removing the tent from his pack. "Go ahead and rest. I'll have it up in a few minutes."

Grabbing his cane from the top of the travois, Casey stabbed it into the dirt with each step he took. He headed toward the fallen log, which had caught his eye and prompted him to give in to the pain radiating upwards from his ankle. Upon reaching his target, he lowered himself with a groan, and, grasping his cane between both hands, Casey leaned against its knobbed surface.

Breathing shallowly, Casey forced his mind to let go of his aches and to focus on his next mission, and slowly, his thoughts of how he would approach the Six-Flags camp won over his physical discomforts.

"When you're ready,"—Jaesen called from behind the partially erected tent—"Can you start a fire?" His next words grew muffled, but Casey could hear him well enough. "We stopped early enough that I can go hunting. Even if it's only a few squirrels, it'll be better than another day of cold rations."

Lifting his chin and addressing the nylon, Casey said, "On it." His knuckles turned white from the punishing grip he had on his cane as it bore the full brunt of his weight when he stood. Finally upright, he slapped his palm against his thigh, trying to force circulation back into the stiff appendage. The cold wind wasn't doing him any favors.

Casey sighed and took a few hesitant steps. When his ankle held with no further complaints, he increased his pace, stopping at the travois to retrieve the blanket they used to help carry firewood. He flipped the edge of the tarp off the closest plastic box and unsnapped the lid. The hauler was easy to find. Pulling it out, Casey headed into the forest to find materials for the fire.

Once the firewood pile achieved an acceptable size, Casey stopped collecting and built a fire. When it was blazing cheerfully, Casey rejoined Jaesen.

"Need help?" Casey asked.

"Sure, Case. Can you secure the door overhang?"

Without replying, Casey turned and finished tacking down the guy lines at the front of the tent. Both men straightened at the same time.

"Thanks, Case," Jaesen said before Casey could do the same. "You get water yet?"

Casey shook his head. "Didn't want to leave the fire before it was stable."

"Gottcha. Well, I'll do it now and then go hunting, if that's all right with you?"

With a smile and a salute, Casey sent Jaesen on his way. Now all he had to do was keep the fire going until Jaesen came back.

***

Casey awoke with a snort to a gentle tap on the ball of his non-injured foot.

"Dinner's almost done. You wanna eat?"

The words Jaesen spoke made zero sense, and Casey rubbed his forehead. "Huh?"

"Hungry? Wanna eat?"

"Oh... Yeah," Casey said and sat up. He kneaded his shoulder right over his collarbone. Casey had an awful kink in his neck. "How long was I out?" he slurred.

Jaesen shrugged. "You were awake when I left." He pointed to the fire. It was burning, though not as intensely as before. "It's still lit. Couldn't have been that long, but if you sleep now, you'll never sleep tonight."

Casey nodded. "Kill anything?"

"Yeah. A couple of squirrels and four quail."

"Really? Quail?" Casey's mouth watered at the thought of roasted birds.

"Yeah. I dumped the squirrel in the pot, but figured we could slow cook the quail for breakfast tomorrow."

"Nice. Good Job," Casey said.

Jaesen grinned at the praise.

Casey turned his attention to the soup and eyeballed the broth. There was an oily sheen to its surface, but it smelled delicious, and Casey could see small chunks of vegetables bubbling to the top only to sink again as new pieces displaced them. "What else is in there?"

"I added two travel cakes for the fat and added some of the dried vegetables we'd brought." A rumble from Casey's stomach punctuated Jaesen's description, and they laughed. "All right, all right. I'll shut up. Let's eat."

"Good plan."

Jaesen served them both, and after a few helpings, they sat back, replete. Jaesen patted his stomach and burped softly. After begging Casey's pardon, Jaesen said, "Can I ask you something, and you don't have to answer."

Casey cocked an eyebrow, wondering where Jaesen would go with this. "Sure."

Jasen poked at the fire while he organized his thoughts. Finally, he asked, "How did Jules and Javier know where to find us? Did Noah tell them where to go? Did you?"

The soup in Casey's belly turned heavy as if he'd eaten spoiled food. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He glanced at Jaesen from under his brows. "Javier's known about Lottie and Greysen almost as long as Tristan has, but Jules didn't find out until last fall when Noah had an emergency mission and couldn't watch Greysen. Of course, I couldn't either. Greysen needed twenty-four-hour care, and I had my duties at Fort Sutton. But I might have been able to juggle it if you, Javier, and Matt hadn't left. And well, Jules was pretty much my last resort."

Casey let go of his nose and ran his hand through his hair. It was getting long, and he made a note to take his knife to it.

He raised his head to catch Jaesen's gaze with his. "Unfortunately, Jules, Tristan and I weren't enough to care for the kiddo—I had to hide our absences, not only from Lincoln but from the other soldiers too."

"Which means someone else at Fort Sutton knows."

Casey touched his finger to the tip of his nose, signaling to Jaesen that he was right.

"Can I ask who?"

"Wade."

Jaesen's nose scrunched, and he shot Casey a look. "Wade? You trusted an FNG?"

"Yep," Casey replied.

Jaesen sat back, his shoulders slumping. "Huh."

"He was your replacement. He came from Fort Ridge. Was well respected."

"Ah." After a bit, Jaesen added, "And you trust him?"

Casey snorted and grimaced. "Not at first, but as I said. We couldn't do it alone, and that meant I didn't have much choice."

They were quiet for several moments. During the silence, Jaesen knelt by the fire to stoke it and feed it with fresh logs. After he sat back down, he asked, "Why him? What was it that convinced you?"

"Nothing at first." After a deep breath, Casey said, "But eventually his age, attitude, and something he said while under gunpoint—"

"You pulled a gun on him?!"

"—Well, Tristan did—but—"

"—Shit, Case."

"Yeah," Casey added with a half-swallowed chuckle. "Anyway, what he said and how he reacted to Greysen's reveal proved his worth."

"So," Jaesen trailed off. He renewed his effort by asking, "All in all, who knows about Lottie and Grey?"

"From Fort Sutton or in general?"

"General."

"Nine confirmed—but that doesn't include myself or any of Green's subordinates who may know or any of the soldiers Lottie encountered on her way to the facility—I think she met Cameron—but that number does include Captain Kenzie."

_Captain Kenzie._

Casey wondered what the deal was for the Captain. Why did he want to contact Noah? Casey doubted he'd ever really know. It wasn't as if Agent Ayers had come back to explain the details. And everyone knew how well Noah did with answering questions.

"Do you know why he's trying to find Noah?"

Casey huffed a small laugh. "I was just thinking about that, and, no, I don't know why."

"What about the settlement?"

"What about it."

"Who knows about the settlement?"

"Ah," Casey said in understanding. "Same people, except Green, his men, and Cameron—though that will change soon, I'm sure."

"You think Green will find us?"

Casey paused and replayed the conversation, trying to find the origin for Jaesen's inquiry. He couldn't find the point of confusion, so he asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"By what? Green finding us?"

"Yes."

"Well, you said that would change, and I thought you knew something about Green that I didn't."

Shaking his head, Casey smiled. "I meant, Cameron. If Agent Ayers vets him, then Cameron will learn of our location when he runs messages between us."

"Ah," Jaesen said.

The conversation lapsed. In its absence, Casey stared at the flickering flames. His mind adrift.

"You think Wade will join us?"

Jaesen's question startled Casey from his musings, but he didn't hesitate to answer. "Yes."

"What makes you so sure?" Jaesen asked and poked at the fire with a long stick.

_The fact his sister, Zoe, lives here_ , Casey thought, but that information wasn't Casey's to divulge, so instead, he said, "Just a feeling I have."

Jaesen nodded and didn't say anything more.

# Chapter 7

Rustling outside of his tent woke Casey from his light sleep.

"Case? Case? You awake?" Or maybe it had been Jaesen's voice. "Time for our patrol."

"Yeah," he whispered. "Be right there."

"What is it," Lottie murmured from her nest under the blankets. Her bare shoulder peeked out from under the edge of the covers, and Casey couldn't resist. He rubbed his whiskered chin against her shoulder as he bent to kiss it. She shifted to her back and blinked lazily at him. "Why are you up? Is everything all right?"

Casey shushed her with a kiss, and he groaned when her tongue tangled with his. He pulled back, dropping soft pecks on her cheeks and nose. "My turn on the watch."

She touched his cheek and nodded. Tugging him down to her by his nape, she gave him one last quick kiss before rolling over and hugging the blankets to her chin. Her breathing evened out a moment later, and Casey swallowed back a snort.

Gone were the days when she held herself rigid in his arms, too afraid of his every move to sleep deeply. A smile tugged at his lips, but he schooled his features. His hand planted in between Lottie and Greysen for balance as he kissed his son goodbye. On his way back up, he touched Lottie's belly, where his next son grew. Once his morning greetings were complete, he slid out from under the covers and dressed.

Easing from the tent, he grabbed his cane and padded silently down the small path toward Jaesen, who, by tacit agreement, should be waiting for him at the central fire. As Casey entered the fire's circle of illumination, Jaesen said, "Jules and Javier gave their all clear, and I sent them to bed. We're to wake Brad and Tristan on our second circuit. They'll prep breakfast while we finish up."

Casey nodded and hid a yawn behind his hand. "They say which direction they patrolled?"

"North of the cemetery, west of the coop, and they finished up south at the river ford before coming back."

Stifling another yawn, Casey said, "Let's start at the ford and end at the cemetery for our first pass. Check-in. Then finish up by patrolling the orchard and the dock."

"Sounds good."

Their path brought them past the new shed, and Casey took a moment to appreciate Tristan's handy work. It was well built—a fact anyone could see—and, as Tristan had assured him, using seasoned wood from the old house instead of green logs like Casey'd suggested would extend the life of the shed by several more years.

At the tree line, a moment before they left the clearing proper, Jaesen stopped him. "I need to hit the head before we leave."

On a whim, Casey asked, "Ever wonder why we continue to use nautical references even though sea-faring travel has been long dead?"

Jaesen's head tilted to the side, and he shot Casey an amused look. "Would you rather I say 'I'm squirting the dirt' or 'gonna make the bladder gladder' how about 'give me a minute, I'm watering the trees' or better yet, 'I have to tinkle!'?"

"That makes you sound three."

"And _that_ makes you sound like Lottie."

Casey glared at Jaesen with his jaw clenched tight to keep from sticking out his tongue, which, he admitted, was something Lottie would have done.

Launching right back into his euphemism list, Jaesen said, "I know, 'I'm marking my territory!'"

"You can stop," Casey ordered, his voice sounded strangled with the urge not to laugh.

"'Drain the main vein'?"

"Seriously, Jaesen, stop," Casey mock-grumbled at the same time as Jaesen added, "How about I introduce a new one. Each time I need to take a piss, I'll tell you, 'I'm off to storm the fort!'."

Casey snorted and shook his head. "I'm going to start calling you Javier."

Jaesen clapped his hands over his heart, staggered backward as if shot. Whimpering, he said, "You wound me."

"Then knock it off."

Nodding vigorously, Jaesen pitched his voice, and in a passible Javier impersonation, he said, "I'll be good. I promise."

"Shut-up." Casey laughed and waved Jaesen forward.

After a quick detour to the outhouse, they were on their way, and as they left the settlement proper, their conversation resumed at a more reasonable volume. Still chuckling, Casey said, "I can't believe we got that stove inside the shed without Bean noticing."

"Who knew a kid could scream that loud?"

Casey shook his head, remembering the fortuitous, full-blown, toddler meltdown, which had kept her busy when they first arrived, and of course, Greysen's cries set off a bunch of the others. It was baby-wailing-pandemonium for several minutes before the adults could restore order, but by then, Casey and Jaesen had finished with their deception.

As they patrolled, they kept their gazes sharp, always watching for threats. Luckily, none presented, and in fact, the silent countryside appeared to be waiting as if it held its breath for the coming dawn.

Dawn.

Casey's favorite time of the day, even though he would rather sleep through it, but since he was awake, he looked forward to the impending sunrise. As they traveled the well-worn path, the sky lightened, and by degrees, the deep shadows gave way, revealing scraggly brush, dormant honeysuckle, and towering trees with a horizon painted in pink, red, and gold.

Scratching his stomach, Jaesen muttered, "Damn, I'm hungry."

Casey agreed, reminding him of how little food they had stored. A fact brought brutally home yesterday when they shoved the stove inside the new shed and had a good look at their meager supplies.

"She does a damn good job of feeding us," Jaesen said, proving his thoughts had also shifted to the settlement's food shortage situation. "You know she goes out every day trying to find more edibles."

Casey grunted in agreement, stopping to check on the chickens. The hens clucked in warning when he stuck his head into their coop.

Jaesen said, "It's getting harder for her. She comes back empty-handed more often than not, now."

Casey retracted his head and located Jaesen.

Jaesen then asked, "Think the chickens will give us enough eggs this winter to keep us going?"

"Technically no," Casey replied, his brow wrinkling in thought. Thanks to Jules and Javier, the settlement now had thirteen hens and three roosters, but not all the hens laid regularly, and with twelve adults in the camp, there wouldn't be an adequate surplus of eggs to feed everyone _and_ build up the brood with hatchlings. Both the food and the chick shortfall was staggering. "We'll have to set a chick hatching schedule come spring to build our numbers."

"How many you think we need?" Jaesen asked. "I know we had close to forty birds at Fort Sutton."

Casey rubbed his eyebrow and glanced at Jaesen from the corner of his eye as he left the coop for the cemetery. "Tristan said a good rule of thumb was six birds to every four people."

Jaesen fell silent. Moving ahead of Casey, he held back a large branch for Casey. As Casey ducked under, Jaesen asked, "So, six more birds?"

"If we don't grow any larger, yes, but those babies will be toddlers before you know it, and they'll need to eat." Casey checked the placement of his cane on the ground before stepping over the rocks in the path. "We're looking at thirteen more birds at least, but that's assuming a modest consumption rate, not to mention eating the old birds as they age out of laying."

Jaesen whistled.

"Yeah." Worry gnawed in Casey's belly, much like his teeth worried at the soft part of his inner cheek, making his jaw click and ache.

"How're we going to do that?"

Casey wasn't sure exactly. He'd only talked about it with Tristan once—other needs had been more pressing—but not anymore. No, now, Casey had to give the food shortage his full attention.

"I'm hoping this trade mission will be successful enough to get us through the worst of winter," Casey said. "I'm not holding my breath, though, so when you're out hunting, keep your eyes focused on edibles as well as animals. It'll be hard with everything dormant."

"Understood," Jaesen said.

Their conversation continued along a lighter vein while they walked, and, by the time the sun had risen sufficiently above the horizon, they had finished their first circuit at the cemetery and turned back toward the settlement. They circled the homestead from the north and cut south at his tent. As they entered the clearing, they made their way to Brad and Tristan's tent.

"Time to get up," Casey called and immediately flinched, hoping he hadn't woken Zoe or Dexy. His fear manifested a second later when he heard Zoe crooning to her daughter. But maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Maybe Dexy would go back to sleep without a fuss.

A sharp cry pierced the air.

_Or not._

Zoe shushed Dexy. Her attempts at calming the infant were in vain. Dexy's cry morphed from the early whimpering of a rudely awoken newborn to the eardrum splitting wail of a hungry baby. To make matters worse, across the clearing, the soft mutterings of Ally comforting one of her children grew in direct proportion to the keen of the baby inside Ally's tent.

Casey smacked his forehead with his palm. He had not meant to set them all off.

Thankfully the sound of Tristan murmuring to Brad rose above the cacophony of screaming. It shamed him, but Casey couldn't wait to quit the settlement before any of the mothers realized he was the cause of the uproar.

A zipper rasp form Zoe's tent drew Casey's attention. His mouth popped open when Tristan's uniform-clad backside appeared. Casey's jaw snapped shut seconds before Tristan stood and faced him.

"What?"

"Nothing," Casey said, shaking his head and dismissing his question about whether or not Tristan had changed his mind about Zoe since it appeared he _had_ decided to pursue a relationship with both her and little Dexy.

_Good for him_ , Casey thought, remembering how much Zoe's death and subsequent imprisonment at Sandra and Horton Gates Research Hospital had affected Tristan.

Tristan stepped around Casey to Brad's tent. Sticking his head in, he said to Brad, "I'll head up to the coop. I'll meet you there?"

A tired 'okay' came from inside.

After catching Casey's gaze over the top of the tent, Tristan firmed his shoulders and strode off to do his morning tasks, and with that business completed, Casey sighed, turned to Jaesen, and said, "Let's finish up."

"Yeah," Jaesen agreed, his lips were pinched between his teeth, clearly trying not to laugh.

"Not another word," Casey growled, bringing a renewed twinkle to Jaesen's eye. Casey snorted, and they both lost their fight against their mirth.

Looping his arm over Casey's shoulder, Jaesen said, "Come on. Let's go."

Casey liked that plan.

***

Casey watched as Lottie handed Ally a plate of food.

Ally thanked her, and after juggling little Cody on her hip, she sat and tucked into her meal.

Casey held back his grin at Ally's gusto and returned his focus to the food in front of him. Knowing what he did about their stores, Casey marveled at much was on his plate. His serving consisted of some sort of chipped and pan-fried root, which mimicked potatoes. The starchy roots acted as a bed for the scrambled eggs, wilted mustard greens spread on top, and on the side, he had a handful of roasted chestnuts and dried cranberries wrapped in acorn-flour flat cakes. The meal was delicious, and his cup of holly tea rounded out the other flavors nicely.

"This is great, Momma," Tristan said, his words garbled from the food in his mouth.

"Thanks," Lottie said and gave him one of her signature, lopsided smiles. "Now stop talking with your mouth full. You'll set a bad example for Nyah."

"Can't have that," Tristan said over the top of Nyah's barked, "Hey!"

Lottie shrugged. "Not my fault that more food flies out than stays in."

"I'm not that bad." Nyah scowled but winked at Lottie.

"Grey, chew with your mouth closed," Lottie admonished.

Casey shook his head. When he caught Lottie's eye, he patted the log next to him, calling her over. She grabbed her plate, Greysen's hand, and sat where Casey'd indicated. Lottie helped Greysen to sit in front of her, and after he plunked himself down, she offered him a fork. Grabbing it in one tiny hand, he proceeded to eat bite after bite from Lottie's plate. Casey watched her every forkful, and in no time at all, it became clear that for each one she took, Greysen took three.

_Why wasn't she eating more_ , Casey wondered.

Pulling his attention from her, he took a bite from his plate. He chewed on the crunchy roots and egg mixture as he ruminated on what was wrong.

"So, Case, when're we leaving for the Six-Flags camp?" Brad asked.

Lottie tensed at Brad's question. Casey gripped her hand and squeezed once before letting go. He made to reply to Brad, but Katie spoke first. "Wait," she said from her spot next to Nyah. "I thought you were going to Fort St. Louis."

Deciding to answer Brad first, Casey replied, "Tomorrow or the next day, if possible." Turning to Katie, he said, "Javier pointed out the conspicuousness of our items, and I agreed. Finding a suitable market in Fort St. Louis would be a challenge."

"Dulce."

"And you think you'll have better luck with this other settlement," Ally inquired.

"In short, yes."

"Why don't you start at the beginnin', Case," Tristan urged. "Not everyone has been privy to your thoughts these past few weeks."

"All right." Casey made sure to catch everyone's gaze with his own before he continued. "As you are all aware, despite everyone's best efforts, our food stores will not make it through the winter."

There was a general murmur of distress from the group, but Casey didn't pause long enough to let it gain a voice. "That is why I dispatched a group of us to strip that abandoned house for tradeable items—which you already know." There were a few murmurs of agreement.

"The reason for the change was twofold. One, who is to say we would find someone who not only had enough food available for trade, but was also willing to take PGD items, and two, food—though rationed—is plentiful in the Fort. I've never seen anyone trade for extra rations."

"But it exists, right?" Nyah questioned.

"Sure, it exists—theoretically—but can our deployment team risk a delay in finding it? Any unnecessary detainments could be catastrophic to our cause. All it would take is one confirmed sighting by CPS or a friend, and we'd all be back at Fort Twenty-four so fast..." At the mention of the prison camp, Casey shuddered.

Forcing his thoughts away from his escape, he continued, "Before you could even take your next breath, they'd have you cuffed and on your way south." He nodded to himself, and after another glance around the group to catch everyone's gaze, he continued, "None of us here are free. You"—Casey pointed to Nyah, then Ally and Katie—"are wanted fugitives just as I am. And out of all the soldiers stationed here, only Brad and Jaesen are free."

"I am too," Javier chimed in.

"And Javier," Casey added. "So, on the one hand, if we stick with our original plan, then our deployment mission would be required to remain in a hostile environment"—A soft moue of distress slipped from Lottie's pursed lips. Casey declined to acknowledge it.—"until we reach our objectives, regardless of how many trade attempts are required, or two, we settle. Neither option is palatable. We need the most food for our dollar."

"Okay, so you think the Six-Flags camp will give us fair value?" Nyah asked.

"In short, yes," Lottie replied unexpectedly, and Casey glanced down, catching her eye. She nodded once. "I agree with Javier and Casey. Trying them first is the better option than going straight to Fort St. Louis." She turned back to the group. "Javier hopes that they—being a well-established settlement—would have a surplus of food and a shortage of equipment."

When she paused, Casey picked up the thread of the conversation. "We hope to not only be successful in this deployment but also to build potential trade allies for the future."

Javier spoke up, "And if they don't require our PGD items, then maybe we can find out what they do need. With Noah's help, I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement."

Returning to the original question, Casey said, "As soon as we can mobilize, Brad, Javier, and I need to leave. That way, we can be back before the bitter cold of January."

"You planning on taking two weeks to get there," Tristan asked.

Casey nodded. "Field manuals allow for a ten-day transit from Fort Sutton to Fort St. Louis. But that is assuming a healthy soldier." Casey gave the group a self-deprecating smile. "I used to make it in five." He cleared his throat. "I plan for us to take fifteen days to reach their camp. Three days to establish contact. Five for negotiations and an additional twenty days to get home. That puts us—"

"—You'll miss the solstice party," Nyah said with a frown.

"Yes," Lottie replied to Nyah's non-question.

"But you said we'd have one."

"We will," Lottie assured her. Under her breath, she added, "Somehow." Casey didn't think anyone else heard her.

"It's a shame you can't take the travois," Grace said, adding her voice to the mix for the first time. "Might have cut down on your trip time. With three of you going, none of you would get as tired as we did with only two available to pull."

"But look at that shed," Tristan said, using his thumb to indicate the structure behind him, and the group chuckled.

Casey continued, "But, in all seriousness, I wish we could have taken one with us. If we're as successful as I hope we will be, then it would have been a great asset in bringing everything back. Which brings me to my next question, I know most of what we need, but now is the time to put in your requests. I will take them to the Six-Flags camp—and if at all possible—I'll come home with it."

"A toothbrush," Nyah chirped from her spot on the ground.

"A fresh, straight blade," Jaesen added. "My razor is duller than that chicken, Isabel."

"Don't knock ma'bird," Tristan grumped the same time as one of the women called out, "And tooth powder!" Casey assumed it had been Nyah.

"Shampoo and soap," Grace requested.

"I have something that may work," Lottie told her.

Grace nodded.

The group spent the next several minutes hashing out the other things they would want if they were successful in securing their food needs. As the conversation wrapped up, Lottie stood and began gathering plates. Casey watched as she surreptitiously checked the group, piquing his curiosity. Lottie satisfied his curiosity when she snagged a bite of food off one of the discarded plates she'd collected.

When she got to him, Casey caught her arm and gently pulled her ear to his mouth. After a quick kiss to her neck, he whispered, "Did you get enough to eat?"

The skin around her eyes tightened, and she gave him a little nod.

"Then why are you sampling?" Casey asked.

"I didn't want it to go to waste."

Her answer made sense, but her assurance didn't ring true. What was she hiding? The only thing Casey could come up with was she sacrificed her portion of breakfast for the others. He would ask Tristan to watch her, and if she was deliberately shorting herself, then maybe Tristan could talk to her. At the very least, Tristan could slip her some of his food when she wasn't looking.

And with that problem temporarily solved, he joined her in the cleanup.

***

Lottie stared at the fabric of her tent. The random snap of the nylon as it twitched in the stiff breeze almost sounded musical to her fatigued ear. Lottie sighed and rolled over. Curling around Grey, she wished she could sleep. Lottie snorted softly. Casey hadn't even left for the Six-Flags camp yet—he was only on his midnight patrol with Jaesen—and already, she couldn't sleep for missing him.

Tucking her arm under her ear, she stroked Grey's cheek and played with his curls. He was such a cutie, and her love overflowed to the point of bursting at the sight of him. Her touch must have disturbed him, for he stirred and mumbled a soft "daddy?" around his thumb before falling back asleep. "You and me both, kiddo," she whispered as Grey quieted. "You and me both."

Laying back, she closed her eyes, but after several more sleepless minutes, she gave up and slipped from the blankets. Making sure Grey was covered, she threw on her daytime clothes over her long underwear, grabbed her coat, and left the tent for the central fire. Maybe a friendly chat with someone else would quiet her mind and let her relax.

A quick stroll down the path brought her to the central clearing and where everyone else bedded down. Lottie frowned. Just her luck. No one was awake.

Sighing, she made her way to the fire, stoked it, and after throwing a fresh log on the flames, she collapsed onto a stump-turned-chair. Her activity drew Attila, and the dog padded over. Attila found a comfy spot at Lottie's feet, and after she lay down, she rested her head on her paws with a huff. Lottie ruffled Attila's ears, shifted her weight, and drew her feet up. She wrapped her arms around her shins and rested her chin on her knees. She sat there for several minutes, staring blankly at the fire, letting her mind calm.

Sometime later, Attila lifted her head. Her lips pulled back in a silent snarl, and she stared off toward the path leading to the dock. Turning to face the same direction, Lottie strained to hear or see what caught the dog's attention. Sometime later, she heard voices.

"So then," Jaesen said as he exited the tree line with Casey right behind him. Looking up, Jaesen spied her and waved, but didn't pause in his story retelling. "Walt and I snuck back into the barracks from our trip to the market, and after posting me on watch at the door, he proceeded to hide the smoked fish in the drop ceiling of Bert's room."

Casey made an inarticulate sound of disgust as he began his usual check of the clearing for dangers. His gaze swept over her head as he checked the perimeter, then slowly spiraled inward toward her. She knew when he saw her for he grinned.

Jaesen chuckled. "It took Bert weeks to find where the smell was coming from."

"Wouldn't the location be clear when decomposition made the fish start to leak?"

Jaesen's chest heaved with suppressed laughter, and he shook his head.

Wiping his eyes, Jaesen said, "Walt put it on a tray. Evaporation did the rest."

Lottie snickered quietly to herself, using a tray was brilliant.

"Hell, even our Drill Sergeant looked for the source without finding it." After a pause, Jaesen added, "Hmm. Ya'know? Walt might've told Bert where to look." With a shrug, Jaesen said, "Anyway, it stank to high heaven even weeks after its removal. Bert couldn't set foot into his room without gaging."

"What about his bunkmate?"

"That's the beauty of it," Jaesen said with a chuckle. "He didn't have one."

"Huh. How'd he pull that off?"

Lottie wondered the same thing.

"No idea," Jaesen said, his shoulders hitched toward his ears in a quick jerk. "Guess he had some persuasive arguments for the sergeant."

Casey snorted. "And Walt did all of this in retaliation for Bart's prank?"

"Bert," Jaesen corrected. "And, yeah. Bert saturated everyone's clothes with buckets of dirty runoff water while we were showering. We had to wear the soiled uniforms at roll call. Earning us demerits and extra PT. So yeah, he deserved it."

"Sounds like it." Clapping Jaesen on the shoulder, Casey said, "Remind me not to piss you or Walt off in the future. Go get some rest, and if I don't see you before I leave tomorrow, then goodbye for a few weeks."

Jaesen nodded to Casey and then Lottie before disappearing into the tent he shared with Brad. Once he was gone, Casey joined her at the fire. He eased himself down and slid into place with her back to his chest, his hands finding a home under her jacket and on her belly. The baby inside thumbed and shifted under his touch.

"Hey," Casey whispered into her ear.

"Hey, yourself," Lottie replied.

"Can't sleep?"

Lottie shook her head.

"Is it the baby?"

She patted his hand. "No"

Casey hugged her gently, conveying his understanding of her difficulty sleeping tonight without her having to give it voice.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Lottie whispered, but his words of comfort didn't help her much. Leaning back, she rested her head on his shoulder and looked at the stars.

Casey kissed her temple. "You're going to stay up all night worrying, though, aren't you?"

She nodded. So many things could go wrong, not the least of which would be a failure to secure what they need to survive. But then there was also the IRT. What if they found him while he was in transit? What if the Six-Flags camp didn't have any food to share? What if they thought Casey had more to offer in trade than what he did? They could rob him. Hurt him. Lottie shuddered, as her thoughts conjured one horror after another.

Her chest ached, and her breaths came and went in short, sharp, bursts as if she were sprinting.

"Shh," Casey soothed, rocking her side to side gently. "It will be all right. _I'll_ be all right. I'm not going alone, remember? I'm taking Brad and Javier. They have my six, and I have theirs."

Lottie nodded, knowing it only went so far, but she tried to calm her breathing. She hadn't felt this out of control since she was discovered by Noah two years ago.

She flexed her stiff fingers and massaged her palm with her opposite hand's thumb. Casey slipped his hands from their vigil on her stomach to pull hers under her coat. He twined his fingers in hers, stilling her restless fidgeting. Gently, he replaced their hands on her belly. Their baby flipped and turned in her womb while they sat in silence under the stars, not speaking, letting their combined touch communicate their closeness to each other.

A sense of peace grew in her breast, along with another desire. Turning, she nuzzled Casey's neck with her cold nose. His fingers tensed around hers.

"Bean?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling, dropping a kiss to the column of his throat.

"Are you being subtle?"

"Maybe..."

Casey growled deep in his chest, and Lottie bit her lip to hold back her laughter.

"Want a sendoff to remember me by?" she asked.

A soft groan was his answer, and he slipped an arm under her legs and across her back, and in one fell swoop, he stood with her in his arms.

Heading back to their tent, Lottie covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. "Eager?"

"Always."

***

The celling of her tent hadn't changed much in the past hour. Lottie should know. She'd been staring at it most of the night. The only difference between before she went to the clearing and now, was Casey. His arm pillowed her neck, and his other one was draped perfectly over her growing belly. She smiled. He seemed comfortable. His breath stirred the hair on her forehead and left a tickle in its wake. She suppressed the urge to scratch. She didn't want to wake him by moving. As it was, he'd need to be up and on his way in less than an hour.

Soft snorts drew her attention. Moving her free arm, she invited Grey over. A moment later, he'd crawled the short distance between them to rest in the nook of her arm.

"Daddy," he whispered, drawing the 'a' out.

"Yeah, bud?" Casey said through a yawn.

"Daddy up."

Lottie lifted her head to free Casey's arm as he pushed upwards onto his elbow. Lifting Grey up and over her, Casey lay back down and situated Grey on his chest. Grey, for his part, wrapped his arms around Casey and smiled at Lottie. The three of them cuddled together for several minutes before Casey murmured, "I'll miss you, bud," and kissed the top of Grey's head.

"Daddy go?" Grey asked, his lower lip quivering.

"Yeah. But for a little while. I'll be back before you know it."

Lottie wanted to tell him Grey wouldn't understand, but before she could say anything, Grey wailed, "No, daddy. No, go."

Muttering under his breath, Casey said, "You're killing me here," and Lottie felt a tear build in the corner of her eye. Louder, Casey tried to reassure Grey, but it wasn't working. Lottie sighed. Her hand left the sanctuary of the blankets in search of her outer garments. Finding them, she pulled them to her and warmed them against her body for a minute before dressing. Once clothed, she plucked Grey from Casey's lap. "Let's go make breakfast for daddy before he goes on his super important mission, okay, Grey?"

Grey stuck his thumb in his mouth and nodded. Turning to Casey, she gave him a tight smile and said, "Take your time. We'll wait for you outside."

Casey nodded. His hand wrapped around her nape, and he pulled her close for a quick kiss on the lips then nose. "Be right out."

She nodded, and juggling Grey in her arms, Lottie let herself out of their tent where she paused a moment to shove her feet into her wet and muddy shoes before heading off to the clearing for the second time that night.

Upon entering the central area, she spied Jaesen and Katie huddled by the fire chatting while Jules and Javier cooked breakfast. Off toward the dock's path, Brad and Tristan were striking Brad's tent in preparation for their mission.

Lottie hitched Grey higher on her hip and strode toward the flames.

"Need help?" she offered Jules and Javier.

"Sure, Chica," Jules replied. "Any ideas on how to stretch this?" he asked, pointing to the frying pan filled with scrambled eggs and the soup pot full of boiling water.

"What's in that?" She asked, leaning over to look inside.

"Right now? Nothing," Jules answered.

"Well," Lottie began and tapped her finger to her lips. Facing Grey, she made faces at him. He grinned back at her. "It's simple enough to make nothing stretch further. Just add more nothing." Lottie snuck a peek at Jules and found him scowling.

"That's not what I meant."

Katie snorted. "But it's what you asked."

He huffed, earning an outright laugh from Katie.

"Let me go see what we have in storage," Lottie said.

"Here, let me take him," Katie offered.

"Thanks," Lottie said, handing Grey to her.

With the kid transfer complete, Lottie hustled to the shed to get a few items for the camp's breakfast. When she returned, Casey, Zoe, and Grace had joined the others at the fire. Lottie joined Javier and Jules with her ingredients, and a few minutes later, the soup was bubbling with dried vegetables and slices of venison jerky.

"That smells delish," Katie remarked. "Where'd you learn to cook so well? Did you train with LPD?"

"No, I was a file clerk with the FAR."

"Dulce." Shifting Grey on her lap, Katie asked, "So, where'd you learn?"

"At first, I used AHC field manuals, but I lost those and had to use my memories until Gates, where I was able to acquire new documentation."

Katie nodded. "Do you like it? Cooking, I mean?"

Did she? Lottie hadn't thought so, but she did enjoy tasting the different flavors each plant brought to a dish, not to mention how hard it was to find edibles in winter. That activity alone stretched her knowledge in ways Lottie had never expected. She answered Kite with a nod. "Yes, I guess I do."

"Well, you're good at it."

Lottie's cheeks grew warm from Katie's praise, and she refocused on the soup to deflect everyone's attention. It worked. The conversation quickly veered away from Lottie's skills in the garden and kitchen and moved to Casey, Javier, and Brad's impending mission. By the time the whole camp had their fill from breakfast, Casey and his team were packed and ready to go.

Pulling Casey too her, she hugged him and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Stay safe," she whispered.

"You know I will," he replied. Scooping Grey up into his arms, he kissed him and handed him to Lottie. "Take care of them both while I'm gone."

"You know I will," she parroted, earning her a small smile and another kiss before he was off.

She stood there, next to the fire, oblivious to the bustle of her small community as Lottie watched Casey's back as he walked away. She sighed, keeping her vigil long after he disappeared into the tree line.

***

"Here," Zoe said as she handed Lottie a wad of clean, wet clothes from the bottom of the washtub.

Lottie took them from her and dumped them into the rinse basin while Zoe plunged her hands back into the soapy water. Zoe fished around in its depths for a few moments before she retrieved a new garment from the bottom and proceeded to agitate it against one of the washboards Tristan had made for them.

Turning back to her task, Lottie swished the clean clothes in the rinse, making sure to be extra careful in removing soap from the items. Dexy frequently developed welts when they wrapped her up, and Lottie hoped it was a reaction to their washing and not due to a wool allergy. Once Lottie was confident the items were free of soap, she wrung them out and draped them over the clothesline.

As she pinned the last one, Lottie became aware of being watched. It was a subtle sensation. Sounds in the woods were—off—as if birds spied a predator stalking closer or a herd of deer frozen by a shift in the wind bringing the scent of a hunter just waiting for the right moment to strike—yet the birds sang, and the squirrels foraged as if nothing was amiss.

Lottie stilled, her hand poised above the clip holding the shirtsleeve as she strained to hear what was different.

Nothing.

She checked her surroundings from the corner of her eyes.

Nothing.

She sniffed the air.

A dry, earthy smell mixed in the air, tasting of mud and not-quite spoiled meat, reminding her of summer when she had worked diligently on transforming their hides into leather.

Leather!

The smell in the cold air reminded her of leather and mint.

_Noah?_ It had to be him. No one else smelled of that combination. It invoked a sense of safety and calmed her heart. Only one other person made her feel as secure, and he had left for the Six-Flags camp over a week ago.

"Come on out, Noah. I know you're watching me," Lottie called.

"Noah?" Zoe whispered behind her.

"Very good, Child," Noah said and stepped into her field of vision from the edge of the trees. "You noticed me almost immediately.

"Hey, welcome back," Zoe said, and Lottie echoed her.

Noah gave Lottie one of his rare smiles and shrugged out of his pack.

"Here, let me take that," Lottie offered, drying her wet hands on her pants. "Where's your tent. Is it inside your bag? You'll need one. All of ours are gone now that Casey, Brad, and Javier are on a mission."

"Where did they go?"

"Oh! You don't know, do you?"

Instead of responding, he raised an eyebrow in his signature move, which never failed to irritate Casey to the point of swearing. Lottie snickered, remembering the last time Noah had used his expression on Casey. Casey had been so angry; he'd grumbled to her for at least an hour after Noah left. Her mirth at the memory morphed into chuckles, and then, full belly laughs to the point her stomach hurt, and her growing infant kicked her in protest to all the shaking. Her hands found her rounded belly, and she rubbed it soothingly. The motion calmed them both.

With the chuckle coloring her tone, she apologized, and said, "He went to the Six-Flags camp to trade for more food."

"Ah."

At the reference to their food shortage, Lottie's humor evaporated. Lottie cleared her throat and added, "We don't have enough to last us more than a few weeks. Tops. I did a count today, and we'll be out of all our dried vegetables by the solstice." She tucked her hands into her pockets. "We have plenty of dried meat and rendered fat, though, so we can keep our calorie intake up even though we face other malnutrition issues." She shrugged. "I can keep us healthy with herbs and teas, but only for a few weeks, maybe a month. By the worst of winter, we'll be out of even those things."

"Well it's good I brought what I did." Noah pointed to his bag.

"Oh? What did you bring?" Lottie questioned.

"See for yourself," he urged.

Lottie knelt to open the sack, eager to see what was inside. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, creating a whistle.

"What did you find?" Zoe asked, joining Lottie, then exclaimed, "No way!"

They both reached in and pulled out the first items they could grab.

"Flour?!" Lottie beamed at Noah. Now she could thicken the soups, making them last longer by filling their bellies faster.

"And beans," Zoe said.

Reaching back in, Lottie grabbed the next thing and pulled it out. "Apples?"

"Cinnamon! Sugar!" Zoe exclaimed. "Where did you get these?"

"I stopped by Fort Sutton's orchard for the apples," Noah said. "but I brought everything else from Fort St. Louis. There's enough there for a pie or two. I thought it would be a nice change. A treat."

"Oh, Noah," Lottie said, cutting him off. "I wish we could, but—" A wishful sighed escaped her as she looked at the apples. "A pie would be delicious." She took another deep breath. "Maybe we can have one once Casey gets back."

Zoe nodded in agreement. "You bring anything else?"

"A few more dried rations and some dietary supplements curtesy of Surgeon Armstrong."

"Medicine?" Lottie asked.

"Not medicine per se, but vitamins, some folic acid and Trigonella Foenum Graecum for pregnancy and nursing."

"Trigonella Phone... Foam... Foe... What?" Zoe asked.

"Trigonella Foenum Graecum," Noah repeated. "Mimics female hormones and helps with milk production."

"It's the scientific name for fenugreek," Lottie translated.

"Yes," Noah confirmed. If he had been surprised by her answer, he didn't show it.

"I'll put them away," Lottie said as she shoved the items back into his pack, but before she could put it on her shoulder, Noah picked it up and started walking. She assumed he was going to the shed, so she called after him, "Do you need me?"

"No," he replied and left her and Zoe to finish their task.

# Chapter 8

Lottie kept an eye on her bubbling pot of vegetables while she melted the rendered pork fat in another pan. Once liquefied, she scooped out a heaping spoonful of flour and sprinkled it into the lard. She stirred it repeatedly, making sure it didn't scorch, and from the side of her eye, she watched as Grace came over and dropped a non-descript wool bag next to the fire ring. The contents rattled together, and from the sound of it, Lottie guessed the bag was full of acorns.

"What are you making?" Grace asked.

"Maconochi stew."

Grace leaned forward and peered at the concoction Lottie was stirring. "Doesn't look like it."

"Well," Lottie began. "It's as close as I could make it. I had to use turnips and cattail roots instead of potatoes, and I didn't have enough onion, so I used wild chive tops instead. Also, we don't have corned beef."

Grace snorted. "What, no cows available for you to use?"

"No," Lottie said, shaking her head. "We have plenty of bacon but no brisket. Funny, in all my wanderings before my capture, I never once encountered a feral pig in the woods. Never saw any stray dogs or cats either, though I suppose they are around."

"I wonder what's different around here," Grace replied.

"No idea," Lottie agreed. "I bet Noah knows."

Grace shrugged. "You can ask him."

"Yeah," Lottie said, after a beat, she added, "Did I ever tell you, I thought his dog, Bix, was a wolf?"

Chuckling, Grace shook her head. "No. Why?"

"I never saw a dog before—"

"Really?"

"—Yeah. Really."

"Odd."

"Maybe," Lottie replied, her shoulder twitching up. She tilted the pan toward her. The roux barely moved. Letting it settle back toward the flame, she thought, _Almost done_. All she needed now was for it to turn the correct color. "Besides, Bix is the right size for the wolves I did see while wondering."

"You never saw a cat or dog in Fort St. Louis?"

Lottie shook her head and stirred the roux a little harder. "I was either in the communal home, barracks, or the hospital. I hardly ever went out. Not like the ones assigned to gardening—they might have seen one or two."

"Ah," Grace murmured and fell silent. After a bit, she resumed their earlier conversation, "Since you don't have corned beef, what did you use instead?"

Lottie gave her a quick smile, glad for the topic change. "Some salted jerky from Noah's bag."

Neither one of them spoke for a few moments. The silence interrupted by the fire sputtering whenever some of the hot liquid boiled over. After a bit, Grace said, "I saw Noah's back. 'S he the one we should thank for this feast? I know we didn't have any beans or flour earlier today."

"Yes," Lottie confirmed as her belly growled. She couldn't wait to eat the stew. Deciding the roux had cooked long enough, she stirred it into the boiled vegetables and reconstituted jerky.

"You know," Grace began. "you probably should have soaked the beans first before using them."

"I did... sorta." Lottie indicated a second bucket with a tilt of her head. "I rushed them a bit, but I have a second serving soaking for tomorrow."

Grace nodded. "We can eat crunchy beans. It'll be fine. Say its 'extra flavor'."

Lottie barked a laugh at Grace's statement and sat back on her heels, noticing for the first time that Grey wasn't with her mother. "Where's Grey?"

"He's with Noah."

"Ah." Lottie paused a moment. "Did he do that high-pitched squeal he has for when he wants Grandpa's attention?"

"Yep."

"Does he have a greeting for you yet?"

"Nope."

Lottie wondered if it bothered Grace, but she couldn't bring herself to ask, and Grace didn't volunteer, so their conversation, once again, lapsed back into silence, only interrupted occasionally by the sounds of people in the camp or the food simmering on the fire.

After a bit, Lottie stood and whistled to let everyone know the stew was ready. At her signal, people poured out of several tents and from the paths leading to different areas of their camp.

"Smells good, Momma," Tristan said as he breathed deep. "Need help servin'?"

"Sure," Lottie said and handed the spoon to Tristan. "It's richer than we're used to, so go light with the portion sizes."

"Will do." Tristan grabbed a bowl from the stack, and after dipping out a serving, he handed it to her. "You always go last, so this one is for you."

Lottie felt her cheeks warm, and she would have argued with Tristan—she made sure to go last for a reason—but making an issue of it wouldn't be prudent. Instead, she kept her mouth shut and took her bowl over to Nyah and sat next to her.

"I hear Noah's back," Nyah said, drawing the attention of Ally and Katie as Ally helped Katie sit on a blanket set out for her convenience.

Katie leaned back against the makeshift log backrest and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. It barely covered her, and she visibly shivered. The skin of her belly peeked out from under her shirt despite the oversized jacket she wore. Lottie couldn't sit back and let the poor girl stay cold. She set her bowl down and made to get up to get another blanket for Katie, but Nyah stopped her with a hand to Lottie's forearm.

Pointing, Nyah said, "Relax, Ally took care of it."

At Nyah's statement, Lottie looked closer and noticed the extra blanket tucked under Ally's arm. Lottie nodded and retrieved her bowl from the ground and began to eat. She groaned softly. The bean starch combined with the flour roux gave the broth a creamy texture that practically melted on her tongue. Her stew disappeared as she shoveled bite after bite into her mouth. She ate over half before Tristan had served the last bowl.

"Where's Noah?" Grace asked from across the fire. "He's going to miss dinner if he doesn't get out here soon."

Lottie looked around, confirming he wasn't there, and neither was her son. Putting aside the last quarter of her food, she said, "I'll go get them," but before she could stand, Grace said, "Don't bother. Here they come."

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Grey in Noah's arms as they left the woods near the outhouse. A smile rapidly formed on Grey's face when he spied her, and his legs and arms flailed as he yelled, "Mommy!" Noah set him down, and Grey ran toward her, stomping on Katie's hand as he passed. Lottie caught him, and after scolding him for hurting Katie, she said, "Now tell her you're sorry."

"'M 'Orry, 'Atie."

Katie chucked him under the chin with her finger. "You're forgiven."

Grey squealed and threw his arms around her, earning a laugh from everyone at the fire.

"Here ya go, little man," Tristan said, handing Grey, Grey's favorite bowl, and a spoon. Grey, for his part, immediately dug into the food, flinging pieces of broth and carrot over his shoulder in his exuberance. Lottie grabbed his spoon, and after a quick tug-of-war that ended in a scowl from Lottie, Grey relinquished it, and she began to feed him. It wasn't until Grey's food consumption was under control that she noticed the conversation had continued without her.

As Lottie's focus returned to the conversation, she heard Noah say, "—And we need to fortify our position."

"Wait," Lottie said, interrupting. "What did I miss?"

"Your escape from Gates has finally provoked action. The Army dispatched four IRT to begin a systematic search for your location." Lottie nodded. They'd expected this, and maybe that was why she felt nothing at the news. "Huxley is in worse trouble. Missouri has deployed two IRT dedicated to his recovery."

"But, two is less than four," Lottie pointed out, shifting her weight forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

"In Missouri," Nyah said, pulling her attention from Noah. Nyah's tone was clipped, convincing Lottie that she had missed something else.

Refocusing on Noah, he gave her a single, tight nod. "Kansas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas have also deployed two IRT... Each."

Lottie's eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. Her stomach no longer felt comfortably sated. Instead, it felt bloated and sore as if she ate something spoiled. "Eight?" she asked, her voice cracking on the word.

Again, Noah nodded once, and Lottie felt Nyah's arm drop around her shoulders, hugging her tight. "Can we do anything about it?"

"We need to increase our patrols in the area."—Noah's gaze swept the group—"You will all need training in more than perimeter control. Archery. Sling. Tracking and stalking. We will need everyone's participation until Huxley, Hearst, and Leon return."

"Katie can't go," Ally said. "And I won't be of any use."

"She won't," Nyah chimed in. "Pukes at the slightest sign of conflict."

"This won't be conflict," Lottie argued. She understood Ally's concerns, but if Noah said they needed more eyes, then, if she had to, she'd force Ally to comply.

"But I have Cody and Max," Ally added.

Lottie rubbed the back of her neck and pursed her lips. Should she say it? Tell Ally off for complaining about learning something new when it was clear their lives were at stake. Her fingers curled, and she forced them flat against her thigh as she bit her tongue to keep quiet. "Patrolling isn't going to tax you, and we'll help watch your babies."

"And if I refuse?" Ally challenged.

Blowing the air out between clenched teeth, Lottie couldn't hold it back any longer. "Then you can leave now. But you'll go without supplies—we don't have any to spare even if I wanted to—and you'll leave your tent for Katie."

Ally paled but didn't argue.

With that settled, Lottie turned back to Noah, and asked, "Besides strengthening our defense, what else can we do?"

The skin around Noah's eyes crinkled as if he smiled, though the expression never actually manifested.

"After a duty roster update, I'll be leaving for home. The army has ordered several dogs to aid in the search for you and Casey. I will train them to avoid your scents. It won't be enough—if the IRT is systematic—which they will be—they _will_ find you—but it will slow them down."

Everyone around the fire nodded at his statement. The happiness of the evening destroyed by what Noah had said.

"Anything else we can do?" Nyah asked.

Noah's expression grew angry, though Lottie wasn't sure how she knew. It wasn't as if he glared, but she couldn't deny the fact the air around them seemed to chill. "Keep your early alerts armed and at the ready. I found three broken and one unset as I came in."

"That would be Ayers," Tristan said.

Noah visibly recoiled. "Ayers?"

"Yeah," Tristan continued. "He came lookin' for you because Leo was askin' for you."—At Tristan's words, Noah turned to glare at Lottie. She ignored the unasked question in his gaze. He already knew what she'd told Leo while at Gates, so there was nothing new for her to add—"Casey told 'im to talk to I-Comm Busch."

When Noah returned his attention to Tristan, Tristan continued, "Ayers broke or dismantled every one of our alarms"—Noah barked a surprised laugh—"before announcin' himself by showin' up in the middle of the camp. Later, Case and I went around and fixed the alarms we could. Some were too broken for us to repair quickly—and, well, I guess we never got back to it. Food seemed more import'nt."

The fact Noah had chuckled, and appeared to continue snickering if his shoulders shaking were any indication, had Tristan pausing in his reciting of events. Tristan's eyebrow slowly lifted in amusement. "What's so funny?"

"Ayers dismantled them all?"

"Or outright broke 'em," Tristan confirmed. "Why?"

Noah bent over, dropping his hands to his knees and guffawed. "He broke them?"

"Yes," Tristan repeated, his tone pitching upwards in his confusion at Noah's reaction. Lottie glanced from one man to the other, perplexed at Noah's response. She'd never seen him laugh so hard. After a few heaving breaths, Noah slowly righted himself. He wiped his eyes as he brought himself under control. "Oh, that is rich. Thank you for that."

"Care to explain," Grace asked dryly.

"After all these years, he hasn't forgiven me."

"What do you mean, Noah," Lottie pressed.

"Several years ago, we were both on a mission. During our travels, Ayers learned I kept a residence so that finding me when not deployed was simpler. He ridiculed me and claimed my home was impossible to secure. I disagreed. He made a wager. If he could successfully get past my fortifications without me knowing, I would give him Pandora, the best breeding bitch I ever had, and if I won—if Ayers couldn't get past my alarms—he'd..."

Noah paused and glanced at the people around the fire, drawing Lottie's gaze. Everyone looked captivated by his story. When she glanced back at Noah, she noticed a darkening of the skin on his cheeks. Her curiosity piqued. What was he embarrassed about sharing?

"Spit it out, Noah," Nyah urged in her usual impatient tone.

"Ayers promised to spend a night with me."

"In bed?" Nyah asked, and Noah confirmed with a tense nod. Lottie's eyes widened a moment before she could school her expression.

_I guess his homosexuality wasn't as much of a secret as I thought._ Javier had told her Noah preferred men, but Noah had never confirmed it—not to her—yet here he was, announcing it to everyone present.

"With that fat, bald man?" Nyah asked, incredulous.

"Yes."

Nyah wolf-whistled and cracked her knuckles. "Now, that sounds like my kind of bet."

"So, what happened?" Katie asked.

After clearing his throat, Noah continued, "After our mission, we went our separate ways. I didn't expect he would follow through—we may be friends, but we are not each other's type."

Nyah interrupted him. "You mean he's straight."

Noah grimaced but ignored her outburst. "—but then one day, my communication device chimed. When I investigated, I found one of my alarms had tripped and had sent a coded message. Then, one of my alert boxes rattled. Someone was coming." Noah grinned.

"The first alert—the one that sent the message—was broken, just as I'd expected. It was the manner of the break, which was unexpected. Someone had severed the line, violently pulling from its pulley system. The second alert, though..."

He chuckled. A deep sound that sent warmth skating down Lottie's back and lifted the hairs on her neck. She hadn't heard his laugh in so long, and she forgot how much she liked it. "The second one proved I caught a fish. A hundred and fifty-pound fish."

Lottie smiled. Proud that Noah had bested his comrade.

"Ayers hung upside down by his ankle, nearly a foot off the ground. Caught neatly by my snare like a rabbit." Noah paused to snicker. "I remember him twisting and bucking on the line. Stuck worse than a raccoon in a trashcan. I can still hear him cursing." Everyone else joined Noah in laughing at Ayers's expense. "After a bit, I cut him down."

"Did you hold him to it?" Nyah asked. "To the bet?"

Noah wiped his eyes and sighed. "No."

"Why not?" Katie questioned. "He had to be okay with it. With what he wagered."

Shaking his head, Noah said, "I respect him too much to destroy our friendship with the attention I knew he didn't want."

"Not even for a night," Nyah pressed.

"No, not even for a night."

"How old were you," Nyah questioned.

"Old enough to know not to press the issue."

"No, really," Katie pipped up from where she sat. "How old were you?"

"If Ayers was that skinny, it had to be years ago," Jules said, speaking up for the first time.

Lottie bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. The more pressure they exerted on Noah with their questions, the less likely he would be to keep answering. She didn't know if it was a natural hesitation to respond to questions or if it was his training, but regardless, Noah was moments away from falling silent for the rest of the evening.

Not wanting that to be the case, she leaned down to Grey and whispered, "Go ask Grandpa Noah if he can help me with dishes?"

Grey did what she expected. He squealed for his 'Ampa, and to the general amusement of everyone at dinner, he dragged Noah away to help her.

***

Lottie sat in her tent, rocking Grey in her arms and watched as his eyelids drooped lower and lower until they closed, and his mouth fell open around his thumb. She stilled and watched her baby sleep for several moments before she laid him down in her bedding and covered him with a blanket. "Sleep tight," she whispered and kissed him on the cheek. He sucked at his thumb twice before settling down once again.

She eased out of the tent and stretched. Her and Casey's shelter was far enough away from the main camp that only the loudest of laughter disturbed them. Despite the fact she did it often, Lottie didn't like leaving Grey's side while he slept so far away. Anything could happen. Especially tonight, when everyone was distracted and knowing her luck, tonight would be the night when he'd be attacked by a lynx or taken by the IRT as insurance to get her to come with them.

Goosebumps lifted the hairs on her arms. She hugged herself, hoping to hold back the shivers as fear stalled her feet. After a moment of paralysis, she sighed and remembered the guard dogs. The only real question was, which one?

Easy. The one who liked Lottie the most, though it didn't matter much. King's favorite person was Grey, so he'd do just as nicely as Attila.

Lottie whistled, calling Attila to her. The dog appeared at her side as if conjured from thin air.

"Guard Grey," Lottie ordered and pointed to the tent. Attila licked her extended finger and then settled down on her haunches. "Keep him safe," Lottie added. Attila woofed as if agreeing, and Lottie nodded. Grey would be as safe as he could be with Attila keeping watch. "Good girl," she whispered and scratched behind Attila's ear. Attila's mouth fell open in a pant, interrupted by a lick to Lottie's wrist. Lottie grinned and left the tent on her way back to the clearing.

At the tree line, she stopped. Her gloved hand pressed against the trunk of an aged maple, or was it a birch? Without its leaves, she couldn't remember what exactly it had been—but, regardless, the rough bark bit into her fingertips centering her in the here and now while she watched the scene before her. It was as happily domestic as it could be for this many unrelated people living together out in the woods. She imagined it looked much like families of old on a camping trip with friends or maybe even earlier, like the pioneering days when all you had were your family and some friendly neighbors.

She took a step forward. Noah was animated—more so than she usually saw from him—his natural reluctance to speak giving way as he told his latest story. He was a wealth of knowledge, and Lottie didn't want to miss a single minute if she could help it. Hustling over, she reclaimed her spot next to Nyah. "What I miss?"

"Nothing much," Nyah answered in a whisper. "Katie asked if Noah ever road in a military issue vehicle."

"Did he?"

"No. Now shh!" Nyah pointed at Noah. Lottie nodded and turned her attention back to him. He was in the process of answering Katie's question. "No, I never road in one."

"Well, that answers that," Nyah whispered at the same time as Katie asked, "But you did see one?"

"Sure," he replied. "A couple of times. Though rare, it isn't unheard of to encounter one or two of them transporting a Five Star General or one of his immediate subordinates around the capital."

"What was it like?" Katie asked.

Noah chuckled. "A wagon on wheels."

Katie frowned and stuck her tongue out and raspberried him.

"One thing I never understood," Jules said, and everyone looked at him. "Why, if two hundred years ago society had perfected automated transport combined with a successful shift in the power source from refined oil to solar, then why don't we have cars, trains, or airplanes, still? Wouldn't it be more efficient to have kept them running instead of reverting to mules?"

_Valery would know._ Lottie felt a sharp sting deep in her chest at the memory of one of her friends she had to leave behind at Gates even if it was at Valery's insistence.

"Blame President Ellington's Retraction of Services in Twenty-one thirteen," Jaesen replied.

"No, it's older than that," Grace barked, jumping into the conversation. "During President Rionach's term. Remember Brad's impersonation of Dr. Rynnovich?"

Noah nodded. Lottie assumed he'd seen the same educational videos Brad and Grace had seen since he hadn't been with them during Brad's impersonations and wouldn't have known what Grace was talking about otherwise.

"The call to unite the best minds in the fight against the crisis had a far-reaching negative impact on more than the United States of America," Noah said. "All the countries of the era were affected." He paused to scratch the top of his head. "The greatest technological minds—the ones who gave us three-dimensional printing, holographic communication, and solar-powered automated cars—were forced to abandoned their efforts—"

"—For everything really," Grace interjected.

"Yes," Noah confirmed. His lips pulled tight. Shaking his head, he shifted his focus from Grace to Katie and Jules. "You see, the power storage units—"

"—Batteries," Grace said as if everyone sitting around the fire hadn't already known what Noah meant.

Noah, in turn, glared at her for a few moments before continuing, "—could only hold so much. After constant use, they slowly lost their storage capacities—" He lowered his voice and added, "even 'non-memory' batteries have memory if you used long enough." His voice returned to a reasonable volume as he said, "These steadily decreasing capacities eventually degraded to the point they would no longer hold a charge. Solar power does little for you when you have no way to hold that energy before you can use it."

Shaking her head, Lottie asked, "But, if these batteries don't work anymore, then why do the buildings in Fort St. Louis and Gates use solar panels? I saw them putting in a new solar farm west of the Fort when I left for Gates last year."

"The buildings in the Fort use different technology," Noah replied. "They have a specialized power coil hooked to the wiring that feeds the energy back in a loop. It works similar to a hydroelectric power plant. The energy trickles down slowly before being pumped back in a continual feedback loop, which, in turn, keeps powering the lights, until it runs out and you have no more power."

Noah paused to take a sip of water. After clearing his throat, he said, "If you look close, you'll notice only a few buildings in Fort St. Louis have true twenty-four-hour power. Everything else is powerless two hours after dark. Of course, Fort St. Louis has an added advantage that most other Forts do not. Fort St. Louis can use the old Taum Sauk reservoir as a gigantic battery. That is how they continue to feed power to a few of the other buildings besides the communal home and hospital. Take the barracks, for example. It benefits directly from Taum Sauk energy."

What he said clicked, and Lottie murmured a soft ah at the revelation.

"Didn't you ever notice at Gates, how after lights out you couldn't turn the lights back on 'til morning?" Grace asked.

Lottie nodded.

She'd assumed the blackouts at Gates were done intentionally as a control tactic. It hadn't occurred to Lottie that the forced dark was a limitation of the power system at Gates. Especially since the donors at Gates had electricity all the time.

"That's why half the complex was perpetually dark," Grace said. "PGD rewired the building. Taking electricity from the extraneous rooms and giving it to the donor suites. That's why the donors had twenty-four-hour power."

"There were also solar panels in the glass," Zoe said.

Lottie smiled. Zoe looked peaceful with Dexy in her arms and Tristan at her back. It made Lottie long for Casey.

"If you looked for them, you would have found your room's unit hooked to your windows," Zoe said.

_Huh._ Lottie had not noticed, but then, she'd only been there a few months, and distracted by her mission, whereas Grace, Zoe, and the rest had been there for years before her arrival.

"But how does that affect military vehicles?" Katie asked again.

"By the year twenty fifty," Noah began. "The vehicles which, at the time, had been using state of the art technology were now unable to hold a steady charge. Citizens, whenever possible, began consolidating power banks, but by twenty eighty-four, the average citizen no longer had a vehicle to maintain. And as Rionach's term drew to a close, the US went a step further, declaring itself a Martial State."

Noah held up a finger in a wait signal while he took another sip from his mug. "Now, these once free citizens found themselves conscripted soldiers, and if they were non-essential with a running vehicle, then it was confiscated by the Army and pressed into service elsewhere. After that, it was another quick decline in usability. And as each year drew to a close, there were that many more unusable power sources. By the time I was born, only five percent of the available vehicles had truly viable power, and that number dwindled quickly."

Noah rubbed the back of his head. "I don't know why the Army bothers with maintaining a fleet. Most of the roads—once required to keep the American economy rolling—are almost destroyed: whether by the elements or reclaimed by nature or deliberately broken up to protect each state's border. So, there's no real reason for the president or his generals to keep them around. He can't go anywhere in them."

What Noah said, didn't quite match up with what Lottie knew. Curious, she prompted, "But we used roads to get away from Gates and move around Fort St. Louis."

Noah gave her a look which clearly stated she'd missed his point. "Yes, we have state roads—mostly—but no one has the resources to maintain them. The ability to make asphalt is completely gone, and the workforce required to mine the supplies needed to make concrete is unsustainable. Sooner or later, the roads will be gone. And when they're gone, it won't matter if the president has a vehicle that runs under solar power or not. He won't be able to use it."

"But..." Katie began. "How did Fort Sutton get their supplies? They're so far away from Fort St. Louis, yet I know they resupplied regularly."

"Mule and flat-wagon," Jules, Jaesen, and Tristan replied in unison, which made everyone present laugh.

"But seriously, though," Jules said, shaking his head. "It's a real problem for Case—I mean, Staff Sergeant Cummins. Fort St. Louis doesn't send as many shipments as they used to. And what they do send is only half of what the Fort needs."

Jules snorted. "I can't believe Cummins doesn't see it. He's going to regret not having those chickens."

"Maybe he already does. Maybe he did it because the ARA is going to redeploy the men stationed there," Zoe offered. Lottie didn't think it was true, but it was a possibility.

"Maybe. It doesn't matter to me anymore, though," Jules replied with a chuckle and a shrug. Turning to Noah, he asked, "Do you know anything about it?"

Noah shook his head.

A warm tickle of goosebumps rose on her back. If Noah didn't know, then Fort Sutton was a threat, albeit a small one compared to the IRT. _The IRT..._

"How long will you stay with us?" she asked Noah. Just the idea of the IRT after them was draining, and she didn't think she had the energy to search for food, train the women on how to be better soldiers, and help keep watch for the IRT.

"Not long," Noah replied. "I need to get back to the cabin to train Falcon and Pebbles for their mission."

She nodded and twitched her shoulders to be more comfortable. It wasn't working. Her clothing felt too tight, and her skin chafed. Nyah reached over and scratched her fingernails down Lottie's back. Lottie shifted to put her shoulder more under Nyah's care. When the itch was satisfied, Lottie murmured a thank you and addressed Noah again, "Will you be able to help with the training before you go?"

After several quiet moments, Noah replied, "Yes. But, I'll need to leave by the solstice, or I won't have enough time to get the dogs ready before pressing them into service."

That was good. It would give Lottie a few weeks to get the women up to speed with his help. The tight band around her chest loosened, and she took a deep breath and rested her head on Nyah's shoulder. It wasn't all that late—maybe two hours past sundown—but she felt exhausted. Her eyelids drooped as she listened to everyone around her.

Lottie's thoughts drifted, weightless, resembling the floating embers from the fire each time it sparked. She was almost asleep when the conversation caught her attention.

"You were already born before the Asset Acquisition and Preservation Act?" Zoe asked in her soft voice.

"Yes," Noah said, answering Zoe's question.

Sitting up, Lottie rubbed her eyes and looked around. Almost everyone was gone. She assumed they were in bed. The only people remaining were herself, Nyah—acting her life-size pillow—Noah, Tristan, Dexy, and Zoe. Tristan sat facing away from the group, clearly offering his back as a support while Zoe leaned against him and nursed Dexy.

"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty," Nyah whispered.

"How long was I out?"

Nyah shrugged. "Maybe an hour. Tops."

Lottie nodded and stretched. "Hope I didn't keep you from Hunter?"

"Nah," Nyah said. "Unlike Dexy, he sleeps through the early part of the night. I'll have to feed him when I go to bed and at least one more time before dawn."

Yawning, Lottie nodded again. She debated about getting up and going to bed when Noah's voice caught her attention. "I was twelve when America initiated the Act. My mother, Jenny, was forty-one, and not subjected to the new law. A lot of other married women weren't as lucky. Any woman under the age of thirty was required to live separately from the men. The status of their relationships didn't matter. The Army subjected them to daily treatments in the effort to cure the crisis and bolster the population."

"Really?" Zoe asked.

"Have to start somewhere," Nyah muttered.

"Yes," Noah answered. "It was done under the guise of protection. Even though male resentment towards women was low, violence toward the men lucky enough to be in a pairing was growing, and the army feared for everyone's safety. A man could no longer protect himself, let alone his wife."

Noah rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "Unfortunately, sexual violence and murder were on the rise. The Army combated the crimes by creating the new law. Regretfully, this Act sparked fresh protests. Not quite as intense as the ones during the initiation of the Orphan Act, but quite a bit more violent in the long run. The men with wives or girlfriends didn't want to relinquish them, and the women didn't want to accept any man when they had purposefully chosen one. This law is part of the reason why the hospitals specialize in artificial insemination and in-vitro treatments instead of encouraging sexual relations between a donor and an asset. Relying instead on utilizing proven fertility treatments similar to how Gates works."

"What happened to the women over thirty?" Lottie asked. She was afraid to hear the answer because she knew—the State-run brothels.

"Aside from being required to stay inside their homes? If the women were already in a marriage, they were left alone. But the single ones went into the service at the State-run brothels."

Noah sighed and shook his head. "Disgusting. Thousands of years of human evolution and societal advancement, and we reverted to government-sanctioned prostitution. All for the little bit of control that sex would subtly exert over the male population. And for the most part, it worked."

"Most part?" Lottie repeated. She wasn't sure if she was asking a question or stating her disbelief. She'd seen a few fist-fights outside of the State-runs in Fort St. Louis. If they hadn't been over the women inside, then her name wasn't Charlotte Lindbergh Forrester.

Twisting to glance over his shoulder, Tristan said, "I know for a fact that the State-runs did help—"

"—The men... Maybe. The women, not so much!" Lottie interrupted. Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. Tristan's words opened something ugly deep inside her. "Did the Army give two shits what the women wanted?"

"Lottie," Noah said.

"No," she singsonged, ignoring him. "Did they care what forcing these poor women to have sex would do to them? To their psyches?" Lottie gulped and dashed tears from her eyes. "Did the Army _care_ that they told these women they weren't valuable for anything?!"

"Lottie," Noah tried again.

She didn't hear him. Her vision consumed by a man with vivid green eyes and black curly hair hovering over her, thrusting inside of her, holding her down, and dominating her thoughts. She sobbed openly, so caught up in memories, she didn't even feel her tears as they coursed down her cheeks. Hiccupping, Lottie kept yelling, no longer caring who heard her or that she was speaking to her friends. "These poor women were worth less than nothing to the Army. To the soldiers! Nothing except for how their vaginas could relieve the _men's_ needs. The men's aggression! It's horrible—"

"Child!" Noah barked

Soft arms enveloped her, pulling her tight, and carrot-red hair obscured Lottie's vision. She closed her eyes, burying her nose in her friend's neck.

"Shh," Nyah whispered in her ear. "We are not your enemies." Lottie nodded, wrapping her arms around Nyah and cried harder. "What happened to Valery, Ashley, Kelly, Jackie—"

"—Don't forget, Sadie," Lottie said, her voice wavered, proving her feelings out of control.

"Or pretty much all the women except a very select few"—Nyah added to Lottie's interruption—"accepted their place, knew the expectations. It isn't like the Army kept our future careers from us. They preached it as a likelihood from day one. Don't you remember?"

Lottie nodded. She remembered her horror at learning of her two options post-military service. Although her mother and her brother, Skylar, were the main reasons Lottie fled, it was knowing she would end up in a State-run brothel that helped her solidify her escape before she graduated Basic training.

She turned her head and opened her eyes to stare at the fire.

Lottie felt drained.

The wind gusted, ruffling her hair about her face and stirred up the flames. The blaze rose—fed by the air rushing over the coals, much like her anger had raged unchecked at Tristan's words. Lottie huffed. "It's wrong."

"You're right," Noah agreed, though his volume was low, not much more than a whisper, his voice carried to her across the fire. "That is why I want a revolution." The flame sparked as if agreeing with his words. The sound was sharp, a staccato, reminding her of weapons practice. The need to make a change, to shake the system was so intense her body nearly vibrated.

Lottie sat up. She didn't know what she could do to help change the world, but leaving it up to Noah was no longer an option. Pointing at Noah, she said, "If you want a revolution. If you want a change, then you can start with Valery, Lisa, and Judy. Get them out. Get their daughters out. Save them."

Noah's expression was stoic, and Lottie couldn't quite tell what he was thinking, but after living with him for one year, she knew his look could only mean one thing. He was planning.

Hope, like an early spring crocus pushing its way through the snow, took root in her heart and grew. If Noah was this serious already, he was figuring out the best way to stage a rescue. She'd be able to keep her promise to Valery and Lisa.

"This question is long overdue," Noah began his tone stern, no-nonsense. "Tell me the names of the remaining women at Gates."

Between Nyah, Lottie, and Zoe, they gave him what he wanted.

"And these three, Valery, Lisa, and Judy are the only ones with daughters?" he confirmed.

"That I know of," Nyah answered, her head bobbing up and down like one of those old dolls Lottie found abandoned, the ones with a spring for a neck. "They had them while enlisted."

Noah looked down.

"Time is ticking for Valery, though," Zoe whispered. "She's going to be forty this year or maybe next—I forget."

Noah nodded but didn't glance up. Instead, he continued to study the ground at his feet for several moments. Lottie noted the moment Noah came to a decision. His frame tensed, and he raised his eyes to catch Lottie's gaze from across the way. "I will go to Fort Sutton to research this further. I will leave tomorrow."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Four days." His gaze grew distant. "I will need at least four days."

"What about the men? Staff Sergeant Cummins?" Nyah asked. "If you go to Fort Sutton, won't you run into them?"

"Won't be an issue," Noah responded.

Lottie snorted, though she tried to cover it with a cough. If anyone could set up a tent and live amongst the Fort Sutton soldiers without anyone noticing, then that someone would be Noah.

"But—"

Tristan cut her off, "—Let it go, Nyah."

"Do you need us to write down the names?" Nyah asked, her tone conveying her disbelief.

Tapping his temple, Noah said, "No. I may be twice your age, child, but my memory isn't gone."

Nyah sputtered.

"I will let you know what I find out," Noah replied, standing. And without further explanation, he left the group, disappearing into the tree line, heading for his tent.

***

Lottie sat, staring at the fire and shivered. The heat of the blaze barely reached her, and she tugged the edges of the blanket tighter about her shoulders. Lottie shifted her weight on the log. The leather padding under her rear helped, but she wasn't entirely comfortable.

Periodically during her shift, Lottie would glance up, taking in her surroundings through the blanket of snow. Sometimes she saw Tristan, Jules, or Jaesen making their rounds on patrol or clearing pathways to the outhouse with rudimentary shovels. Other times, she saw the women as they left the warmth, safety, and security of their tents to clear snow from the nylon. Most of them had winter tents, rated to handle snow, but none of them wanted to test that theory.

And a good thing too, Lottie figured, since the ground had eight inches of the white stuff and it didn't look to be slowing down any time soon.

She sighed, her gaze fell back to the fire as her thoughts once again contemplated her decision. Last night it felt right. It felt good to want Noah to prove his commitment by saving her friends hidden away in Gates.

But today? Today, she felt foolish.

She'd pushed him for no reason. Noah was already working toward the goal of freeing every woman from the burden of forced pregnancy, but now, at Lottie's insistence, he was off doing research instead of here, helping her train the women.

And then there was Casey. Out there, somewhere between the settlement and Fort St. Louis, and she wondered if the two of them were doing the right thing. Maybe she should have waited for Casey. He had promised her he would help rescue the women.

Lottie shifted and tugged the blanket under her chin. The fire sputtered with each snowflake that fell, and she debated whether she should throw another log on the fire. After a few more moments, when her thoughts had once again cycled through her choices, she got up and stoked the fire. It wouldn't be catastrophic if it went out, but it sure wouldn't be pleasant either.

A rasp of a zipper drew her gaze, and Nyah stepped out. She nodded to Lottie but hustled away toward the outhouse, and Lottie ignored her. Sitting back down, she rested her elbows on her knees and dropped her chin to her hands. She wondered if the snow bothered Casey. Would he have to stop their mission and wait for it to pass? Would his foot ache from the cold?

She hoped not.

She hoped the snow missed him.

Lottie glanced at the sky.

White everywhere.

She sighed again.

Nope, not her Casey, she thought. He wouldn't be that lucky.

# Chapter 9

The sharp, astringent odor of cleaning fluid on the cylindrical brush comforted Casey, and the repetitious slide of it through the barrel and cylinders soothed his mind while also keeping his hands busy. The virtually autonomous motions left Casey free to monitor their refuge from the storm for possible threats. Not like he expected any, but they were too close to the amusement park's camp for him to let his guard slip.

Finished with the coarse brush, Casey set it aside and sighted through the barrel. Satisfied, he retrieved the next smaller brush and resumed cleaning his gun—well, Lanford's, really, or had it been Stewart's?—He shook his head.

It didn't matter. It was Casey's now.

Glancing up, he shifted his weight, and as he gazed out into the yard and rubbed his cold, runny nose with the back of his hand. Obstructing his diligence at surveillance from the dilapidated porch were sheets of freezing rain, overgrown bushes, and flowerbeds which had gone to seed, many, many, days ago. It didn't stop Casey from doing his duty. He needed to keep his men safe.

A rasp of the tent zipper interrupted Brad's snore. He snorted in his sleep and resumed his slumber even as a scrape of feet on the rough deck boards of the abandoned home alerted Casey to Javier's presence behind him. Casey didn't divert his attention from his watch or the gun, but out of his peripheral, he saw a flash of dark skin as Javier set something on the railing and then sat next to him on the top step.

"Think we need to unload the travois?" Javier asked as he kicked his feet out, his heels resting in the weeds at the bottom of the stairs. Rain splashed against the tops of his boots and trailed down the side, reminding Casey of tears.

_Tears? Really?_ He pulled his gaze away with difficulty. Casey glanced at Javier before returning to his work. "No. It'll keep. Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Can't through that damn racket," Javier muttered, pointing to the tent behind them on the wrap around porch and pulled something from the pocket of his cargos. "Sounds like a damn tornado bearing down on me. I keep wanting to take cover."

Casey snorted and agreed. Brad was loud.

Javier opened the little bag he held. The coyly sweet smell of tobacco teased Casey's nose, and he frowned. Why was Javier going to smoke? He knew how much Casey hated it. "Thought you quit."

"I did," Javier said.

"Then, why?" ... _today? Why now?_ They'd been on the road for six days already. Why hadn't Javier lit up before now? It didn't make sense. _Unless?_

Shrugging, Javier said, "I started again."

Casey closed his eyes, praying for patience. He hated the smell of cigarette smoke. Javier's habit would follow Casey, clinging to his clothes and obscuring other scents that Casey needed to determine the nature of his surroundings. He opened his eyes. Javier had to be doing it to annoy him. Casey refused to let Javier know he succeeded.

"You gonna set a watch for tonight?" Javier asked as he pulled a rolling paper from a little box and set it on his knee. "'Cause I don't see the point. Ain't nobody gonna be out in this shit."

"Maybe."

Javier's statement was technically correct, but commanding officers rarely cared about the weather—they could opt-out of being in it, sure, that's what CO meant—but regular patrols needed set. And although Six-Flags camp wasn't populated by the actively enlisted, it was, according to Wade, filled with ex-soldiers, drifters, and retires. Casey figured they kept old habits. Besides, disaster always struck when you least expected it, and he'd be damned if circumstances caught him unawares.

After dropping a line of tobacco onto his paper, Javier rolled it. "We doin' cold rations again tonight?"

"Yes."

"Good," he murmured and licked the edge of the rolling paper. Once wet, he pinched the side down and stuck it between his pursed lips. Reaching forward, he swiped the small black box from the railing, and Casey recognized it for what it was as Javier flipped it open: a solar-powered, flameless lighter. A second later, twin electrical arcs sparked, forming an "X" shape where they crossed, and Javier brought it to the tip of his cigarette, puffed twice, then took a long drag, exhaling in Casey's direction with a smirk.

Casey waved the smoke away with a scowl, and then mentally curse. He'd played into Javier's plans to annoy him.

Trying not to sigh, Casey also realized that Javier's lighter reminded him of another fact. Casey missed his tools. His were probably back in Fort Sutton tucked inside his field box, resting in a fabric-lined compartment, right next to his winter clothes, long underwear, hat, gloves, and wool coat. It was a shame he had to leave them all behind.

Turning his attention back to the empty yard, he did another visual sweep of their surroundings and listened to Javier as he took another drag.

Confirming no new threats were imminent, Casey returned to his task of cleaning his gun. He swiped the finishing brush through each cylinder of his revolver and looked again. Satisfied, he put the brush away and picked up the polishing cloth.

"So," Javier began, drawing Casey's attention. Javier's lip curled up in a smirk. Casey grunted and went back to polishing his weapon. "I've meant to ask," Javier continued, and Casey braced himself, nothing good ever came from Javier starting a conversation with those words.

"Is it a relief knowing Huxley girl's future tit-sucker is yours?" Javier's asinine remark had Casey gritting his teeth to hold back a retort. "I mean, I assume it's yours. Though, with how the settlement keeps pairing up, it doesn't have to be." Javier snickered. "Hell, for all I know, it's Tristan's."

Casey shook his head, unwilling to be baited.

"Of course, Tristan's been attached to Zoe like a wart on a witch's nose." Javier fanned himself. "She's fuckin' hot. If I were Tristan, I wouldn't let her out of my sight either. So? Maybe he hasn't had time to knock up Huxley girl if he's spendin' all his time with Zoe-Zoe. Never would have thought it, though, it's like a regul'r romance novel over there at the homestead—no room for any bachelors. I think the only ones not getting laid, regul'r like, are Ally, Nyah and"—Javier thumbed over his shoulder to the tent where Brad slumbered—"and that poor fucker. Though, I'd do 'im, if he'd let me."

Casey paused while folding the polishing cloth. The list of non-sexually active people Javier spouted was significantly smaller than Casey anticipated. Shaking himself from his thoughts, he resumed tucking the fabric back into its slot in the cleaning kit, reloaded his gun, and slipped it into his thigh holster.

"'Course, you're a lucky bastard," Javier said, but despite Javier's best efforts, Casey refused to join this conversation with him. Instead, he finished tidying up his gun cleaning kit and then set it aside.

The two of them were quiet for a while, watching the rain. Relief at Javier's silence seeped into Casey bit by bit, much like the cold air attacked his hands. Casey shivered and tucked them under his armpits. "You think my field box is still at Fort Sutton?" Casey asked. He didn't expect it to be, but it never hurt to ask.

"Sure is."

"Really?" _Huh._ Why would Staff Sergeant Cummins keep it and not send it back to Fort St. Louis?

"Yeah," Javier replied. "Cummins tossed it into the shed, along with any of your other personal effects that he found strewn about your office. Jules wanted to bring them to you, but I talked him out of it."

At the words, personal effects, Casey recalled the trinkets he left behind. Items he kept close, like the duck mug his communal director gave him when he left for Fort St. Louis, or the pawn from his first-ever chess win, or a barrette Casey stole from the first girl he ever kissed back when Casey was twelve. Hell, Casey had even left behind his promotion papers from when Green elevated his rank from Private to Staff Sergeant. They rested in his latest journal.

Journal!

The blood drained from Casey's head, leaving him lightheaded even as his body tensed, ready to run all the back to Fort Sutton to get them. He turned toward Javier so quickly a kink shot up his neck, giving him a headache. He clapped his hand to the base of his skull and massaged the sore muscle as he snapped, "Did Cummins empty my desk?"

Javier lifted an eyebrow. "Yes."

Casey dropped his hand and grabbed Javier's forearm, gripping it tight. "Even the locked one? Please tell me he didn't go into the locked one."

"He didn't."

His flash of relief morphed to dread. _What if?_ "Javier, don't lie to me. Did he or didn't he?"

"I'm not lying."

"Damnit, Javier, did Cummins empty my locked drawer, or didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did," Javier replied. "He dumped everything into a box and stored it in the shed like I said. What's this about?"

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ "I told you not to lie to me."

"I didn't," Javier replied, defensive. "You told me to say, 'didn't'."

"Javier!" Casey yelled, exasperated. The ramifications of what Javier had told him settled in, and Casey felt sick.

"What? Case? What is it?"

"Those journals were my private thoughts, Javier!" Casey raked a hand through his hair. "I didn't trust the communication unit—it was a finicky machine. Sometimes it wouldn't turn on—and I didn't want to lose anything. All my thoughts and notes about the settlement. About Lottie. About Greysen and Katie and Noah and everyone is in it! It will bring Cummins—or anyone else!—right to us."

I have to go back for them.

"Fuck me," Javier whispered.

"Yeah," Casey murmured. His stomach ached, and sweat dripped down his ribs. "I have to go back and get them."

"I could go for you," Javier offered. "Right now."

Leaning back on his hands, Casey stared at the eaves, eyes unfocused as he thought. He desperately wanted to take Javier up on his offer. Casey opened his mouth to order Javier to do it, but he closed it again. Retrieving those journals were important, no doubt about it, but they couldn't incriminate him any more than Casey had already done in front of Green. No, if Cummins hadn't read the journals yet, and there _was_ a chance that he hadn't, then rushing down to Fort Sutton wouldn't be prudent. They had a mission to complete, or his wife and child, and everyone else who relied on him would die. Casey needed to proceed as planned. In a pinch, he could do this mission alone, but he wanted Javier at his side. Javier's ability to spread mistrust and discord was a skill Casey didn't have and needed in his approach to the Six-Flags camp. Casey couldn't delay the trade mission until Javier returned. If he did, everyone at camp might die.

Casey shook his head. "We'll continue as planned."

"You sure?" Javier asked.

"Yes. There isn't much we can do about the journals right now." Casey sat up and hung his clasped hands between his knees. He stared at his boots. Ice had formed on the toes. He stomped his feet. "We'll wait 'til we head back. You'll go then."

Javier took one last drag of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the yard. "All right," he said as he exhaled. The smoke curled around his cheeks before dissipating into the cold air.

They sat in silence, watching the yard for what felt like an eternity. It took a long time, but the drumming of rain on the roof at long last lulled Casey's hyper-sensitivity into something approaching calm, and as the adrenaline waned, he yawned.

"Why don't you take a few hours of shut-eye," Javier said. "I got this for a bit."

"Thanks," Casey said, relieved. "Get Brad when you need a break."

"Will do, Case."

***

With one arm casually hooked around the trunk of a tree, Casey leaned out and shielded his eyes from the bright sun to get a better look at the river in front of him. The branch he stood on swayed as he shifted his weight. Casey looked down. The muddy water of the river flowed underneath him at a good clip. If he fell in, he'd be halfway to Fort Fenton before he could swim to the bank.

_Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck._

Why hadn't he thought about the damn Meramec river before this? If he'd gone due north from the settlement for fifty kilometers and then cut east, he could have avoided this mess. But no? He hadn't. Casey had felt guilty about his bum ankle slowing them down, and he'd wanted to shave some time off their trip, hence this brilliant shortcut, but look at what it got him. They would have to abandon the travois and all the bulky items it held.

"Serves you right," Casey muttered. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it anymore. He had to wait for Javier and Brad to return from their reconnaissance missions and then take time to hide their supplies.

He looked left, then right, hoping he'd spy one of them on their way back.

No luck.

Casey sighed and scuffed his shoe along the branch, knocking some more snow to the ground. Once the wood was clear, he sat. His feet dangled and sometimes swung, but stopped whenever Casey remembered that swinging his legs as if he were a child was unbecoming of a former Staff Sergeant.

He sighed.

There were three palatable options as he saw it. One, they'd find a bridge and cross. Two, they'd swim. That particular thought sent shivers up his spine and made his scrotum draw up tight in protest. Or three, they backtracked until they found a ford, a fallen tree, or some other bridge that spanned the river. He sighed again. Only one of these options made him happy.

Swinging his legs, he watched as three squirrels scampered up a neighboring tree, knocking snow off the branches and the tree's trunk as they played, or fought, or courted. Did squirrels fuck in the winter? Casey didn't think so.

"All this snow and not a single patch of ice," he murmured to himself. It never ceased to amaze him how a few short kilometers could affect which kind of storm precipitation an area would receive. This morning they'd traveled less than four kilometers from their shelter before the ice from the frozen rain transitioned to snow. It was a good thing, though. The ice had been brutal to his injury.

He pulled his leg up and snuck two fingers into his shoe between the leather of his boot and his socked foot. Casey rubbed at the skin of his ankle. It throbbed as if the holy fire of the ever-absent God laid waste to his flesh for his sins.

He groaned.

When were his men getting back? Did Lottie get snow or ice? Did Tristan have a chance, yet, to make that sled for little Greysen with the leftover boards from the new shed construction? Casey let his foot drop. He was tired of waiting.

"Sir? There are two options to the west," Brad called, snapping Casey from his ruminations. Luckily, Casey had plenty of practice with subduing his startle reflex. Otherwise, he might have fallen out of the tree and straight into the river.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. The first one—"

"Not yet," Casey interrupted and began his descent. "We'll wait for Javier."

"Understood."

A minute later, Casey's legs dangled a foot above the ground. He took a deep breath and pinched his lips together before letting go. Landing hard, he bit his tongue as he swallowed back a yelp. The shock of his decent sent fire up his leg from his ankle, and it took everything he had not to collapse with a scream.

"Probably shouldn't do that," Javier chirped. "I'd think you'd know by now that quick movements and drastic changes in weight distribution from a drop in height not normally encountered would make your ankle hurt."

Casey gave Javier the finger as he planted a hand on his knee to pant through the pain. He didn't need Javier to point out the obvious. He knew damn well why he shouldn't have dropped out of the tree. It didn't stop him this time and wouldn't stop him the next time either. Sometimes you had to do what you had to do.

"I'll make myself a note," Casey added dryly when the pain subsided enough for him to speak without screaming.

Straightening, he ordered, "Report. Did you find a bridge?"

"Sure," Javier said. "It's five kilometers east of here, and it's crossable."

"Excellent," Casey said, his relief palpable. He turned to get his bag, ready to leave.

"You won't want to go that way."

Holding back a curse, Casey glanced over his shoulder and asked, "Why not?"

Javier shrugged. "It's swarming with PGD."

Casey's heart skipped a beat, and when it resumed, it felt heavy in his chest.

"What the hell is power generation doing here?" Brad asked at the same time as Casey muttered, "Damn," and at a more reasonable volume, Casey added, "Any idea what they're doing so far from Fort St. Louis?"

"Looks like a supplies reclamation mission."

"Ah," Casey said, remembering Cameron's warning.

"I thought Fort St. Louis already reclaimed all the solar panels in a two-hundred-kilometer radius," Brad said.

"They aren't after solar," Javier replied, answering Brad. "There's a small town over there, and they're stripping the houses of wire, fixtures, and anything else that may be of use to PGD. They're dumping drywall in the street. Makes it look like a bomb went off."

"Why?" Brad asked.

"Well, you see, when a bomb detonates—"

"—I meant, why are they dumping drywall in the street?" Brad asked, cutting Javier off.

"Oh, something about the CO has a quota, and they're behind, which is another reason why we don't want to go there. He's pissed and on a rampage."

"How do you know this?"

Javier smirked at Brad

"You got that close?" Brad asked incredulously.

"Of course," Javier replied, firming his shoulders, lifting his head, and looking down his nose.

"Stop," Casey ordered, preventing Javier from pushing more of Brad's buttons in retaliation for an imagined slight against his skills. "Brad doesn't know."

Javier puffed his cheeks and exhaled hard. After a sharp nod, Javier dismissed Casey and Brad with a wave of his hand and turned toward the river. Shielding his eyes, Javier studied it. "I know the town doesn't come this far west, and I suspect, if we head due north from here, then cut east, we'll miss them."

"All right," Casey said. "Brad, I hope you have good news for me."

"I do, sir," Brad replied. "There are two bridges within our range. The first is an old train deck. One side of the tracks has fallen into the river, but the other side's intact. It's only about as wide as your boot, though."

Casey barely held back his groan. Heights weren't a problem. Rickety-ass bridges that barely had enough room for his foot were. It was the one fear he'd been unable to shed no matter how much he trained to beat it. Hell, he'd intentionally had his men make a rope bridge as one of the obstacles on his course back at Fort Sutton to shake the phobia. It hadn't helped, and the prospect of walking across something similar was terrifying. It was a fact he didn't want Javier to know, or Casey would never hear the end of it.

"I crossed the Meramec with no issues. Not even an ice patch," Brad said. "So, we should be fine if we go that route."

Casey nodded. "What about the other one? You mentioned two." He didn't have much hope. If it were the better option, Brad would have led his debriefing with it instead of the train tracks.

"The other bridge is two kilometers past the tracks, but it is in worse shape," Brad continued. "The span is missing two sections from the deck in the middle. We could probably jump, but if we missed, it's a long fall into a cold bath."

The three men shivered.

Javier grabbed his crotch and readjusted himself. Adopting a falsetto, he said, "My balls pick the train tracks." He cleared his throat. "I mean, I'd be happy to walk on a single rail across a frothy river, if Case decides it's the best choice."

Casey nodded and stooped to retrieve his backpack from where it rested against the tree. "At this point, it is." Shouldering it, he ordered, "Load up. We're moving out."

He grabbed his cane and started walking while Brad and Javier collected their packs and hoisted them onto their backs. They fell into line behind Casey. The only sound from their march came from Casey's cane as he used it to support his weight with each step. A half an hour later, they emerged from the trees and stepped onto a road. Stomping their feet, they shed snow from their boots. The impact hurt Case's ankle, but he schooled his features, refusing to react.

Striding forward, he surveyed their best option. Brad hadn't been joking. Where usually there would be two support beams spanning the distance, only one stood. The second one lay in a twisted heap under the bridge. Its rails poked above the surface like jagged teeth, and the river churned around the wreckage, giving the debris an appearance of a rabid dog frothing at the mouth aching to take a bite out of them.

He turned to Brad. "It looks like shit."

"Yeah," Brad answered with a shrug. "Still the best option, though. Sir."

Casey stared at him a moment longer, wondering if Brad kept intending to call him sir. The first few times he did it, Casey thought it had been a slip of the tongue, but after a week, he wasn't so sure.

Deciding against pointing it out, Casey turned away and studied the task at hand. "You've crossed already?"

"Yes," Brad replied. "It was sturdy all the way across, though it did swing a bit in the middle. No creaking or cracking, so it'll hold, sir."

Casey grimaced. This bridge kept getting better and better, and he scowled at it. First, it barely had any room for his boot, and now it boasted steady movement, which would threaten his crossing. This bridge couldn't be any closer to a rope bridge if it came with a rope.

He stepped closer. His heart pounded, and Casey felt dizzy.

After a nod, Casey announced, "I'll go first." He figured, if he led the way, then they wouldn't see his face or the fear he felt. Besides, he was the leader of their merry band, and leaders always led the way.

Casey took a deep breath and secured his cane in a loop on his bag. Perspiration pricked under his arms and dripped down his torso. It tickled, but he ignored it. The weather didn't lend itself to sweat, and wiping away the moisture would be a tell he couldn't afford in front of Javier.

Taking a step closer, Casey looked down the steep embankment and swallowed, thankful the roar of the water would disguise the sound of his heavy breathing. He wrapped his fingers around the straps of his pack, his knuckles turning white.

_On three_ , he thought. _One. Two. Three._

He slid his injured foot along the beam and gulped. _Worst that can happen is you fall, right? Right. You've been wet before. It's cold, yes, but survivable. You better move before Javier figures out you're afraid. Right. Can't have that._ Casey swallowed again and let go of his pack. Putting his arms out for balance, he dragged his other foot onto the beam.

See? Nothing too it.

Casey looked up. Brad's sure footprints painted a picture of confidence Casey wished he felt.

He took another shuffling step, and his stomach roiled.

_Move it asshole_ , he thought with a half-assed smile. _The longer you stall, the more chance y'all have of being found._

He groaned.

"Any day now, boss," Javier said.

Casey smiled. He hoped it didn't look as fake as it felt. "Just making sure it's safe for you. Wouldn't want you hurt." He did a little bounce as if checking the integrity of the rail. He was sort of. Casey's heart galloped in his chest, and he quickly turned away from Brad and Javier. Saliva flooded his mouth, and he closed his eyes tight. He feared he might vomit. Casey hated vomiting almost as much as tightrope walking.

_Just pretend it's a stable log over the Black. Nothing to it, really. But for the love of the ever-absent God, get your ass moving._

He forced himself to take another step, chanting quietly to himself, "Don't look down. Don't look down."

"So, Case," Javier yelled.

Casey sucked in a breath, arms pinwheeling for balance. "What?" he barked.

"Is it a relief to turn in your 'V' card?"

Did he interrupt me for that?

Casey flipped him the bird.

"Is fucking all you hoped it would be? Inquiring minds want to know."

Casey lifted his other arm above his head and gave Javier a second middle finger. Javier's guffaws spanned the distance and reached Casey easily.

"I can't see why she'd bump uglies with your scrawny ass, but hey, there's no accounting for taste, is there?"

"Fuck off, Javier," Casey yelled.

At least the teasing had helped take Casey's mind off his fear. He'd managed to clear almost half of the bridge during the short exchange. He swallowed hard as it swayed underneath him. Casey took another sliding step and hit a patch of ice. His foot flew to the side.

"Shit!" he yelled as he lost his balance and landed hard, straddling the beam. He screamed as pain tore up his midsection, and he doubled over, his forehead smacking against the metal rail with enough force for Casey's vision to sparkle and grow grey around the edges. Cupping his crotch with both hands, Casey felt his tears leak from his tightly closed eyes.

"Jesus, Case," Javier whispered, his hand on Casey's shoulder. "You okay?"

The air wheezed in and out of Casey's lungs. He couldn't breathe, see, or feel anything but the blinding pain coming from his nethers. Hell, he could barely hear Javier.

"Shut up, Javier," he whispered. The man's caterwauling was going to draw attention if he didn't put a sock in it soon.

"I'm sorry, Case. I didn't mean to make you fall. I only wanted to take your mind off the crossing."

Casey groaned and opened his eyes, only to see black ones staring back at him. Casey jerked back and wavered in his seat as his balance was, once again, compromised.

How had Javier gotten in front of him? Last time Casey'd checked, Javier was on the bank.

"Careful there, Sarge. You fall in, and Huxley girl'll have my balls. I can't be too upset that she'll take 'em. She'll need a fresh set after that nutcracker you just did. Hell, do you even still have 'em? Or'd they crawl up your ass and take refuge in your throat? Need me to check? I'll check if you want me too. Turn your head and cough. Say, 'ah'!"

"Fuck off, Javier," Casey said, pleased to hear his voice sounded less strained, regretfully it held that reedy tone characteristic of someone in extreme pain.

"Sure. No problem," Javier said. "Hope youz'guys were done having tit-suckers. 'Cause I doubt you'll be able to get it up again after that fall—like ever—though if you want to try..."

"Shut up," Casey growled then groaned.

"You all right, sir?" Brad asked.

Casey leaned to the side to look at Brad, realizing both men stood on the beam with him. Casey dropped his gaze to the rushing water below. "Guess going first is moot, now, isn't it?"

"It is, sir," Brad said at the same time as Javier laughed.

"Here," Javier said, offering Casey his hand.

Casey took it and let Javier pull him to his feet.

The rail wavered below his feet, and Casey swallowed hard against his nausea, unsure if it came from his fear or the pain in his junk. He groaned. Everything hurt, even his foot, which throbbed with each beat of his heart.

Javier gripped him by the shoulder. "You okay? Seriously?"

Returning the gesture, Casey nodded and said, "Yes."

"Okay," Javier said. "Keep going. I've got you."

Casey nodded, and with his gaze glued to his feet, he resumed his shuffling step, breathing a little easier knowing they had his six. They might not be able to keep him from falling, but they would try.

"A few more feet, sir," Brad encouraged.

"We're almost there," Javier added.

"We'll break after," Casey panted, never lifting his gaze from his feet. He couldn't wait to be off this damn bridge.

He sighed in relief when the far bank inched into his peripheral vision. Tossing caution to the wind, he bounded the last step to the bank, not caring in the slightest that the motion jarred his foot. What was one more pain after that spectacular fall? Reaching the bank, Casey tried to pull his cane from where he'd secured it, but his hand grasped air. _No!_ He shook his head and stepped to the side before sliding his bag off one shoulder. His cane was missing! He glanced at the river and then back to his pack.

Shit!

His shoulders rounded in despair. Casey didn't need it to walk, not really, but it helped. Yet, now he had to either move forward with the mission without it or take time to replace it. Ever-absent God knew any replacement Casey could make wouldn't be as good as the one Tristan had carved for him. He cursed softly and collapsed on a snow-covered log, uncaring as it melted and soaked through his pants.

"Javier?"

"Case?" Javier replied.

"Scout around for a likely campsite."

"Will do," Javier replied and disappeared from view.

"Brad?" Casey asked. If Brad kept insisting on treating Casey like a higher ranking officer despite the fact he wasn't, then by ever-absent God, Casey planned to exploit it.

"Sir?"

"Think you can apply those weapons-making skills to fashion me a new cane?"

"I can."

"Get working on it. It doesn't have to be fancy, serviceable is all I need, but I want something by tomorrow morning," Casey ordered.

"Yes, sir."

And with that last directive, Casey dropped his head to his hands and closed his eyes, willing away the tears which threatened to fall.

***

The valley spread below them. It spanned many kilometers without a single hill or ridge to break up the monotony of decayed suburban houses and dead strip malls between where they stood on the Meramec Bluffs and the dark smudge of the Six-Flags park in the distance. Black fingers—which were most likely old rides—reached upwards as if they were a hand of a drowning man reaching for his salvation before going under one last time.

Casey's lips turned down, and his brows drew together. _That was—morbid_ , he thought and fidgeted with the new cane in his hand. Its weight and balance were utterly different from the one he lost yesterday, and it would take him a few days to get used to it.

He brought it to eye level, trying to distract himself from his depressing thoughts.

"I'll take first watch, sir," Brad said as Casey returned to the campsite after a quick bathroom break.

Casey unzipped his tent, and he paused in the threshold to glance over his shoulder at Brad. "Come get one of us. We'll spell you. I don't want you staying up all night on my account."

"I won't," Brad said, as his knife, which was in the palm of his hand, flashed as it reflected the light from the fire.

Brad had a long, relatively straight branch in his lap. "I'll stay up 'til this is done, then come get you or, more likely, Javier."

He smiled in a self-deprecating manner. "I know how much he enjoys my snoring." Brad waved his knife welding hand, dismissing Casey. "You get some rest. I got this."

"Remember, I need something that works. It doesn't have to be fancy."

"I know."

Casey nodded once and entered the tent, leaving Brad to his tasks. The temperature inside was a good five to ten degrees warmer than outside thanks to Javier's sleeping form warming the air ahead of Casey's arrival.

Unrolling his bundled blankets, Casey layered them into a thicker pad. His body ached from what he'd put it through earlier today, and Casey needed the extra softness.

Once they were in place, Casey kicked off his shoes and pulled the top-most blanket over his body. Within moments his breath settled, and he fell into a light slumber.

The chirp of cardinals, finches, and blue jays woke him a handful of hours later. Casey looked to his right. The back of Javier's head poked out from under his blanket.

Casey tossed his covers aside and slapped on his shoes. He tapped Javier's foot to wake him.

Javier sat up, rapidly blinking as he struggled to focus in the soft light of dawn.

"Time to go," Casey announced.

Javier ran a hand over his face. "Got it," he said before leaving his bed to get dressed.

They both made short work of their bedrolls and packed them away before exiting the tent.

Casey dropped his bag by the fire. "I thought I told you to wake one of us?" Casey barked at Brad, who was sitting where Casey'd left him the night before.

"I wasn't tired, and I wanted to get this finished," Brad said and held the item aloft.

Casey stepped closer and took the staff from Brad's hand. Casey swallowed hard, and he turned wide eyes to Brad. "You made this?"

Brad beamed. "You like it?"

"It's... It's..." Casey had no words.

Brad had carved the cane out of a light wood that Casey couldn't place. He might have been able to if it hadn't been stripped of bark and whittled smooth.

The crown was a work of art. At the tip was a dragon snout with wisps of smoke coming out of the nostrils. The dragon's body, complete with miniature scales and tiny feet, made up the base of the handle. There were indents on the dragon's haunches, ideally placed for Casey's fingers, but the pièce de résistance was the tail of the beast. It wrapped around the cane shaft and ended in a spade shape halfway between the handle and the ground.

"I would have sanded it... and the balance is a bit off, but you said to be quick."

Casey's mouth opened and closed. If Casey hadn't seen Brad start the project last night, he would have thought Brad had spent days working on it.

"You like it, sir?"

"Yes, it's..." Casey tried to answer.

Brad waved away his response. "Good. Glad you like it."

Casey did.

The superior craftsmanship was as evident to Casey as Tristan's fantastic skill at construction. Casey would never admit it to his friend, but Brad's 'fast and serviceable' work outstripped what Tristan took three days to construct, even if Brad had stayed up all night to do it.

"Thanks."

Brad shrugged. "Don't mention it. It was fun."

"Are we going to hike the rest of the way today or make camp?" Javier asked, disrupting Casey's thoughts.

Casey returned his focus to the amusement park ruins. They weren't that far away, yet walking straight there made Casey uncomfortable. There were few places to hide.

"No camp," he said, scanning the countryside and pointing to a small copse of trees to the west. "We'll wait for tonight over there and make our way to that ridge behind the camp. We'll sleep without a tent and no fire."

Both Javier and Brad nodded. If they had any argument against his plan of a cold night under the stars, they didn't voice them.

Casey dropped the cane tip back to the ground and palmed the handle. "Let's go."

***

"Where do you think everyone is?" Brad asked for the second time.

"Don't know," Casey replied, adjusting the sight on Javier's old rifle scope.

"You think the snow's keeping them inside?"

Casey lowered the telescoping lens to glare at Brad. "I don't know. Now be quiet," he ordered, his voice not rising above a strained whisper.

Brad nodded, shifting his weight to try to see through the underbrush that surrounded them on the low ridge behind the park. Casey returned the scope to his eye. South of their position was a few buildings which, from his vantage point, appeared to be roofless. To the east and south was a vast expanse of pavement not entirely reclaimed by the valley. Casey would venture a guess that the men at the Six-Flags camp regularly went out to clear the underbrush, trying to keep it from taking over. It made defending the southern border of their home a hell of a lot simpler with nothing to impede their sightlines.

Between the south lot and where Casey and Brad hunkered down were several acres of land filled with dilapidated rides, old pavilions, and broad walkways. The grounds looked—for lack of a better term, artfully cleared—as if the men who lived here wanted to give the impression of abandonment without actually letting the grounds go.

Casey wondered where they had nearly caught Lottie.

"There's a patrol of ARA north of us by less than a klick, and they're headed straight for us," Javier said, urgency coloring his tone.

"Got it," Casey acknowledged. "Disperse to our rendezvous point. I will meet you there."

Javier and Brad nodded, and with a smack of the back of his hand to Brad's chest, Javier led him away at a jog.

Casey let out the air in his lungs slowly. Javier would keep Brad from being discovered. The only thing left was to hide was himself.

Easing out of the tree, Casey dropped to the ground. He grabbed his cane from where he left it and hustled in the opposite direction of his men. After a few moments, Casey disappeared into the thicker underbrush, where the snow had unevenly covered the ground.

At first, he took giant loping steps—hopping from cleared section to cleared section—biting his cheek to keep from crying out, but as the distance from his original reconnaissance point increased, Casey slowed his pace to better control where his feet landed.

He was north of the Six-Flags camp and the patrolling ARA when he heard voices.

"The pack's quiet today."

Casey tensed, pressing his back tight against a tree. A glance to his right and left proved nothing was near enough or dense enough for him to hide behind.

"You think they have the fugitive?"

Fugitive?

"Doubt it," the companion replied. "He's sure to be several states away by now."

"How can you be sure?"

"I'm not," the second man said. "But if _you_ killed two UTR, would you stick around?"

Me?

The first soldier chuckled. "No." After a beat, he asked, "You think they know we're patrolling again?" Casey assumed the first soldier had returned to the topic of the Six-Flags pack.

"Probably."

"You going tell Reagen?"

"Why don't you do it?"

"You outrank me."

The second soldier—the ranking one—snorted. "Don't you want a promotion?"

"No."

With a word of caution playing on a mental repeat, Casey forced himself to hold perfectly still. If he didn't move and didn't make a sound, they would probably miss him. Casey let his mouth fall open a tiny bit. It helped suppress the sounds of his accelerated breathing.

A flash of dark green appeared to his right, and a second later, there was a flash of dark green to his left.

Ever-absent God, they were close to him.

Casey closed his eyes.

They were right on the other side of his tree.

If he wanted to, Casey could have touched them.

He could not let them find him.

What could he do? Throw his voice? _No._ Pretend he belonged and walk away? _No._ Throw a rock? _Come on!_ Casey groused to himself silently. That shit only worked in movies and books. Neither of which applied to his situation. Casey didn't know what to do, but his chance of discovery jumped every second he delayed.

He could tackle them, but that wouldn't work for long.

Kill them?

He eased his hand to his thigh. A few twists of his fingers, an almost inaudible snick and hiss later, and his gun was free of its holster, ready for action. He'd kill them if he had too, but he'd rather not. It would make the rest of their mission harder.

A high-pitched screech yanked his attention up and to the left in time to see a considerably sized bird plummet out of the sky. As it drew near the ground, it flapped its wings hard, stirring up debris as it slowed its descent and took off again with a squirrel clenched firmly between its talons. As it rose, the sun glinted off its feathers. The black shimmered as if dusted with gold.

"Richard? Did you see that?" the first man asked, his voice tinged in awe. "That was a Golden Eagle."

"Yeah," Richard replied. "I saw it." After a beat, Richard said, "Let's head back."

"All right."

Casey waited, straining to hear the sound of their footsteps. When the forest around him grew quiet again, Casey leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. He needed a moment to collect himself before he could move. Once Casey stopped shaking, and his heart slowed from its rapid pounding, he moved off in the opposite direction of the ARA soldiers.

# Chapter 10

Lottie kicked with her booted toe at the bucket full of used leather pieces next to her feet. It stank as bad as the outhouse, and she needed to empty it into the washtub dedicated to cleaning items that came in contact with fecal matter, something a camp full of babies encountered daily.

She groaned. Lottie didn't want to do laundry today, but somebody had to, or they would run out of 'toilet paper' in the next day or so. Sighing, she plucked a fresh piece of said 'toilet paper' off the stack of scraps and proceeded to clean herself up from her bathroom visit. Once finished, Lottie dropped the used leather into the bucket, did up her pants, and as Lottie left the outhouse, she brought the nasty bucket with her.

Less than a meter from the bathroom, Lottie heard Nyah call to her. She paused in her path to wait.

"Here, I'll take that," Nyah said, adjusting the sling holding Hunter. "Noah wants to talk to everyone and wants to see you beforehand."

"He's back?" Lottie asked as she handed Nyah the smelly container.

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Late last night. Didn't you hear him setting up his tent?"

Lottie shook her head. Similar to Casey, he liked to be far away from everyone, and though he usually set up his tent near her, she hadn't heard him.

"Huh. Anyway, Noah said he had something for you and to meet him at your tent."

"Okay," Lottie said.

Nyah continued to the washing station of the settlement, as Lottie veered off to clean her hands. She dried them on a towel Maggie had pilfered from Gates and had left at the sink for that purpose before striding off to her tent. As Lottie rounded the bend in the path, she spotted Noah crouching at her fire pit, scratching Attila behind the ears.

"You wanted to see me?" Lottie asked him.

Noah straightened from his squat. His hand dangled in front of Attila's nose, and she licked it. "I retrieved Huxley's footlocker." He inclined his head toward the tent and added, "It's inside. To the left."

A smile tugged at the corner of her lip. "Really?" Having his footlocker back was great news. "Even his gun?"

"Yes."

"Thank you! He will be pleased." Or as pleased as Casey could be after being on the receiving end of a personal favor from Noah. Noah snorted, most likely thinking the same thing as Lottie.

"Why did you want to see me?" she asked. Noah could have told her about Casey's stuff at the same time as he talked to the whole camp about what he learned.

Noah broke eye contact and rubbed his hand on Attila's head. "Fort Sutton is imploding. Only eleven soldiers out of a squad of fourteen remain on Base. Of those eleven, Private Bethesda and Gilespie—"

"Who?" Lottie interrupted.

Looking up, Noah answered, "Wade and Tyrone." He gave Attila a final pat before bringing his hands behind his back in a normal at-rest position. "They are eligible for retirement this coming August and are planning to stay at Fort Sutton until then, whereas the original three trouble makers—"

"—Adan, Ethan, and Teo?"

"Yes," Noah said, confirming her guess. "They have banded together, and I fear they will desert their posts. It is unknown who else will join them if they do."

Lottie's heart pounded, and she covered her mouth with her fingers, pressing her lips closed. When Casey had captured her all those years ago, those soldiers had been the worst. They had threatened to use her body as payment for their added duties and lost rations while guarding her. She'd escaped unscathed, but poor Katie had not.

"Right now, they are of little concern to us, but if they go AWOL, they _will_ become a threat."

Lottie nodded and dropped her hand back to her side. Between the IRT deployed to recover the women and Casey plus the possible desertions at Fort Sutton, she felt exposed and weak. Vulnerable. She wrapped her arms around her belly. The entire settlement was at risk, and she wished Casey, Javier, and Brad were back. It wasn't fair to expect her to make any decisions about the families' safety, but she would if she had too.

"Anything else?" she asked. _Please don't have anything else!_

"Paul, Wu, Brandon, and Hong"— _Damn._ —Noah continued, sparing her the task of asking who he meant when he used their last names instead of their firsts—"appear to be wavering between riding out the turmoil and joining Adan's merry little band of miscreants."

_Paul?_ Lottie shook her head. _No way. He fought for me that day._ She didn't know which way Wu or Hong would gravitate. They'd been ambivalent toward her at best and dismissive at worst. "Who's Brandon?"

"A recruit from last August. This post is his first deployment. Before graduation, Brandon participated in a full barracks orgy with an underage asset. The Army shipped him off to Fort Sutton."

_Nice_ , she thought sarcastically. _So that answers that._

"Why are you telling me this instead of telling the group about it when you also tell us about what you learned at Fort Sutton." She paused for a second, then asked, "You did you get what you needed at Fort Sutton? Right?"

"Yes," Noah replied. "And I won't be telling the group about these developments quite yet."

"Why not?"

"I do not wish to worry the women unnecessarily, and Staff Sergeant Cummins has the situation in hand. I will keep a close watch and alert everyone when-and-if there is a need."

Lottie nodded. It made sense, and she trusted him.

"Can you round up the women and Jaesen while I retrieve Jules and Tristan?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Sure." Lottie didn't bother asking how Noah knew who was in camp and who wasn't. Similar to how he could break into Fort Sutton's command room to access the communications device undetected, he could also hear threats approaching, and keep track of the comings and goings of the settlement's inhabitants.

"Meet at the central fire in fifteen?" Lottie asked

"Yes."

Lottie nodded and returned to the path back to the main camp. At least collecting everyone wouldn't be too hard of a task, most of the women were up and about already, doing chores or taking care of their babies.

Entering the clearing, she began knocking on tent flaps and letting the occupants know of Noah's request. Lottie was finishing up on the south side of camp when Noah reappeared with Jules, Tristan, and Zoe with little Dexy in her arms. _Good_ , Lottie thought, pleased to see Zoe, Dexy, and Tristan together. Lottie pulled up alongside Nyah and matched her stride as Nyah came up the path from the river.

"How many more trips?" she asked.

Nyah stopped and set a bucket on the ground. She used her sleeve to wipe sweat from her forehead. "I left four buckets on the dock."

"I'll help you," Lottie replied as Nyah deposited her two buckets of water next to the fire. Turning, they headed back down the path, and in no time at all, they'd returned with the remaining buckets and set them next to the fire.

"Good, everyone is here," Noah remarked as they sat.

Attila, at Noah's side, stood with a huff and made her way toward Lottie, only to collapse at Lottie's feet a moment later. Lottie snickered at the pup's desertion of Noah and scratched Attila behind the ears.

Looking up, she was in time to catch Noah finishing his survey of everyone in the circle. His gaze landed on hers, and he began his speech, "For those of you who may not know, four days ago—"

Popping out from behind Tristan's legs, Grey ran to Noah and wrapped his arms around Noah's knees. "'Ampa!" he cried at Noah's feet. He put his hands in the air, his little fingers scrunching into tiny fists repeatedly as he begged. "'Ampa, up!"

Max squealed in Ally's arms and flailed his legs in excitement. Lottie, along with a few of the other women, chuckled, which set Cody and Dexy to crying. While the children quieted down, Noah took a moment to scoop Grey into his arms. Patting him on the back, Noah resumed, "—I left to research the names of the current resident assets at Sandra and Horton Gates Research Hospital—"

"—'Ampa, Boom! Boom!"

"Shh, not now," Noah said, before continuing, "Of the twenty women remaining at Gates, eight conceived and delivered at least one healthy daughter during their years of service. Three of which, delivered during their Conscription Compromise draft, four delivered while at Gates, and one delivered during retirement."

"Who?" Nyah asked as Grace said, "I only know of Natalie and Amelia having birthed girls at Gates."

"'Ampa, 'ooo 'ates?" Grey asked.

Noah shushed Grey. "Private Masterdon and Linstrom conceived and delivered at Gates as well as Private Sullivan and Ort."

Not knowing who was who, Lottie glanced back and forth between Grace and Noah, hoping one of them would tie the first name to the last name.

"Dawn and Ashley? When?" Zoe asked.

Lottie switched her focus to Zoe. She was struck once again by how pretty the other woman looked with her flawless brown skin, a light dusting of freckles, bright brown-blue eyes, and tightly curled auburn hair. Lottie felt a twinge of envy. Her skin was breaking out in hormonal pimples, and her blonde hair never seemed to look full and lustrous but instead hung limply about her ears. She forced the thoughts away. Now was not the time to be petty. She had more important things to think about besides whether or not her skin and hair looked good.

"Yes," Noah confirmed.

"Ess," Grey said nodding.

"I didn't know that," Grace replied.

"No," Grey added, shaking his head. "Boom! Boom!"

Noah expelled an exasperated breath, and with a pointed look in Lottie's direction, he asked, "Can you take him?"

Lottie nodded, stood, stepped over Attila, and around the fire to collect Grey.

"Mommy! 'Gree," he said.

"Soon," Lottie whispered and patted him on the back while she listened to Noah.

"The births were before your time at Gates," Noah replied, answering Grace's earlier question.

"Oh," Grace said, but Lottie barely heard her over Grey's babbling as she returned to her seat next to Nyah. Attila shifted her body, covering Lottie's feet the moment Lottie settled.

"Who had a girl during retirement," Zoe queried.

"Private Sariad Schneider."

Sadie?.

"Additionally," Noah said. "there are two confirmed female gestations at Gates."

Lottie hugged Grey closer—a feat growing more difficult with each day as her belly grew—and leaned forward.

Which two of her sisters-in-captivity were pregnant with daughters? "Private Rufensen and Smith."

Nyah whispered, "Judy and Jackie" in Lottie's ear. Lottie nodded, thankful Nyah had connected their first names to the surnames Noah used.

"How far along are they?" Ally asked at the same time as Grace called out, "To who? Do you know?"

"According to their files, they are twenty-two weeks along"— _Judy and Jackie are at the same stage as me_ , Lottie thought. She felt an affinity with the older women. Which was odd, since she had felt that way while living at Gates—"and both are pregnant to the same First Sergeant of Anatomical Agility and Enhancement"—Noah paused as if trying to recall a detail—"First Sergeant Maximillian Wyatt."

"I wonder if he's cute," Nyah murmured beside Lottie.

"'Ooot," Grey chirped. His head bobbed under Lottie's chin as he nodded.

Ignoring Nyah and Grey, Lottie asked, "Can we get them out?"

"No," Noah replied with a shake of his head. "All current attempts at removing an Asset from Gates would be nearly impossible. They tightened security by silent recruitment into the ATR. We'll have to wait until the women age out of the program and perform a recovery once they leave the safety of the facility."

"What about their daughters?" Lottie inquired. "Can we get to them?"

"You mean after Rufensen and Smith deliver?"

Lottie answered, "Yes. They move infants once it is safe enough to travel with them."

A sniff next to her caught Lottie's attention. Nyah wiped her thumb under her eye, and Lottie wondered if she was thinking of Robert. Nyah noticed her looking and gave her a thin smile. Her hand grabbed Lottie's, and she squeezed. It was too late to do anything about Robert, but at least Nyah had Hunter.

Lottie scanned the small group, looking for Nyah's son, and spotted the baby in Jules's arms. Lottie grinned at him when he caught her staring, and he shrugged.

Noah cleared his throat.

Jules and Lottie refocused on him as Noah answered, "It is possible, but not advisable."

"Good," she said, but then the rest of Noah's statement registered. "Wait! Not advisable? What do you mean? We can't rescue Judy and reunite her with her older daughter from Fort St. Louis, only to tell her, her other daughter is gone. That's cruel. We have to rescue the infants and then Judy and Jackie!"

"Rufensen and Smith's daughters will be priority _white_ and heavily guarded."

"I don't care. We have to try."

"Child," Noah began. "You don't understand. If we attempt to extract those girls during their relocations, we will make _all_ future rescues virtually impossible."

Lottie handed Grey to Nyah and stood. Attila woofed in indignation and shifted away from Lottie's feet. "Are you saying we're not going to do it?"

"No. I'm saying you need to think about the goal and make sacrifices if necessary. If that means we don't rescue these girls, then so be it."

Snorting, Lottie shook her head. "Unbelievable. Are you or are you not working towards building safe havens across the nation for this very purpose? To save women and children—preserving family units?"

"That's not the point—"

"—Yes, it is, Noah," Lottie said, pointing at his chest. "Judy, Jackie, Lisa, Valery, Sadie, and all their daughters are the reason you started this personal mission."

"Lottie..."

"Noah..." Lottie parroted. "Four days ago you were on board with a rescue, what happened?"

"Rescuing everyone will jeopardize all that we have built."

"Bullshit," Lottie barked.

Movement in her periphery drew her attention, and she looked over in time to see Ally hand little Max to Katie before she bolted for the woods. The sound of retching drifted toward them from where Ally disappeared. "Sorry, Ally," she murmured and turned back to Noah.

"I don't think you understand what you are asking," Noah said. "This request transforms a relatively straight forward mission from a simple reclamation of four children to a complex operation spanning years. I had planned for the population expansion to be gradual, something sustainable. Unnoticeable. With your proposed changes, you will tax the settlement both in supplies and duties."

Glancing at everyone, Noah asked, "Do you still wish to do this? Even if it means going hungry another winter?" Several voices replied that they did wish to continue.

Noah's expression turned cool as he refocused on Lottie. At first, she feared it meant he pulled his support, but once he began speaking, she realized he was strategizing.

Now that she'd made her point, Lottie sat and took a crying Grey from Nyah's lap.

"We will have to split our efforts between the four children in Fort St. Louis and the two infants yet to be born."

Noah's already fridged tone turned arctic as he laid out the rest of the facts he'd learned from his mission to Fort Sutton. "Constance, Karsyn, and Trisha are priority _green_. Their supervision is light in comparison to Lucina's, and if not for the fact their mothers conceived naturally, they would not be heading to Gates at all. Unfortunately for young Lucina, she is Priority _white_. Private Schneider conceived her after her active duty was complete. Needless to say, Lucina will be under a stricter guard similar to what will befall Rufensen and Smith's daughters once they are born."

Noah glanced at Lottie. "We need to move quickly. Constance is in Basic already, and Karsyn will join her this May. We have a narrow window of thirty-three days from the time Karsyn moves into the barracks to when Constance's enlistment begins. It goes without saying that once she is in Gates, we will not be able to get her out again. Especially if we kidnap those babies."

Lottie nodded. "What about the third one you mentioned? Trisha?"

"Trisha and Lucina are in separate wings of the communal—"

"—Wait... How old are they?" Nyah asked.

"Trisha turned seven this past September, and Lucina turns four in March."

"Ouch," Nyah said softly, and Lottie silently agreed. Getting into the communals had to be nearly impossible, but Noah'd accomplished the impossible before, so she had faith he would come up with a successful plan this time too.

"What's the plan?" Jaesen asked without looking up. He was making faces at Cody in his lap, getting her to smile.

"I don't have one," Noah admitted.

"Don't have one?" Jules repeated, incredulous.

"No. I don't."

"What about your contacts?" Tristan asked, speaking up for the first time. "Could one of them help us?"

"I have contacts, and then I have _contacts_ ," Noah said, addressing Tristan's question. "Not everyone is suited to our task."

Tristan nodded. "But surely you have at least one you could talk to?"

"Yes."

"Good," Tristan replied. "You ask them the best way to get the children from the communals. As for the older girls, do you know what their trainin' deployments involve? If they leave the security of the barracks or hospital, we could nab them while they're outside doin' their duties."

"Constance is assigned to the Shaw Garden initiative. Karsyn is not assigned anywhere, but her file indicates she has an affinity for young children. It is fair to assume her assignment is to the nursery wing of the hospital."

"Do you know anything else about the children," Grace asked.

"Not much, no," Noah replied. "I know Lucina has a medical issue. She has been admitted to the infirmary several times already."

"Any indicator of why," Grace inquired before Lottie could.

"Nothing is in her file other than 'stomach ailment'."

"What about Trisha?" Lottie asked.

"Healthy but small."

"All right," Tristan said, pulling everyone's attention. "When will Karsyn's file be updated about her trainin' placement?"

"By March," Noah replied.

"And when are you expected to deliver the guard dogs to Fort St. Louis?"

"March."

"So, you have a good reason to be there and to poke around," Tristan added. "While you're there, talk to your contacts who are not only capable but are also willin' to help us. Find out what Karsyn's trainin' assignments will be and anythin' else you may learn about the two younger ones."

Noah's eyebrow lifted during Tristan's speech, and Lottie smiled. Noah would be ten steps ahead of Tristan already, and she found his silent inquiry of 'do you think I'm stupid' funny.

Tristan added, "We'll reconvene in March or April to plan how to get the four out. Fair?"

"Don't forget the infants at gates," Nyah reminded.

"Right," Tristan said. "We'll need to know when they are born."

"Anything else?" Noah asked dryly.

Tristan shook his head. "No. I think that's it for the moment."

"Good."

***

Javier and Casey eased their way down the slope using the thick honeysuckle underbrush to both conceal their approach and give them sturdy hand-holds as they descended the steep hill. At the bottom, they crouched to hide their position while they both took a moment to collect their breath. Casey gripped his cane tight and watched as a thin band of sunlight lit the east, turning the underside of the clouds pink, orange, and violet.

_Ready?_ Javier signed using the hand gestures Casey had taught him when he first came to Fort Sutton.

_Yes. As one. There,_ Casey agreed, pointing toward the closest outbuilding.

Javier nodded once before moving toward their target on silent feet. Casey followed behind a moment later. The only sound he made was a soft scuff as his stabilizing boot and cane brushing the pavement with each step. Casey grinned. He was nearly as silent now as he had been before the injury. A few more weeks of practice, and no one would know he was near.

Stopping at the corner of the building, Javier peeked around the corner and waited for Casey to arrive.

Clear?

Clear.

Casey moved to the other side of the wall and checked for threats. _Clear_ , he sighed without looking at Javier. _Go_ , he ordered, and they both moved down their respective sides. At the end of his wall, Case leaned out to confirm Javier had made it safely and to make sure no new threats had appeared.

Javier's dark eye and a sliver of forehead peeked around the corner opposite. He nodded once as his gaze connected with Casey's. Casey turned to survey their next goal. Directly in front of him was an old train track like construction. The tracks moved east to west with the east side rising into the air before it looped back to the west. Beyond it were pavilions and a dead amusement park ride, which went straight up into the air.

Pointing to the pavilions, Casey signed, _South. Wait. Me._

_Yes_ , Javier acknowledged and hunching over, he hustled to the track and slipped through the support beams. He stopped at the closest building and looked back to Casey. _Clear._

Casey stepped from the security of the outbuilding and followed, mentally congratulating Javier on his path into the park. It avoided mud, snow, debris, and was a track Casey could navigate with his boot and cane. He still had to be careful about how he placed it. A pressure indent from his foot would be a tell if the Pack ever sent out a patrol.

Stopping next to Javier, Casey signed for him to investigate the northwest corner while Casey took the southeast. At their next positions, Casey indicated they would meet on the other side. Once they reconnected, they both took a moment to survey their options. West was as an amphitheater, whereas the east held a few pavilions and a few rides. Neither direction looked threatening. The place appeared deserted.

Casey signed, _You. Left. Me. Right. Meet. Southwest. End_.

Javier nodded his understanding before taking off.

Taking a deep breath, Casey turned toward the theatre. He traversed the park grounds, passing empty structures labeled with faded signs proclaiming their uses as eateries, restrooms, and rides. The absence of noise—other than the wild birds, squirrels, and rabbits—lent a spooky feel to the grounds.

Casey wasn't known for his flights of fancy, but he swore he could almost hear the laughter of eras long past. He could easily envision families walking between rides, holding hands with children who jumped in place in excitement. It was easy to picture the amusement park in its heyday before the mandatory shutdowns stole the fun from countless people. He half wished the rides still worked, if only to be able to tell Greysen what they looked like while running. He bit his lip and shook his head to clear his mind of daydreams. Daylight was waning, and he needed to hustle if he had hopes of meeting up with Javier before twilight forced them to leave the park.

Movement in his peripheral vision had Casey diving behind some cover after circling a giant wheel, which rose into the air a good thirty feet before ending in broken spokes. He shifted to peek around the edge, searching but finding nothing. Casey could have sworn he saw someone run from one pavilion to another, but nothing stirred. Standing, he inched his way past the two buildings, stopping once to glance inside. There he found a raccoon. It chittered at him before hopping out the window.

Casey chuckled and straightened, leaving the room to the wildlife, and moving off to the rendezvous point. It was close to fifteen minutes later when Casey sidled up to Javier. Javier nodded once in greeting.

_See?_ Casey questioned, asking if Javier had noticed anything of merit.

_No_ "

_Me. No_ , Casey signed.

Where were the men hiding? Wade had made it sound like the camp was a bustling place, and Lottie told him she'd encountered guards the one time she strayed too close.

See. Inside?

_No_ , Javier shook his head. _No. Point._

Casey agreed. _Okay. Check. Here. Leave._

Yes.

Casey exhaled through his mouth and leaned his cane against the wall. He shook his hands, loosening them, and then moved toward the door of the building whose shadow covered them. Curiosity ate at Casey. He wanted to know why the Pack had left these buildings in good repair except for their roofs. It seemed foolish to have their home open to the elements, but maybe it was something else?

He stepped to the door and wrapped his hand around the doorknob. He slowly twisted, but it resisted him. Casey glanced at Javier over his shoulder.

_Stuck_ , he mouthed.

Returning his focus to the knob, Casey pushed harder, but the door held firm. Casey glared at it. Was it locked? It wasn't out of the realm. But was it likely? He had to admit if the contents of the building were valuable—food stores, for example—he'd put a lock on it.

That reminded him. He needed to ask Noah for a padlock for the new shed.

A tap on his shoulder had Casey looking back at Javier again. "Locked?" Javier asked in a whisper.

"Thinks so," Casey answered, equally as quiet. "Let's head back. Try again tomorrow."

Javier nodded, and Casey let go of the knob before backing away from the door. He grabbed his cane from where he left it.

They inched their way west, clearing both buildings on the edge of the property. As they entered the tree line, they both stepped up their pace. Brad would be expecting them, and Casey didn't want him to become worried unnecessarily.

***

The cool breeze, which had plagued them all day, had shifted, bringing warm winds from the south, and the temperature had risen by at least ten degrees. It made a usually cold night downright balmy. Casey shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over a rock. He returned his focus to the night shrouded camp below. Casey let his vision blur. It made catching movement easier when he wasn't straining to identify shifting shadows.

A soft whistle pulled him from his watch.

"What?"

"Come look at this," Javier whispered.

Casey abandoned his post to join Javier, and Javier handed Casey his scope.

"Look south. Toward the middle of the camp where those two big buildings sit." Casey directed his sight to where Javier had indicated. Nothing moved for several moments, but just as he grew tired of waiting, a shadow shifted. He twisted the barrel to bring the location into better focus.

_There!_ Darting from behind a tree was a small, hunched form. The gait reminded Casey of a woman holding a baby tight to her chest.

"Did you see it?"

"Yes."

"I saw at least two others a few minutes ago. Something's going on down there."

While Javier spoke, Casey witnessed another two darting forms. One was significantly smaller than the first and dragged by their arm. Casey would bet his life that the drag-er was a woman and the drag-ie a child.

"Where are they coming from?" Casey didn't expect an answer. Instead, he panned around the buildings trying to locate where the people originated.

"It looks like they're leaving the building on the right and disappearing into the one on the left."

The word 'Impossible' sat on Casey's tongue, thick like a piece of jerky waiting for his saliva to reconstitute it, but he couldn't deny the evidence.

"I searched both of those buildings. Nothing inside but debris and a hungry raccoon," Casey said.

"Well, they're coming from somewhere, and those buildings are the most logical choice. You sure you searched everywhere?"

Casey nodded, ignoring Javier's dig at his competency, and glanced at the sky. The cloud cover had grown thicker as they watched the grounds. There was rain on its way. Returning his focus to the scope, he checked the perimeter of the park. "Two men. Patrolling. East border."

"Check the west," Javier said, but Casey'd already moved to do what Javier suggested before he'd said anything.

"Two more. I think I see two to the south, but it could be a trick of the shadows."

"Hot damn," Javier said, clapping Casey on the shoulder. "This isn't a wasted effort after all."

"Never thought it was."

"What next?"

"Next, we get Brad. I want to take another look at those buildings. See if we can find out something else."

"Tonight?"

Casey shook his head. If they went in now, he might learn where the people were coming from, but it would also put them at a disadvantage. They wouldn't be able to claim they were there for trade reasons if the pack caught them skulking around in the dark while also trying to find a way inside.

"No. We'll tell Brad what we saw and then get some rest. We'll check it out in the morning."

***

Dawn arrived, warm and wet. Fat raindrops soaked through Casey's coat, making him shiver. Ordering Brad, Casey said, "I want you watching our six. Get as close as you can. Be prepared to shoot, but as long as we're not in immediate danger, hold your fire. I don't want the Pack to know you are here."

"What qualifies as 'danger'?"

"Use your judgment. Remember, you're our insurance. I want you safe for as long as possible."

"Understood."

Turning to Javier, Casey said, "We'll go in as we did before. Avoid their patrols. If they find us inside their borders, I don't want it to be because we gave away our position before we even started."

Casey glanced at both men. "Our objective is to find out where those people were coming from and then show ourselves to a patrol. Remember, keep your guns holstered. No shots."

"If you don't want to use them, maybe you should leave them behind," Brad suggested.

"No. We're in uniform. It will look strange if we go in without our firearms. We want them curious but cautious. Not concerned."

"And being armed will help?" Brad asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

Casey nodded, his gaze panning over the camp, confirming the placement of the guards. "A show of good faith."

"Uh... Ah!" Brad said. "You plan to hand them over at some point."

"Yes." Casey had thought about it for several hours over the past few days about what to do if the Pack caught them, and he decided that surrendering their firearms made the most sense. If they went in without weapons, then that would make them appear shady at best and nefarious at worst, but going in with their guns holstered yet visible would make them indistinguishable from their ARA brethren to the north.

It was a double-edged sword, but if the Pack thought Casey and his team had authority, then it might buy Casey enough time to sell their case before anything turned hostile.

Unfortunately, no matter how Casey looked at it, the Pack wouldn't be pleased to see them, especially not inside their borders.

"Be prepared to be roughed up," Casey warned Javier and turned a warning eye to Brad. "I expect to be held at gunpoint and cuffed. Remember, don't shoot unless you think we're in a life or death situation, and don't aim to kill. Just incapacitate."

"Understood," Brad reiterated.

Javier gave him one quick jerk of his head in agreement. "If it were me, I'd fight first and ask questions later."

_Exactly_ , Casey thought but declined to give it voice. "I expect some sort of holding cell. Possibly for a few days."

"Great."

"If you don't see us in forty-eight hours, make yourself known," Casey told Brad.

Brad nodded.

Turning to Javier, Casey asked, "Ready?"

"Yep."

Casey took a deep breath and eased himself down the hill toward camp.

***

Nothing.

That was what Casey and Javier had found in both buildings: a whole lot of nothing.

Casey swallowed back a groan. He was so sure they would have found some sort of evidence proving a settlement existed, but other than the tamed underbrush and the locked building doors on the south end, there were no signs of habitation.

_Is—Is that a baby?_ He tilted his head to hear better. There it was again. _You. Hear?_ Casey signed.

Javier nodded and pointed to the ground to their left. _There._

Casey agreed. It did sound like the cry was coming from the earth. Casey knelt and put his ear to the cold pavement. The faint wail of an infant filter up through the dirt. Casey sat back on his heels and lifted his eyebrow in question. Javier shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. Javier knew no more than Casey did.

_All right_ , Casey thought, standing. They would try again, but this time they ought to find something. _You. Right. Me. Left. Check. Ground._ Maybe they'd get lucky and find a trap door or something.

No.

Casey's eyes widened. Javier refused his direct order? He thought they were in agreement here, and though Javier was a lot of things, he was rarely insubordinate on a mission he supported. _Split,_ Casey ordered.

_No_ , Javier said again with a sharp motion of his hand. _Eyes,_ he signed and pointed to the back of his head.

Casey scanned the area. Now that Javier mentioned it, Casey did feel the sensation of being watched.

"It would appear that they found us," Javier whispered.

Casey nodded once in agreement. It wasn't unanticipated, but it was unwelcomed.

"What do we do?"

What Casey wanted to do was discover where the people he'd seen last night had disappeared to, but it would seem his time to explore had expired. "No sudden movements, and unless I tell you differently, I do not want you to provoke them."

"Yes, sir," Javier replied with a salute.

Casey wanted to chastise him, but it was probably a good strategic move on Javier's part. The salute and salutation could only reinforce the image they wanted to present.

Squaring his shoulders, Casey gripped his cane tight in his hand and strode out into the middle of the path. In a loud voice demanded, "Show yourself." A faint click of a gun cocking greeted his announcement.

"Nice," Javier whispered.

"Shut up, Javier," Casey muttered. Louder, he said, "We wish to speak to the leader of this camp."

The sound of many feet on pavement reached his ears, and he watched several men dressed in army fatigues step from their cover and circle around them with their guns drawn. None of them looked younger than thirty.

That hadn't been in the plans.

"Hands up," a tall, heavyset, black man ordered. "Where I can see them. Up!" he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.

Casey and Javier did as the man said.

_Is he the leader?_

The man held authority, but something told Casey that this man wasn't the one in charge. "I would like to speak to your leader," Casey repeated.

"Shut up," the man barked.

"We're here to trade."

"Where is the rest of your squad?" the man asked, his gaze darted around, clearly looking for others.

"We didn't come with a squad."

The man jerked his head in a come over here motion, and a short Asian-looking man came from behind Javier and stepped up to the man in charge. "Check the grounds," the leader barked. "Find their friends and neutralize them."

_Neutralize?_ Casey hoped the man meant something different than that word would typically imply.

"Sir," the Asian-looking man acknowledged his order and moved off to do what his commanding officer requested.

Casey reevaluated his original opinion of the heavyset man. He could be the leader of the Pack, after all. It was too hard to tell yet since a camp full of retired military men would gravitate toward the ridged structure drilled into them by the army. Casey saw it happen on a smaller scale all the time, both at his camp and on this mission.

"There are no draft-dodging Assets here—"

"—Trade. We're here for trade," Casey repeated, cutting the man off.

The leader frowned at Casey's assertion, but he quickly schooled his expression. "Put your weapons on the ground," the man barked.

"Well, that didn't take long," Javier groused quietly.

"Be quiet," Casey snapped but pulled his gun from its holster as Javier followed suit. He knelt slowly, placing the weapon on the ground at his feet. As Casey let go, he stood, returning his hands above his head.

"The staff too," the man barked.

Casey nodded and knelt, adding his cane to the growing collection of weapons on the ground.

Another jerk of the black man's chin had another soldier—this one was a skinny blond with freckles—breaking rank to collect the discarded items. He disappeared into the building on Casey's right. The one that had the raccoon yesterday. Was that where the people hid? Casey had been all over that building. There'd been nothing there.

"Strip," the leader barked.

Casey whipped his head back around. "Excuse me?" He couldn't believe his ears.

"I said, strip! Remove everything," the leader repeated. When Casey hesitated a second too long, the man in charge gave a signal to someone behind Casey and a single shot fired. Casey waited for the burn of a bullet wound, but none came.

"That was your last warning," the man growled. "Strip."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Case, strip," Javier growled, his shirt already sliding over his head to land on his coat at his feet.

Casey took off his coat one sleeve at a time, folded it, and set it on the ground. His shirt followed a minute later, then his long underwear undershirt. The man motioned him to keep going, so he knelt to undo the ties to his boots. Once they were off, he quickly removed his pants, socks, and underwear. Goosebumps rose all over his body from the chilled air and cold rain which pelted his skin. The leader gave another signal, and someone yanked Casey's arms behind his back. The clank of metal handcuffs told him he was about to be bound, and a second later, the cold steel clamped down on his wrists.

"Now, let's see what we have here. Mason?"

"Sir?" a deep voice answered the summons.

"Search their clothing and gear. Jasper? Kevin?" the leader barked. "Hold them."

"Sir," replied the two men behind Casey.

One of the men's cold fingers clasped Casey about the bicep, squeezing tight. Once secure, the leader strode around them.

"ARA and BCD Treason," he said, then added, "and a RAC trouble maker." The leader's voice held an edge when he asked, "Now, why would an authority-deviant-spy and a _criminal_ be seeking us out? Hmm?"

Casey firmed his shoulders. "I told you already. We're here to trade. My camp needs food. We brought—"

"—Enough," he barked. "Blindfold them," he ordered, and a moment later, Casey's world went dark. "March."

Rough hands pushed Casey between the shoulder blades as the man holding his arm dragged him. They walked—well, Casey limped—for several minutes. It felt as if they were moving aimlessly, but the path in the park was convoluted and eventually made a loop around the park, so Casey supposed, they could be heading in a straight line.

The man holding him yanked him to a halt. Casey turned his head toward the creak of wood off to his right—were they at the locked buildings on the south side of the camp? He didn't think so—and the man tightened his fist on Casey's bicep, dragging Casey forward.

"Sit," the man holding him ordered.

Casey lowered himself to his knees.

"On your ass," the man ordered, yanking him back before letting go.

Casey had no choice but to comply as he lost his balance and fell backward. In this position, he expected his legs to stick straight out but was surprised to find they dangled in a hole.

"Scoot forward," the man demanded.

Casey gingerly inched ahead, wincing as his butt cheek caught on the edge of something sharp. He swung his foot below him, trying to feel the bottom of the hole.

Nothing.

Hands clasped him under the armpit.

"On three," someone new barked. "One. Two. Three." The ground beneath Casey's rear disappeared as they lowered him into the hole. His arms bent back as his weight pulled him down. The intensity of the muscle burn had him sweeping his foot side to side, desperate to find solid ground to ease the pressure and prevent a fall. Reinjuring his ankle would be crippling—well, more crippling.

"Stop wiggling," one man said.

"Stop squirming," said the other.

Warmth inched up Casey's neck. He was not wiggling or squirming! He would have them know he was protecting himself from a fall in the manliest of fashions! He opened his mouth to tell them so, but a second later, they let go, and Casey barely held back his yelp as he fell.

He landed hard on his ankle, which popped, and he screamed in pain before blacking out. Casey woke on his back, pinching his bound wrists between the dirt floor and his body.

"Move over," a voice barked above him.

He hadn't been out long, then.

Casey complied by rolling to the side. He felt a burst of air, and then the ground shook as Javier landed beside him with an oomph.

Wood creaked above, and footfalls drew closer, then another set.

Casey bit back a curse, realizing what the systematic thuds meant. Their captors had stairs, dammit! He could have used them. But, after the third person joined them in the hole, Casey lost track of how many people had come down into the pit with him.

Finally, the trapdoor above shut with a bang, and Casey idly wondered why so many men joined them this prison they'd put him in.

He sniffed, intrigued at what jail would be doing with such diverse, and wholly unexpected, smells. Casey tried to identify them.

"That went well, doncha think," Javier asked, sarcasm dripped from each word.

"Yes," Casey answered. What else could he say? They _had_ completed the first step: make contact.

"Shut up," a voice responded. It sounded like the leader. "Take them to Bravo Four."— _Bravo Four? How big was this hole?_ —"Put them in with their friend."

Crap! Brad.

Cold fingers wrapped around his forearm, lifting him to his feet.

"Move along," the man ordered. Casey didn't recognize the voice. Was it one of the men from the guard above or someone new? "Come on."

Casey took a step. Pain burst upward from his ankle to his hip, and his leg buckled under his weight. His guard caught him as he fell.

"Dan," the man barked. "Help me."

Footstep to Casey's left, then a new set of hands took him by the other arm. Between the two men, they helped Casey to his feet.

"Thanks," Casey muttered grudgingly, a part of him wanted to be sullen, but it wasn't prudent. He wanted these men to help him, no matter how much they made him suffer beforehand.

"Can you walk?" the second man—Dan—asked.

"With help," Casey said through tightly clenched teeth. "I think my ankle's broken." The skin on his back twitched, and tension held his frame stiff as the memory of his fall earlier plus the one from the summer had his stomach roiling. He swallowed back a fresh flood of saliva, and he gagged.

"You gonna puke?" Dan asked.

Casey shook his head. Not if he could help it, he wouldn't.

"Good," Dan replied.

Dan and his partner moved slowly, letting Casey set the pace. While Casey limped along, he strained his senses for any indication of what would happen next. The air was stagnant and damp with an overlay of mud, but it wasn't a swampy smell.

_Mostly dry, then_ , Casey surmised. It was a small mercy, but one he was thankful to have.

He sniffed again.

Casey smelled smoke, hot yeast, and a sharp tang of seared flesh. They had at least one fire with some sort of meal cooking. Casey's stomach growled.

"Damn, Case," Javier said from several feet ahead of him, though his words had a minor echo. "I could hear that growl all the way over here."

Casey ignored Javier. If his voice reverberated off the walls, then the hole they were in was quite large.

"This way," Dan said, tugging him gently forward to the right.

The heat Casey hadn't realized he'd felt, leached away, and he shivered, making the hairs on his body stand on end.

_What was that?_ He tilted his head toward the sound. Were those voices to his left? They sounded muffled, as if through a door. Were those cells? Or maybe they were rooms? Casey couldn't be sure, but the Pack had to live somewhere, and an underground home would be an excellent way to do it.

"Here," Dan said as he tugged Casey to the right again. Casey memorized their path. It wasn't all that hard. He'd fallen, walked to the right of the steps, turned right down a hall with voices, and then turned right a second time. He bet that if he went to the end of this current hall, he'd come to another right-hand turn. The prison appeared to be in the shape of an O.

Keys jangled, and Dan's companion told the two of them to stop. The order seemed unnecessary for Dan had already slowed before his partner had spoken.

Creaking, as if a door opened on rusty hinges, broke the silence.

"In," someone up ahead barked. Casey thought it was the leader. "You too," the voice commanded. Dan and his fellow guard helped Casey forward. Once in the room, they eased him to the ground. The first man let go. His heat disappeared quickly, but the other man's replaced his.

"I'll have the medic come take a look at your ankle," Dan whispered to Casey.

Casey nodded. A medic would be great. Maybe they could do something for the prior injury.

Dan left Casey's side, and a moment later, the door closed to their cell with a creak and a snick. Two scrapes and the clang of a bolt sliding home finished the task, and Casey knew their prison was now locked.

"I'm so sorry, sir," Brad said from right behind him.

Casey tensed and shook his head. "It's all right, Brad. You did what you were supposed to do. I can't ask any more of you than that."

# Chapter 11

"What do we do now?" Javier asked.

Casey shifted his weight from side to side. As he moved his bound hands from his back to his front, he bit his tongue to hold back his whimper. The effort of bringing his cuffs over his hurt ankle nearly made him pass out. When Casey succeeded in getting his hands in front of him, he hooked his thumbs under his blindfold and yanked it up and off his eyes. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

The first thing he noticed was the size of the room. It was more spacious than he would have expected. It was about fifteen feet square with a small fire burning in a recessed fireplace a few feet away.

A bricked flue extended down from the ceiling, capturing the smoke and taking it somewhere outside of the room. The second thing Casey noticed was the walls. They were covered in a mismatch of roughhewn boards and treated wood.

The ceiling was paneled similarly to the walls but reinforced with more logs, yet the floor was dirt. Why go to all that trouble to shore up the walls but leave the ground without proper covering?

Finally, Casey glanced at his men. Brad sat on his heels next to Casey. His hand extended as if he wanted to help, but had changed his mind mid-offer. Brad let his hand fall to his bare legs.

"They didn't blindfold you," Casey said.

It wasn't a question, but Brad answered with a shake of his head. "When they circled you, I left my post and moved closer. By the time I was in a better position, they'd already taken your clothes."

Brad paused. "When I heard the shot... I held my fire as you wanted, and I watched as they led you both around aimlessly. I kept you in my sights the whole time, but one of the guards found me in the tree with my bow drawn and an arrow nocked." Brad's lip turned down. "But by then, I'd lost you. You disappeared into the building, and I was at a loss as to how to follow."

"Which one?"

"Building or guard?"

"Building."

"The one you stood in front of initially," Brad answered.

"I knew it!" Javier barked, echoing Casey's thoughts.

"I guess they didn't think it was worth the effort to cover my eyes when I already knew where you'd disappeared to."

Casey nodded. "We're locked in a subterranean lair with an unknown amount of guards, no clothes, and no weapons."

"Way to state the obvious there, Captain."

"Shut up, Javier," Casey said, though there was no bite to his words.

"It's a pretty sweet villain set up," Javier continued. "What do you want to bet the leader has a handlebar mustache which he twirls with his fingers while he rambles on and on about our imminent demise?"

Casey shook his head. Sometimes it wasn't worth talking to Javier.

"There's not much we can do, is there?" Brad asked.

"Nope, but I don't expect we'll wait long," Casey replied. "The leader will want to speak to us, I'm sure, and Dan said he'd send a medic for my ankle."

"I'd feel a hell of a lot better with some clothes," Javier remarked as he left their side, stopping at the fire to warm his hands. Casey agreed, but that would be stating another indisputable fact. Maybe he should mention it anyway. Push one of Javier's buttons?

Javier continued, "Don't want to feel violated with you two lusting after my gorgeous cock." He glanced over his shoulder and winked at Casey. "On second thought, we do have a semi-private room. I'm not opposed to letting Brad watch while we make passionate love."

"Javier," Casey said, a warning in his tone.

"What?" Javier replied with false innocence and a grin. "You wouldn't mind watching us, would you Brad? Maybe even join in? I know you swing that way."

Brad's mouth opened and closed once, twice, only to end with his lips pinched tight and a frown furrowing his brows.

Casey shook his head and hooked his fingers under his knee to carefully pull his hurt leg forward. The ankle had a dark red patch on the skin around the bone as if a bruise was forming. He flexed his foot. It moved without a fresh sensation of pain. Maybe it would be okay. He eyeballed the fire. The ground was cold, and the blaze looked warm. Casey straightened his leg, ready to crawl toward it, but as he rolled to his knees, he bumped his ankle.

White flashes of light blinded him.

"Case?" Javier asked, his hand patting Casey on the cheek. "Case?"

Casey blinked rapidly. The reddish-brown dirt was impossibly close to his eye, and his view skewed in a diagonal. He pushed upwards, resting his weight on his hip, giving a tiny shake to his head to clear the dancing dots from his vision.

"You all right, sir?" Brad asked.

Casey mumbled a reply. He was fine, but apparently, his ankle hurt worse than he anticipated—something he'd have to remember later.

"Here," Javier said, digging his fingers into Casey's bicep. "Let's get you to the fire. Brad?"

"Yep," Brad answered, and between the two of them, they had him up and over to the hearth in no time. They finished settling him in when a murmur of voices on the other side of the door caught their attention. Javier, Brad, and Casey all stilled, straining to hear.

A scrape of a key preceded a snick of the bolt. Casey turned to watch the door over his shoulder, wishing Brad and Javier had thought to put his back to the flames instead of his front.

"I have this, Dillan," a feminine voice barked.

The bottom hem of a light brown skirt peeked around the corner of the door as a woman backed into the room. She closed the door, pausing there for a moment, her head resting on the frame. After a few beats, she straightened and spun, pressing her hands to the door behind her and grinned. Her gaze swept from Casey on the floor to Brad, Javier, and then back to Casey.

While she looked at the group, Casey studied her. She was quite young. No more than eighteen, if that. Her face was framed by soft, riotous, light brown curls, highlighting her high cheekbones and wide brown eyes. Her skin, a creamy tan in the middle of the winter, and her slightly flat nose indicated a mixed ancestry. Casey expected she was half Caucasian and African-American. He wondered how she found herself in the middle of the Pack's camp. Was she being held against her will? If so, he'd need to do something about it.

She bit her lip as she pushed away from the door and came toward him. His back tensed as she neared, and he tried to cover himself with his bound hands.

Kneeling at his side, she said "Hi" in a soft and breathy voice.

Casey cleared his throat. "Hello. I'm Casey," he offered. When she didn't respond, he asked, "You here to look at my foot?"

She blushed but declined to reply. Instead, her hand skimmed Casey's shoulder, down his arm, skipping past his stomach then to traveled down his thigh to his knee, where she grasped it in both hands and helped him straighten his leg. Casey shifted his weight. The metal of his cuffs bit into his flesh as he tried to keep his privates, private.

The girl tsked. "Looks broken," she murmured, her gaze left his ankle to travel back up his leg. Her perusal slowed about the time her glance reached his upper thigh. "What about the rest of you?" she whispered. Her tongue swept across her lower lip.

Casey's heart thundered in his chest. Was this some kind of test? He glanced over his shoulder to check the door expecting a plethora of guards ready to strike him down, but no one was there. He looked to Brad, who shook his head, then Javier, who shrugged, eyes wide.

_Okay?_ They weren't going to be of any help.

"Are you..." Casey's voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before trying again. "Are you the medic?"

The girl smiled and shook her head.

_Good_. Casey thought, relieved to have her respond. Releasing the pressure on his knee, she resumed her fingertip glide. Her touch was feather-light as it drifted along his thigh and toward his groin.

"Hey! Stop!" Casey yelled.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Her shoulders curled inward, making her appear uncertain. Casey might have bought it, too, if it wasn't for the devious gleam he saw shimmering in the depths of her eyes. Her fingers teased at the juncture of his thighs, back and forth they slid, and to his horror, his body reacted.

"Stop it," he ordered.

This was not good. Not good at all.

The corner of her lip turned up. "Was that for me? Because it doesn't look like you want me to stop."

"I do," Casey barked, his cheeks warming in a blush. "I have a wife and child at home—"

"—But they're not here."

"I don't care if they are sitting in this room watching us. You have no right to—to..." She brushed a finger against his scrotum, and a shiver of arousal shot up his spine, turning his stomach. Her touch was distracting and completely unwanted. "Get off!"

"Oh, I plan to," she whispered.

Flinging her leg over Casey's, she settled in his lap, resting on his bound hands. She rocked her hips, rubbing her body against him.

_Ever-absent God!_ She was naked under her skirt.

_And aroused!_

He yanked his hands away from her heated center, realizing a second too late that doing so left him open to her advances in other more alarming ways.

She shuddered, and a soft moan escaped her parted lips.

Casey was afraid to move. Fearful any action at all would create the very situation he so desperately wanted to avoid.

The girl grinned down at him. Her lower lip caught between her teeth, and lust flashed in her expression. She shifted her hips and pushed down, intimately connecting their bodies.

"No!" Casey cried appalled.

His chest heaved with his panting breath as if he'd finished a full-scale training session on Fort Sutton's obstacle course.

Why was she doing this? This could not be happening!

Where were Brad and Javier?

They were motionless, mouths agape, dismayed.

"Get her off of me! Now!" Casey begged.

Brad and Javier shifted towards him only to freeze a second later as a voice boomed in the room.

"Felicia!"

The girl cringed. Her lewd smile slipped, and she slowly tilted her head to look at the door behind Casey.

"Felicia, come here this instant." The girl nodded and stood. The second she was far enough away, Casey returned to his effort of keeping himself covered.

Ever-absent God was he—He couldn't finish the thought. The implications were too horrifying.

And shameful.

To think Casey let it happen! What would Lottie say when he told her he had sex with another woman.

As Felicia stepped over him, Casey barked, "Javier, help me up." There wasn't much he could do with his hands bound, but he'd be damned if he would sit there with an unknown threat at his six, especially not after what happened.

Javier nodded and motioned to Brad to help him get Casey to his feet. The three of them fumbled for a minute but managed to get Casey facing the newcomer.

Casey made sure his traitorous body was covered.

There in the doorway stood a stern black man with a long jagged scar running from the corner of his eye to his jaw. He had his hands on his hips, arms akimbo as he glared down at Felicia. "What do you think you are doing?" Several horrible thoughts crashed through Casey's mind, not the least of which was, would this man harm an asset? "Why are you out of the bunker? I told you to stay there 'til it was safe."

She shrugged, and Javier muttered, "Fucker."

"Careful," Casey growled.

He didn't know what was going on, and his team was at a clear disadvantage. Casey could not afford to piss off their captors, no matter how bad it looked for this asset, and especially not after— He shuddered, forcing his thoughts away from the girl's advances. He decided, regardless of what Felicia had done to him, if she were in danger here, if she were here against her will, Casey would find a way to get her to safety, but until then, Javier needed to hold his tongue.

"Felicia, what have I told you time and time again?" the man asked.

Her shoulder's slumped, and she sighed. "No sex 'til I'm eighteen."

Wait? What?

"Exactly. So, can you tell me why you are sexually assaulting a captive?"

"I wasn't assaultin' him."

"Sweetheart"— _Sweetheart?_ —"he said 'no!'. Repeatedly. That alone should have made you stop. You wouldn't like it if someone did the same to you. You would be traumatized and upset."

"It's not the same! He's a man—"

"—Felicia!"

She sighed and glanced at Casey over her shoulder. "He's cute."

"Tyler is cute, yet you want nothing to do with him."

She faced the man again, craning her neck to look him in the eye. "That's different."

"No, it isn't."

"It is! He's, like, twice my age," she grumbled, looking to the ground. "Besides, I didn't think he'd mind. None of the men here seem to mind. They all talk about how they can't wait to be with a woman."

"And that makes it okay for you to approach someone who very clearly said no?"

"Maybe."

"And if Tyler thought you wouldn't mind even if you said no?"

Felicia shrugged. "Maybe I'd like it."

"Damn it, Felicia!" Felicia twitched at the man's yell. "You are seriously trying my patience today. First, you fight me when I order you to the bunker, and then I find you in here," he growled. "If your mother were around—"

Felicia's back straightened, and she returned her gaze to the man.

_Uh._ Casey glanced back and forth between them, curiosity piqued.

"But she's not," Felicia interjected, her tone sullen. "And she won't ever be again because you refuse to go get her."

The man caught Felicia by the shoulders, giving her a tiny shake and stepped into the room before pointing to the hall. "You do not get to speak to me that way, young lady. Go to your room. We will discuss this later."

"Fine," she huffed, renewed anger and sharp toned.

"Fine," he repeated as she pushed passed him and disappeared from view in a swish of skirts and attitude.

A mumbled, "Maybe I'll go find Tyler," drifted back into the room.

The man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He then took another. Finally, the man turned toward Casey and snapped his fingers. A newcomer in a faded uniform materialized in the doorway and dropped a stack of something into the black man's hands. He dismissed the newcomer with a wave.

"Well, Private Stewart," the black man began.

Casey shook his head. He let go of his crotch and held out his bound hands to shake. "Huxley. I'm Casey Huxley."

The man glanced down at Casey's hands and then back, catching Casey's gaze in his. His expression lacked a suitable threat, but that didn't mean he welcomed Casey either. He stepped closer, ignoring Casey's attempt at formality, and Casey noted the items in his arms looked like a stack of pants. "How do you come by Stewart's clothes?" he asked.

Casey firmed his shoulders. "He didn't need them anymore."

The man nodded once. "Is it true what you told Felicia about having a wife and child?"

"Yes," Casey replied without hesitation, wondering why the man hadn't pressed for more details about Stewart's clothes that Casey wore. It didn't make sense for the man to trust Casey that easily. Especially since the man reminded him of First Lieutenant Green, and Green didn't believe anything anyone told him without a lot of cross-examination. "She, along with my son, and fifteen others—"

"—Katie might have delivered," Javier interjected.

"—Maybe sixteen others—"

"—Noah might be there."

Casey sighed. "—Seventeen others are waiting for us."

"Why are you here?"

Casey took a deep breath. "We're starving. We didn't anticipate our population boom—"

"—Population boom?" the man interrupted.

"Yes," Casey said. "And we didn't have enough food set aside. My wife is doing her best, but it's a losing battle. With few options and little left to us, we scavenged a few abandoned homes near our settlement, collected things we thought might be worthy of trade, and came to you. We need food. Now. We won't make it the whole winter."

The man kept silent as if waiting for Casey to add more, but there was nothing left for him to say.

The man stepped forward and handed Casey the top item, which was a pair of pants, turned, and gave the next to Javier, and the last to Brad. "Get dressed."

Casey clutched the garment to his chest. Did this mean the man trusted them?

"What do you have available to trade?" the man asked.

"On us?"

"Yes."

"Several yards of electrical wire," Casey replied. The man rubbed his chin, thinking. Casey hoped his opinion was favorable, but to sweeten the deal, he added, "But with some help and a few day's travel, we could get you five light fixtures, some undamaged PVC and metal pipe, and a stack of wire hangers."

"We don't need those things," the man replied.

Casey's chest tightened, and he frowned. As an adult, he'd rarely felt the urge to cry, but thinking of all the faces counting on him and going back empty-handed nearly brought him to tears. He studied the ground as he blinked them back. He needed to figure out what to do next. He guessed he'd return to the earlier plan and head to Fort St. Louis once the business with the Pack was completed. That was, of course, if the Pack didn't rob them.

"But, I think we might be able to help," the man added, interrupting Casey as he strategized.

Casey glanced up. He went to rub a hand through his hair, forgetting his binds in the process and dropped the pants in his arms.

Javier knelt at his feet to retrieve them. "Let me help you, sir," he murmured. "Put your hand on my shoulder and lift your foot." Casey complied, forcing his thoughts back to the conversation at hand, ignoring the fact Javier was dressing him as if he were a baby.

Embarrassing.

"How can you help?" Casey asked.

"I want to see this camp of yours," the man began, and Casey shook his head. _Not going to happen._ "If what you say is true," he continued. "we'll do what we can to help you survive the winter."

"We won't move here."

Javier tapped him on the other foot, and after carefully putting weight on his injured leg, Casey lifted the one Javier requested. When he felt the fabric bunch around his ankle, he set his foot down, releasing the pressure on his hurt ankle.

"I'm not asking for that," the man replied.

"Then..."

"It should be easy to prove what you say. We won't even have to come into your camp."

"It's a week of travel," Casey tried again to dissuade the man. Javier shifted to his knees, dragging Casey's waistband upwards. He settled the garment on Casey's hips and did up the front fly before standing and moving away from the two men.

"That's fine," the man replied. "We'll pack up a few things to see you through before we go. That way, if your story checks out, we don't have to waste more time on unnecessary travel."

Casey swallowed. Could it be this simple? It would be dangerous to have this unknown man near the people who relied on him, but if he set off one of the early alerts, then Tristan, Jaesen, and Jules would be aware of their presence and could secure the settlement before their approach. It was a sound plan, but it had one major flaw. The broken alarms. If Tristan hadn't fixed them yet?

"Of course, if you're lying, you get nothing," the man said. "But, if you're telling the truth, we'll find a way to settle up then." Casey nodded. What could he say? "Good. It's a deal then," the man said. "I'll get a few of my men together, some supplies, and we can leave the day after tomorrow."

"Just like that, you'll help us?" Javier asked.

"Just like that," the man repeated with a smile. "Now, come along. Let me show you around our home."

Casey glanced at Javier and then Brad. Something wasn't right with this exchange. Too easy. And why would he give them a tour?

"The name's Wolf, by the way."

Casey inclined his head in acknowledgment. Indicating his companions, Casey introduced Brad and then Javier.

"Pleasure," Wolf replied. "Come along."

"Can I have my cane?" He wasn't going anywhere fast without it.

"No. No weapons."

"He needs it to walk," Brad said.

Wolf lifted an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I reinjured my ankle when your men dropped me. Dan said he would send for a medic."

Wolf's gaze unfocused a moment before sharpening again. He shook his head. "No weapons."

"I'll help you, sir," Brad said, grabbing his bicep.

Casey frowned. "No."

"Sir—"

"No," Casey repeated.

He wasn't weak.

If he'd managed to transverse half of the state with his ankle busted, he damn well could figure out how to move around this subterranean home without his cane.

"I'll walk." He sucked in a breath, mentally preparing for the pain before moving forward. As he suspected, the first step was agony, but he forced the feeling to the back of his mind and slowly limped his way toward the door. Brad and Javier fell into step behind him with Wolf following after. Once everyone was through the door, Wolf closed it and took the lead.

"You are in the Bravo dormitory," Wolf volunteered. "Everyone here shares a room. For the most part, though, our rotation schedules keep us out of each other's hair." While he spoke, he led them down the hall past four closed doors before turning right. They passed another seven doors before the corridor ended by opening up into a big room—a central living quarters.

Casey gulped as Wolf marched out into the expanse. It was full of men. Some were working at an incongruently-modern-looking-for-a-subterranean-lair kitchen counter, and others were relaxing by a central fire.

And? Were those two men kissing in the corner?

As Wolf drew closer to the group, he captured everyone's attention. "Otto," he barked, interrupting the couple making out, and Javier took that moment to lean against Casey.

His lips pressed against Casey's ear, and Casey could feel Javier's whiskers brush against him as he whispered, "No, handlebars."

Javier's words didn't make sense, and it took a moment for Casey to catch the reference, but when he did, he murmured back, "No monologue about our imminent demise, either."

"Can't be right all the time," Javier said with a snort. Straightening, he asked, "Where's the fun in that, right, Brad?"

"Huh?"

Casey shook his head. He stepped from the shadows as two men detached from the group by the fire and walked to a ladder. Casey guessed that was where he and his team had entered this cozy dwelling.

"Come!" Wolf bellowed from where he stood. "Sit. Relax." He pointed to the men around the fire. "We'll be having a meal soon."

Casey hesitated. Wolf's cheer continued to feel out of place. Wrong and over the top. There was no way Casey would have talked to interlopers the way Wolf spoke to them. What was his game? False security?

"Come on, Casey," Javier said beside him, drawing Casey's gaze away from the men in the open space. "If they wanted to kill us, they would have by now."

"Thanks," Casey said, frowning.

As they drew near, Casey noted the pillows piled around the lip of a sunken floor, creating a ledge a comfortable distance from the fire, yet also giving the occupants room to dangle their feet. Javier hopped into the hole, and Brad followed. They each took one of Casey's arms, and before he could shrug them off, they lifted him. After setting him down, they sat, leaving him space between them on the ledge.

_All right_ , Casey thought and looked at the men who surrounded them—gauging them. Each man met and held his gaze. Some were wary, and others were hostile. Now that made more sense. What leader would be so trusting of strangers regardless of if they were bound or not?

"Hungry?" Wolf asked, handing Casey a bowl.

"Yes." Casey took it, sniffed, and his belly growled. He sipped the hot liquid as both Brad and Javier received a bowl. Casey waited, half expecting immediate stomach cramps from acute food poisoning, but when none came, he took another careful sip. It was good. Thickened with flour and bursting with vegetables.

"You think this is normal?" Javier whispered in his ear.

"Don't know," Casey answered, but it was promising. If the Pack had enough food stores available to fill their bowls this full this early in the season instead of strict rationing, then surely they had enough to help out his small band of followers.

"You have a camp?" asked an older man. He sat across from them, and Casey guessed the light-brown haired man with a cleft chin was about forty years old. "Where?"

"Rather not say," Casey told him.

Cleft Chin nodded as if he'd expected Casey's answer.

"I think it's good," said another, who sat to the left of Cleft Chin. Casey dubbed him Redbeard for his carrot red hair and goatee. "We need more settlements outside of the Forts."

"Any women there?" a third queried. Casey glanced at him. He reminded Casey of Noah: too thin and dressed in mismatched leathers. No mint, though, and his reddish skin didn't match Noah's dark coloring. Casey figured he had some sort of Native American genes in his history versus Noah's African-American roots.

"A few," Javier said with an oomph when Casey elbowed him in the ribs.

"Good," Mini-Noah replied and went back to eating his soup, appearing to not care about Javier's answer.

"You let them work?" Cleft Chin asked.

"You mean, like cooking and stuff?" Javier responded.

"That," Cleft Chin agreed. "And hunting. Or patrols. Et cetera?"

"Yeah."

"Javier," Casey reprimanded, and Javier gave him a quick grin, all cheek and flashing teeth. _Great, he is up to something._

"Good," Cleft Chin answered with a nod.

"We can't do that here," Redbeard added.

"Why not? Are the women only good enough if they're barefoot and pregnant," Javier said with a slight bob of his head while also keeping his tone light. His statement was an interesting mix of contradictions. It wasn't a question and wasn't a comment, either, but somehow Javier'd managed to state it in a way that didn't sound condescending, but not precisely condoning either. Ambiguous. Genius.

"ARA assholes, like you two,"—Redbeard replied, his finger, wagging in their direction—"abduct them. Take them away, regardless of if they'd rather stay."

"Uh," Casey hedged. He did not want to get into an argument with these soldiers.

"Not this again," a new man, to Casey's left, groaned. He was younger than Cleft Chin. Maybe as young as Casey, but probably closer to Tristan's age. He glowered at the older man. Casey decided to call him Shit-Disturber.

Cleft Chin pointed at him. "If you ask me, good 'ole Chucky Weaver is overlooking one of the USA's best damn resources keeping the women locked out."

"No one's asked you, though," the man—Shit-Disturber, Casey amended to keep the speaker differentiated in his head—answered, but Casey did wonder what the current president had to do with the conversation.

"He did," Cleft Chin replied, indicating Javier.

Returning his focus to Casey's team, Cleft Chin groused, "Some of the smartest scientists in our history were women. Fucking waste of intelligence not letting them do any other jobs besides spread their legs or take care of the resulting youngins."

"Here. Here," a man to Redbeard's left agreed. "But I can see why they don't."

"Regardless," Cleft Chin continued. "I'd like to see the Brass change their mind. Put more women in charge. Give them honest jobs—"

"Fuckin's honest," Shit-Disturber chimed in.

Cleft Chin whipped around to pin Shit-Disturber with a glare. "Wasn't talkin' to you, Weldon."

_Weldon!_ Casey thought in relief. Finally, a real name.

Weldon shrugged. "Just because you said it doesn't make it less true."

"Not going to happen," Redbeard's left-hand-man remarked. "Need to keep the birds in the State-runs. Men like to fuck. And if we can't get it with each other—"

"—Watch your mouth, Mick," Cleft Chin said, cutting him off.

"Fuck you, Larson. You got laid recently," Mick growled.

"Fucking ARA. It's all their fault," Weldon growled, glaring at Casey.

"You're one of them," Redbeard barked. "You here to find out how many women we have so you can steal them away?"

Casey shook his head.

"At this rate,"—Weldon interjected, pointing to Mick—"you and I'll be fuckin' if the fuckin' ARA"—he jabbed his finger at Casey—"keeps taking all our options back to Fort St. Louis."

"Options? Options?" Larson sputtered. " _Paula_ is not an option," he growled, adding air-quotes to the word option.

"Yes, she is, asshole," Mick replied. "Just because she chose you—"

Larson stood, towering over Mick. "—Take it back, you insufferable—"

"Enough!" Wolf roared.

Everyone stiffened, then slowly unfroze enough to look at the man towering over them. But before Wolf said anything else, eager voices pulled everyone's attention to the ladder on the far wall.

"Daddy!" a little boy squealed and ran to a man on Javier's immediate left, jumping into his lap. "Take me hunting, Daddy!"

"Kistler," a woman admonished as she joined the group. "Daddy's busy."

"It's all right, Elly," the man beside Javier said, patting Kistler on the back. Focusing on the child, he asked, "We'll go tomorrow, okay, Kess?"

The little boy nodded. "Can Dillan come too?" When Kistler's dad—who looked a bit like an overweight Brad sans glasses—didn't answer right away, Kistler chanted, "Please? Please? Please? Daddy! Please?"

Kistler's dad glanced at Redbeard before looking back at Kistler. "It's all right by me as long as it's all right with his dad."

Kistler beamed and jumped off his dad's lap, ran around the fire, stomping on Casey's toes as he passed, and climbed into Redbeard's arms. "Can my brother come too?" he asked, bouncing up and down on his knees. "Can he, huh? Huh? Can he? Daddy'll teach him to hunt real good. I promise."

Redbeard grinned at Kistler's dad and then at Kistler. "It's fine by me, but why don't you go ask Dill? See if he even wants to go."

Kistler lept to his feet in Redbeard's lap and launched himself over the man's shoulder, where he scrambled to his feet and tore off toward the dormitories. Disappearing around the corner, he yelled, "Dillan! Dillan!"

While Kistler was gone, three other women joined the men around the fire. One woman settled back against Larson and began nursing her baby. Casey guessed by the protective stance of Larson that this was Paula, and by extension, the infant in her arms was his child also. She thrust her chin forward in defiance when her gaze clashed with his. Casey gave her a quick nod and averted his gaze.

"Mai is on her way," Elly said as she settled next to Kistler's dad, resting her back against his chest and giving Casey somebody else to look at besides Paula. "She needs to settle Jewell and grab her bag." When Casey didn't respond, she leaned forward and reached across Javier to tap Casey on the knee. "You hear me, Bad Conduct?"

Casey tensed. His fingers tightened around his empty bowl. "Is she a medic?" Casey asked, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot.

"Best we got," Elly confirmed and resumed lounging against Kistler's dad. "Ever since we lost our Surgeon Nate to an ARA raid."

Keeping his mouth shut, Casey nodded.

Tilting her head, Elly kissed Kistler's dad on the jaw, before calling over her shoulder, "Gabe!" When he didn't reply, she pulled away and looked behind her. "Gabe?"

Casey turned in the same direction as Elly, hoping to match another name to a face, but no one was there.

"He's talking to Felicia," Redbeard replied.

"Ah," Elly said, facing forward again. Turning her piercing blue eyes on Casey, she said, "I hear you met Gabe's daughter already."— _Had he?_ —"Turned her ass down when she came on to you."—Casey's prior confusion cleared. Gabe was Wolf, and Felicia was his daughter. Wolf's reaction made a hell of a lot more sense now—"Good choice," Elly said. "She's gonna be trouble. All sass and no respect. Won't be surprised if we find her taken in by the ARA and shipped off to Fort St. Louis one of these days."

"Shut up, _Eileen_ ," Felicia grumbled behind Casey, and his shoulders tensed.

His skin tingled in memory of her caress, and he frowned.

"Besides," Felicia added. "who'd want to sleep with a man whose been arrested and thrown out of the Army for treason. Probably got the charge by raping women—"

Casey's cheeks stung as if slapped.

"—Felicia," Wolf growled.

"What? I'm sure it's true," Felicia huffed and stormed off toward the kitchen. Casey glared at her retreating form. Elly quirked an eyebrow up in challenge when she caught him looking. Casey forcibly removed his gaze from the young girl, unwilling to engage her further. He shifted on his seat and tried to school his expression.

"So there _is_ interest there," Elly remarked.

Casey scowled. "No." If anything, he felt a growing hatred toward the young girl. "I have a wife and child—"

Felicia snorted and lowered herself gracelessly next to Larson, flashing Casey in her carelessness. She gave him a malicious grin.

Great.

Tiny fingers touched his back, and Casey pulled away abruptly, dropping his bowl, which clattered and rolled toward the fire. Brad bounced up and rescued it before it could fall into the flames.

"Daddy? What does B B C mean?"

"BDC," Kistler's dad corrected. "It's another branch of the military, son."

"A bad one, like the ARA?"

"No," Larson replied. Was that sympathy in the other man's gaze?

"He's got an ARA, too..." Kistler's voice trailed off, and his fingers left Casey's back.

In Casey's peripheral vision, he tracked Kistler as he moved to Javier. "So do you... Are you a bad guy?" Kistler asked. "You have"—Kistler's finger touching each mark on Javier's back as he counted them off—"five different tattoos. My daddy only has one."

"That's enough, Kess," Elly, chided. "Come here and apologize."

The kid nodded, his shoulders drooping in contrition.

"Sorry," he mumbled to Javier as he climbed into his mom's lap. Elly kissed his temple and whispered in his ear. "No. He said he had to guard the stores," Kistler replied. She hugged him close as he wiggled in her lap and pointed. "Will that happen to me?" he asked.

"What? And no pointing," she said, pulling Kistler's hand down to his lap.

"The tattoos?"

Elly shook her head. "You don't have to worry about it, Kessy. You're not going to enlist. Ever," she replied with an apologetic grin to Javier and placed a kiss on Kestler's head. Kistler tucked up under her chin and wrapped his arms around her neck.

Casey felt a sharp pain in his chest. He could imagine Greysen asking Lottie the same thing. Her answer would have been similar, Casey was sure. "How old is he?"

Elly patted the back of Kistler's head. "He's eight. And yours?"

"He turned two last August."

Elly smiled, a tight, unfriendly expression at him over Kistler's head. "I remember that age. Terrible twos. You ain't seen nothin' yet. Just wait 'til he hits three." She paused, then asked, "What's his name?"

"Greysen." Casey's easy answers must have relieved tension in the group, for a more casual set of conversations popped up around him as he and Elly talked.

"Greysen?" Elly confirmed. "Unusual name."

The edge of Casey's lip turned up in a soft smile. "He's named after his grandma. A prickly woman, that my wife, rescued—among others—from Gates Research Hospital and part of the reason I'm here."

"A myth," Redbeard's neighbor said.

Shaking his head, Casey turned his attention to the other man. What was his name? "Not a myth, Mick," Casey replied, hoping the name he'd pulled from the depths of his memory was the correct one. "My wife was there for several months before succeeding in her mission to rescue her mother and my closest friend's sweetheart."

"Who did you say?" an older woman interjected, speaking for the first time.

"My wife?"

She shook her head. "No, the grandma."

"Greysen."

"Greysen," she trailed off. "I knew a Greysen. She went by the name of Grace. Pregnant within a few weeks of enlisting and had a girl. Surgeons kept hoping she'd have another."

"That's her," Javier replied.

"Is she any nicer?"

"Nope," Javier said with a grin. "She's still a bitch."

Grace wasn't that bad. "Javier," Casey started, but his mouth snapped shut when Javier turned and pinned him with a glare.

_Ah._ Javier was working again.

"That's a shame," the woman said, looking to her nails. She picked at something she found there. "She wasn't always like that. She was a sweetheart those first few months before the FAR sunk their claws into her."

"Oh?" Javier asked, his tone dripping with disbelief.

The woman nodded. "They sequestered her—subjected her to test after test and additional fertility therapy—and gave her special compensation at the slightest provocation. Sniffles? She got meds. Pain? Meds again or rest. Bored? Freedom to move around the grounds. It got bad enough she was resented by pretty much everyone. Ostracized. Ridiculed. A pariah. The FAP called her Princess, and some of the other girls called her Queen." The woman brushed her fingers along her skirt, smoothing it. "Their taunts weren't original, but what do you expect from twenty-year-olds?"

Casey's heart bled for Grace. She'd never asked to have Lottie and then to be hated? No wonder she was bitter. She probably expected the Settlement to turn against her as well.

"So your wife is her daughter?" the woman asked.

Casey shifted in his seat. Leaning forward, he waited for her to look up. When she did, he nodded.

"That's good. I'm glad they're reunited," the woman replied. "When you see Grace again, tell her Renee Dunken sends her regards, will you?"

"Sure," Casey replied, cutting off Javier's possible snarky reply.

"So, Bad Conduct," Elly began, resuming control of the conversation. Casey turned her way, and she lifted her chin. "What'd'ya do to get that?"

"Get what?"

"That discharge."

Casey sighed. "I refused a direct order from my CO, requesting I hand over my wife and the women she rescued."

"Why didn't you?" Elly asked. Casey suspected she was trying to work him over similar to what Javier had already done twice to the Pack since they landed in the Pack's home. Good thing he had nothing to hide. Well, almost nothing.

"It would have been an easy out for you," she added.

Casey shifted, his cuffs rattling as he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I love her."

Elly's hard smile softened further.

"Wolf?" Someone called from behind him, and Casey craned his neck to see who it had been. It took a moment to locate the voice, but once he did, Casey spied one of the men from earlier with his head poking out of the ceiling right above the ladder.

"Yes?" Wolf answered.

"We set aside what you asked for, wanna take a look?"

Wolf shook his head. "Load it up on the sled," he ordered and shifted his focus to the group in front of him. "Everyone," Wolf said, pausing until he had everyone's attention. Wolf swept his hand in Casey's direction. "Casey, Javier, and Brad here are on a mission. As I'm sure, you've heard about it by now. His family needs food. I've already committed resources to the cause, but I need some men to make a journey with me to their home to confirm what they say is true and to make a delivery. Volunteers?"

"How many," Redbeard asked.

"At least seven."

Casey parsed the directive into two guards for each of Casey's men plus some extra resources for a minimal rotation. Casey nodded. He would have done the same.

While Wolf continued to negotiate with his men, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Casey turned to the summons. A woman with soft brown eyes and slight olive tint to her skin stared back at him.

"May I see your ankle?" she whispered.

"Are you Mai? The medic?"

"Yes," she whispered and set a duffle-like bag down next to him. "Can you scoot back so I can take a look?"

Casey nodded and dug his fingers into the dirt to aid him as he complied. When his ankle cleared the lip of the sunken footwell, Mai lifted it in gentle hands and rested his calf on a rolled-up towel. She glanced at him, an apology shown in her expression. He nodded. "It's okay," he whispered, knowing from her look, she didn't want to hurt him but had no choice. "I doubt you can hurt it worse than it already is."

"How did you do it?"

Casey took a deep breath, his gaze finding the ceiling. He examined the exposed joists while he answered, and she worked. "Which time?"

"The original injury, please, then go from there."

Casey took the next few minutes, retelling the pertinent details to how his ankle became messed up. During the retelling, Mai pushed, prodded, and studied Casey's injury, but didn't comment other than to add a well-placed 'um.' or 'go on.'.

"Well?" he asked once she sat back on her heels, finished. "Is it broken?"

Mai shook her head. "No, but without a surgery theatre, there is little I can do to repair the old damage." Casey chewed on the edge of his tongue. That was the same answer Noah had given him. Casey didn't like hearing it but had expected as much.

"But," she continued. "I don't believe you hurt it worse with your second fall today. I think only sprained it."

"That's a relief," Casey murmured.

"I wish I had ice," she trailed off. "I'll wrap it for you, but other than keeping your weight off it, there isn't anything else I can do to help."

"Can you get my cane?"

She glanced over his shoulder. Casey assumed it was an unconscious motion to check with Wolf since he stood behind Casey. Refocusing on him, she smiled tightly and offered, "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks," he replied. He hoped Mai would succeed. He wouldn't get very far without a way to brace his weight.

"Anything else?" she asked, rolling down his pant leg and returning her towel to her bag. Casey touched her wrist, stilling her as she cleaned up her supplies.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, gazing into her eyes intently. It was a gamble to ask such a loaded question in the very midst of the enemy with the leader hovering nearby, but he had to know.

Her expression clouded in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Are you being held against your will? Do you need an escape?"

Mai glanced into the huddle of men laughing and talking not more than five feet away, and a soft smile tugged at the corner of her lip. "They let me practice medicine. Keep my daughter." She turned her dark brown eyes to his, a full smile crinkling the edges of her eyelids. "I found love here. And family. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Casey searched her expression for any tell that would indicate a lie, but he found none. She was happy here. His tension eased. The Pack was nothing like what Wade had thought. "Good."

She gave him a happy nod and, with a final sweep of her arms, collected the last of her things and left his side. Casey watched her walk away. She had a bounce in her step, a carefree posture, something the women at his settlement were only recently acquiring.

He grinned at her retreating form. When she turned the corner to the dormitories, Casey moved to rejoin his men at the fire. When he sunk his legs back into the footwell, he noticed Felicia was gone, and Elly had moved. She was now snuggling under Redbeard's arm. A young man, who looked a lot like a young Redbeard, sat on his other side, deep in conversation with her. Casey figured this was Dillan.

Casey glanced up, catching Wolf's eye. Wolf crouched down. "Yes?" he asked.

"How many are here? In your home?" Casey was curious, and even if Wolf declined to answer, it never hurt to ask.

"Forty-five souls."

_That many?_ The number Wolf quoted didn't match Casey's expectations regardless of Wade's earlier estimations. "How do you feed everyone and have a surplus?"

The skin around Wolf's eyes firmed in unspoken tension. "If you have told the truth, I will tell you, but 'til then, you will have to take it on faith that I can provide."

Casey put his hands up in a placating manner. "No offense meant. I am amazed, is all, and wish to duplicate it."

Wolf studied him for a moment before giving him a curt nod and pulling his gaze away. Returning his focus to Casey and his men, he said, "Do you need anything before we return you to your room?"

"Bathroom," Brad interjected eagerly.

Wolf acknowledge the request and motioned to someone behind Casey. Firm, warm hands, gripped him about the bicep and hoisted him upright.

"Take them to the facilities. Give them some time without the cuffs to attend their needs," Wolf ordered. "When they finish, return them to Bravo Four."

"Cuffed?"

"Yes."

"Understood," the man behind him said, and pulled Casey backward, guiding him to the ladder. "Up," he ordered.

Casey complied, pushing open the trapdoor and exiting the subterranean structure, his eyebrows lifted. It was daylight! He turned to the guard at his side. "What time is it?"

"An hour or so before dusk," his guard replied. After the rest of Casey's team emerged from the hidden bunker, the guard said, "Come on." He led them out of the pavilion and into the park beyond.

# Chapter 12

Casey settled back against the far wall of Bravo Four, facing the door. Of course, doing so meant he didn't have the benefit of the fire to warm his back, but at least he'd know of any threats the second they entered. Not that Casey expected any, but he hadn't expected Felicia either. Casey made fists over and over, fighting the urge to claw at his twitching forearms. He could feel the pads of her fingers teasing the juncture of his thigh.

Sweat pricked his skin, beading on his upper lip, and he glanced at Brad then Javier to see if they noticed. Brad lay on his pallet under his blankets with his fingers laced and resting on his chest. The sight reassured Casey, and he relaxed his hands, content to see one of his men comfortable and sleeping.

"You takin' first watch?" Javier asked, drawing Casey's eye as Javier walking over to a stack of bedding. It was new, which meant someone deposited it in their room while Casey and his team had been off with their guards—James, Matt, and Tyler—getting his first hot shower since August. Their unseen benefactor had also outfitted their room with fresh firewood and a chamber pot.

Casey leaned forward and tucked the strap of his ankle's bandage into the rest. He smoothed the fold, schooled his features, and met Javier's gaze. "Yes."

"Good! I'm more tired than a whore after a Fourth of July celebration," Javier said as he grabbed a thinly stuffed mattress. He clumsily untied the binding that kept it rolled, and with a flick of the wrist, he unfurled it. Using his feet, he kicked it into place in front of the fire and collapsed onto it.

"You want the next one," Casey asked, looping his cuffed wrists over his bent knees.

Javier nodded through his yawn, and Brad released a soft snore. "Kick me when it's time to spell you."

Casey opened his mouth to respond in the affirmative, but a tentative knock on the door interrupted him. "Come in," Casey barked, though he didn't know why. It wasn't as if whoever it was needed his permission to enter, not to mention the fact the door locked from the outside.

A second later, Mai stuck her head into their room. When she spotted him, she said, "Gabe said I should rewrap your ankle. You have time now?" Casey waved her in. She pushed the door open wider, letting herself and James into the room. "He apologizes," Mai said, as she came toward Casey.

For a second, Casey thought she meant James and not Wolf. "Why?'

"Extra trauma wrapping it, unwrapping it for your shower, only to wrap it again."

The corner of Casey's lip turned up in a reassuring smile. "And now you're here to do it again."

She knelt at his feet. "Yes. He regrets his lack of foresight on the matter."

Casey shifted, easing the pressure on his foot. His cuffs rattled as he slid his ankle toward her. "Can't think of everything, every time."

"Unfortunately," she agreed as her careful fingers grasped the edge of his pant leg to push it up to his knee. Resting his calf on her thighs, she began the process of removing the wrapping. "He gave me the authorization to offer a painkiller, should you wish it."

"Tea?" Casey asked, knowing Lottie had an herb she could use to ease his hurts.

"No, a pill," Mai said.

_Wow?_ They were rich if they could offer a stranger a painkiller pill.

"No offense," Casey said. "But, I'd rather not." He'd never had one and had no idea what it would do to his cognitive abilities. He did not need to be incapacitated by drugs.

Mai nodded. "If you change your mind later, send for me."

"All right," Casey replied, but he knew he'd never take her up on it. "You said you had a daughter?" Casey asked, needing to distract himself from the pain. "What's her name? How old is she?"

"Jewell is nine months," Mai answered. "I had her the same week Paula gave birth to Barry."

"They'll have an age-mate, then," Javier said from underneath several blankets.

Mai looked in his direction. "Yes," she agreed, a slight smile tugging the corner of her lips.

Returning to her task, she pulled the last of the original ankle brace away from Casey's skin and continued, "They will have it easier than poor Felicia. She's had a hard time of it."

"Yeah," Javier said, his voice muffled. "I bet that 'no sex' before eighteen's rough."

Mai shook her head and pushed Casey's foot into a better position for rewrapping. Casey sucked in sharply and bit his lip as the pain overwhelmed him. Mai said, "I doubt she's a virgin"—Casey knew first hand if she had been before today, she sure as fuck wasn't now—"but that doesn't diminish the fact Gabe's trying to keep her from making too many mistakes. Of course, sex is only one of them. She makes plenty. She is a willful child."

"That's putting it mildly," Javier replied.

"What happened to her mother?" Brad asked, proving he no longer slept and happened to be as curious as the rest of them.

Mai glanced at James as if asking permission. Her gaze drew Casey's in time to see that the guard nodded. "We believe she is fine—but we don't know for sure," Mai answered, shifting Casey's ankle as she wound the fabric brace under his heel "She was taken by the ARA eight years ago and returned to Fort St. Louis to enlist. I never met her, but I knew of her. She aged out three years ago."

"Then-I'duzn't'e'ome back?" Javier asked through a yawn.

"Why doesn't she come back?" Mai asked, glancing at Casey for confirmation. He nodded. At least, he assumed that was what Javier had asked.

"Yeeeeah," Javier confirmed a beat later, his breath wheezing out of him as he shifted under the bedding.

"We don't know." Mai paused, tucking the end of Casey's ankle wrap and securing it. She pulled Casey's pants hem back down and set his foot on the ground. "Maybe she's afraid to come back, or maybe she doesn't want to leave Fort St. Louis, or maybe she doesn't love Gabe anymore—it's been eight years."

"Why hasn't Wolf gone after her?" Brad asked, his raspy voice sounding sluggish and deep with unshed sleep.

"You'll have to ask him," Mai answered. "But I guess it is more of the same."

"Eight years is a long time," James said from his post by the door. "A lot has happened, and Gabe has his hands full."

"From what I know," Mai continued. "She was always super active in keeping the camp going. That's how she was spotted and captured. She was out scouting when the ARA detained her. She didn't even have time to come back and say goodbye to Felicia. They up and took her away the second they found her."

"ARA came in a few days later and found Tiff and Sara. Wolf fought to keep them here—that's how he got that scar—but he lost them in the end," James said.

Mai nodded. "It's a shame. If they hadn't taken so long getting into the bunker..." She patted Casey on the shin and shook her head. "Doesn't matter anymore. They're gone," she said and stood. "I will check on you in the morning."

Casey hooked his fingers under his knee and lifted it. He wrapped his arms around his legs, surprised to find his ankle already felt better.

Once the door closed behind James and Mai, Javier sat up. "You think that's true? That Wolf's woman's in Fort St. Louis?"

Casey scrubbed a hand over his face, his cuff scraping his nose. "Why would Mai lie?"

"Redirection?"

"For what?"

"Dunno," Javier replied, settling back in his blankets. "Keep us guessing."

"I don't think so," Casey said. If it had been Wolf, Casey might come to the same conclusion, but there didn't seem to be a point to Mai feeding them a story when silence would have been a better strategy.

"We could offer to bring her back," Javier said.

Casey frowned. He'd thought something similar, but how? They didn't even have a name for the woman. "Maybe. I'll see what Wolf has to say."

Javier fell silent, and Casey let his head rest against the boards at his back.

"You think we'll head back tomorrow?" Javier asked. He'd been quiet so long, Casey'd thought he'd fallen asleep.

"Sounds like it," Casey said, lifting his head to look at Javier.

"It's odd. I wonder why Wolf is so willing to help us? It's clear he doesn't trust us and thinks we're lying."

Picking at a loose thread on the knee of his pants, Casey admitted to wondering the same thing. He didn't have an answer.

Javier snorted softly and rolled over to his stomach. He propped his chin on his forearms and looked at Casey. "Did you see Elly? Now she's got some balls." Casey lifted his eyebrows and shot Javier a look, but otherwise didn't respond.

"She's married to both Amos and Connie."— _Who?_ —"Now, why can't _I_ find a woman like that? What a minx."

Brad snuffled, rolled over to his side, and mumbled, "'Cause you're an ass" before falling back asleep with a snore.

Javier's head whipped up, and he glared at Brad, making Casey snicker.

Still laughing, Casey whispered, "Which one was Amos?"

Returning his attention to their conversation, Javier replied, "The carrot top. Dillan's father." Javier smirked. "He's the more effeminate of the two. He and Connie were a couple before Elly came to them."

Javier batted his eyelashes at Casey. "From what I hear, it was love at first sight!" Javier laid his head down and stared at the fire.

"That was twelve years ago." Javier rolled his eyes in Casey's direction but otherwise didn't move his head. "There was a bit of excitement then."—Javier refocused on the fire—"Apparently there was some concern whether or not Elly conceived here or at Fort St. Louis. But when Dillan was born with a shock of red hair, they figured Amos was the 'good ole' donor. It took her another four years to conceive Kistler—her assigned surname, by the way—but now she goes by Flynn, a blending between Amos and Connie's surnames."

Javier paused. The silence stretched, but a glance from Casey confirmed Javier was awake. Javier rolled to his back, twined his fingers together, and pillowed his head on his hands. The position looked uncomfortable with the cuffs holding Javier's wrists at an awkward angle.

"According to Elly, Felicia only recently began acting out. Something about wanting to have more freedom and Daddy denying her requests." Javier snorted. "I couldn't believe she came onto you like that."

Casey bit his tongue. He didn't know if Javier was fishing for details, but Casey wouldn't provide them.

"Never expected that," Javier trailed off.

After a minute of quiet, Javier yawned, then added, "Wolf's a good ally to Noah's cause if we can secure him. He's got enough space here. A bunker to hide the newcomers and keep them safe. Which—in case you wanted to know—is reached by entering the adjacent pavilion topside. That's where all the women and children were going last night. And he's far enough from the Fort that deserters wouldn't be spotted. Not to mention, it's a good waypoint between Fort St. Louis and us. He could then direct them to our homestead, or on to other conductors. Wolf'll need to do something about Matt, Branden, Michael—To be clear, I don't mean Mick or Mike—and Taylor, not Tyler—They don't actively challenge Wolf's leadership, but they don't buy into his plans completely either."

Casey's eyes widened. "How do you know this?"

Javier grinned, showing teeth. "Just doing my job."

A half-smile tugged at Casey's lips, amazed. He doubted there were any inaccuracies in anything Javier had said. "How do we make Wolf and ally?" Casey asked.

"Not sure," Javier replied, his expression turning thoughtful. "They don't have food items which take lots of lands to cultivate, like fruits."

Javier itched his ear, which made him look a bit like a dog scratching. Returning his hand under his head, he said, "They use those south buildings as gardens. The four-sided protection extends their growing season like a greenhouse, but it isn't big enough for everything they need."

Slipping his hands from behind his head, Javier waved them to indicate the room around them. "They can't expand underground either—every time they scavenge the homes nearby for wood, the ARA forms a raid, and Wolf has to go into hiding. After a while, they had to repurpose the existing floor as walls and ceilings, but they need more wood."

Casey grunted in acknowledgment. Javier's words gave him some ideas. Maybe he and his men could do the scavenging for Wolf in exchange for the food Wolf promised. Casey had to think about it, but the idea had merit.

"They'll need to do something, though. The women, and some of the men, are bored and only see the sun when they're in the gardens." Javier wiped a hand over his eyes. "It sucks and causes friction. Wolf has a hard time fighting their decline."

Javier fell silent for several moments before he said, "I'm exhausted. I'll see what I can learn tomorrow." He'd barely finished speaking before he began to snore.

Casey snorted. Javier had said a lot of good things before passing out. Casey could make something work.

***

Casey dozed on his pallet whenever it was his turn to rest.

It had been an exceedingly long day of inactivity for all three of them. A day that consisted of mostly extended periods of downtime, interspersed with the occasional visitor bearing food or stopping by to undo their cuffs and give their wrists a break for a few minutes.

"What's the plan?" Javier asked, waking Casey.

After a yawn, Casey said, "As long as it doesn't jeopardize our lives, we do exactly what Wolf and his team tell us."

"Even if that means walking home naked?"

"Yes."

"Should we have some sort of code word for if we feel threatened and need to act?" Brad asked. Casey cracked open an eye needing a sense of what Brad truly meant by his question.

Javier snickered. "Like a sex-game safe-word?"

Brad's cheeks flamed, but he nodded once.

With a sigh, Casey pushed himself upright and rubbed his cuffed hands down his face. "I don't expect we'll run into any issues on the trek back, but how about 'canteen'?" Not that it would matter. The entire concept of protecting themselves was futile.

"Sounds good, Captain," Javier replied.

"Which way do you think we'll go?" Brad asked.

"East, past the worst of the Meramec, then south."

"What about our stuff in the woods. North of here?" Brad asked. "We gonna leave it?"

"We'll have to. I don't see—"

"—Wolf's already got it for us," Javier interrupted.

"—how we," Casey trailed off. "Come again?"

Javier winked at Casey and said, "Only if you're gonna help."

Casey negated Javier's remark with a minute shake of his head. "What do you mean, 'Wolf has it'?"

"Oh, that kind of coming," Javier said with a grin. "They went looking for—and found—our packs last night."

Casey rolled the edge of the blanket between his fingers, wondering if Wolf would confiscate the supplies they'd brought or give them back. He'd expected the man would keep them, but who knew? Wolf'd surprised him several times already with the choices he'd made regarding them.

"You gonna see if we can get our other stuff?" Javier asked, and Casey shook his head. Although losing the travois would hurt, it wasn't worth detouring over.

Sighing, Casey gave up the pretense of sleeping and began folding the blanket in his lap. "We'll have to make a second trip, or return part of the way with them after they confirm our need." He set the blanket aside. "We'll bring the travois home then." No sooner had he finished speaking than the door to their room opened again admitting Wolf and Weldon.

Wolf marched over to Casey. Casey tilted his head back to look up at the towering hulk of a man above him. "Where is it?" Wolf asked. "This travois?"

Without missing a beat, Casey replied, "There's a small town southeast of here."—Casey waved Javier and Brad over. They stepped closer and extended their bound hands to Casey. They helped pulled him to his feet.

There. That was better.

"We left it in an abandoned house."

"When we get near, point it out," Wolf ordered, then addressing Weldon, he said, "Unlock them."

Weldon came forward, grabbed Casey's wrists, and removed the cuffs.

As they fell away, Casey rubbed his raw skin. "Javier?" Casey called, glancing over at the other man while Weldon unbound his hands.

"Sir?"

"When the time comes, you take us to that bridge you found. I'm not crossing that train track again."

"Understood," Javier replied at the same time as Brad asked, "What about the PGD?" He had his hands out for Weldon.

"I suspect they're gone," Casey answered. "And if not, we'll know right away. We can always come back later."

"Understood," Javier and Brad replied.

Wolf lifted an eyebrow, his only remark to their exchange. He handed Casey the rest of Casey's uniform. "Get dressed," he barked as he handed Javier and Brad their clothing. "We leave in five." The three of them dressed quickly. As they finished, Wolf asked, "Ready?"

Casey said, "Yes."

"Good," Wolf added. "Let's go."

The three of them followed Wolf out of their room and down the hall. At the ladder, Wolf let them ascend first. At the top, Casey stepped out of the pavilion and into the rich black of night. He tilted his head to view the stars. They winked, wavering in and out of view through the mist of his breath. The air was dry, calm, and crisp, without a cloud in the sky, providing plenty of starlight to light their way.

"Get in the cart," Wolf ordered. His hand pushed gently at Casey's back, urging him toward a wooden contraption hidden deep in the shadows.

Casey looked over his shoulder. "You can't be serious."

"I am. Corbin spotted an ARA patrol a few minutes ago, and we need to get moving before they see us and decide to investigate."

"We won't all fit," Javier commented, his tone carrying his amusement, and Casey had no trouble picturing the other man's smirk.

"It's not for you, just Huxley here."

Javier snorted at Wolf's remark.

"Now get in the cart," Wolf commanded. "We need to move. Be quick now." Casey didn't budge. Wolf pushed him a little harder. "We can make better time if we aren't waiting on you."

The reference to Wolf's other men had Casey checking for them. "Where are your men?" he asked.

"Waiting for us at strategic points," Wolf replied. When Casey hadn't budged, Wolf exhaled forcefully and said, "Look. You need our help, and we're willing to give it, but you need to do as I say, or we'll be spotted and have to scrub the mission."

Casey eyed the cart. He didn't want to use it. It was embarrassing and degrading, but Wolf did have a point. If they waited on Casey to limp his way along, they'd be caught, for sure. As he was coming to this conclusion, Javier piped up, "What happened to the 'we'll do whatever, even if it means walking home naked' rhetoric of this morning?"

_Fine_ , Casey grumbled silently and shuffled toward the device. Wolf offered him his hand, and with his help, Casey climbed in. Wolf helped him sit amongst the bags of goods and the backpacks. Once Casey was settled, Wolf stepped between the cart bed and the handlebars. With a grunt, Wolf lifted the front end of the cart, and after a second where Wolf's feet dug into the ground, scrabbling for purchase, they were off. Slow at first, but within moments, Wolf had the cart moving at a distance-eating pace with Weldon, Brad, and Javier flanking the two of them.

As they reached the south edge of the Pack's camp, two forms coalesced from the shadows. One—Doug—joined their convoy, and the other—Corbin, the unofficial Captain of Wolf's guard—unhooked the gate, pushed it open, and waited. Wolf nodded to him as they passed.

"Safe journey, Gabe," Corbin whispered. No one had time to reply before they were through the gate and on their way across the paved flats south of the camp.

Wolf increased his speed. The cart rattled alarmingly, making Casey's teeth clatter violently together no matter how hard he clenched his jaw. After a bit, he gave up and let his mouth fall slack.

Despite the cart's best effort to shake him apart, Casey managed to keep an observant vigil on their progress. He half expected the patrolling ARA to descend upon them.

Of course, if it hadn't been for his due-diligence, Casey probably wouldn't have seen Wolf's men—Amos and Dan—as they melted from the trees and loped toward them, joining them in the flight from the amusement park's shelter to the trees several kilometers away.

As Wolf charged past the halfway point between the park gate and the far southern road, he veered eastward and slowed to a more sustainable pace. At the edge of the flat, Wolf whistled, and Amos swooped in behind Casey. Without slowing, they lifted the cart with a grunt. Their effort was smooth and coordinated.

After a hop and a beat, Amos lowered the cart to pavement again. It bounced once before finding its balance and rocketing along behind Wolf. While they'd been navigating a curb, another two men had joined them in their race for the trees.

They reached the edge of the woods, and they took a moment to stop and change bearers. Dan stepped forward and took charge of Casey's cart, while Otto grabbed ahold of a new wagon, hiding behind some scrub brush, then they were off again.

***

Casey's cart rolled to a stop and lifted his head with difficulty.

He was cold. So. Cold. He had stuffed his fingers into his armpits, but they tingled and burned from lack of circulation, and his cheeks were so numb he feared he didn't have them any anymore.

Blinking, Casey looked around and tried to focus in the early dawn light.

Doug and Kevin were stretching their arms and legs, clearly stiff from the hours of dragging Casey and his team's travois that had ditched before finding the Pack. Then there was Mick. He'd abandoned the supplies cart in favor of laying on the ground and gasping. And Dan? Casey felt terrible for the man. He'd taken three shifts on pulling Casey's ass in the cart, and now Dan was bent over, hands on his knees, taking in great gulps of air.

"We'll stop here for a few hours, then keep going," Wolf stated. A chorus of groans, yeses, and sirs, greeted his pronouncement. "Kevin and Weldon, you'll take first watch. In an hour, get Amos and Otto." Wolf turned the two men he mentioned. "Doug and Mike'll relieve you." They nodded. "Mason?"

"Sir?"

"We're fourth."

"Sir," Mason acknowledged.

Wolf turned to the last two men. "Mick? Dan? You'll have the last watch. When your hour's up, we'll eat and get moving. I want twenty more kilometers before we rest for the night."

Addressing the group, Wolf said, "If you're not on watch, then I want you sleeping. Understood?" Another round of muttered agreements traveled through the group as they paired off to do their tasks.

Casey shifted his weight, preparing to get out of the cart, and Brad and Javier were at his side in a flash. Leaning heavily on his two men, Casey nodded his thanks and gingerly tested his injured foot. The damn thing throbbed like a star about to go supernova.

"Get his blanket," Javier ordered Brad.

"Come on," Javier said to Casey as Brad left Casey's side to retrieve the plush pad from the bottom of the cart. Mason and Dan had found the three-inch-thick, green, and white woven blanket in one of the abandoned homes they'd searched while everyone else waited for the team to retrieve Casey's travois. They'd given it to him. It had been a relief to sit on it instead of the hardwood of the cart. Without it, Casey feared his ankle would have been worse.

Patting Javier on the shoulder, Casey stopped him. Turning to Wolf, he asked, "Need us to help with the watch?"

"No," Wolf replied. "Rest up."

Casey nodded and limped toward a tree with Javier's support.

"Here you go, sir," Brad said as he passed them to lay the blanket on the ground.

"Go get your stuff," Casey muttered to Brad as Casey used Javier to lower himself. He sighed in relief as he kicked his legs out in front of him and reclined to his elbows.

"You good?"

"Yes," Casey said with a soft moan.

"Be right back," Javier murmured, and Casey waved him away. It had been a long night, and although the only thing he'd done was sit in a damn cart, he was exhausted.

While Casey's men were gone, Wolf came over and joined him. "How are you holding up?"

What a loaded question. Did Casey say, 'pissed at being lame and forced to sit in a cart', or 'frustrated to be a burden to Wolf and his men', or 'tired of being cold'? Casey settled on, "Fine. Thanks."

Wolf gave him a weak smile and looked away, taking in the activity of his camp as men rolled out their bedding and climbed in.

"Yeah, I'd feel the same," Wolf agreed. After a beat, he added, "It was the fastest way to move."

"Yeah," Casey said on a sigh. "I know." _Doesn't mean I like it_ , he thought.

Wolf patted him on the shoulder. "Rest up. It'll be a long day."

"Will you let me walk?"

Shaking his head, Wolf stood. "No," he said as he walked away, but by then, Javier and Brad had returned.

As Brad set out his blankets to Casey's left, he asked, "You need anything?"

"No."

Brad nodded, climbed under his covers, pulled them up to his chin, and promptly fell asleep.

"I hope they're not bothered by snoring," Javier said as he dropped Casey's bag onto his lap.

Casey glanced around. Most of the men looked asleep already, so he shook his head. He didn't think anyone would be bothered.

"Yeah," Javier replied. "You're probably right."

Javier flicked his wrist and unfurled his blankets before climbing in. "Can you believe how far we've gone today? Even with that damn travois, we went as far in one day as our team did on our last three days of travel."

Casey grunted. There was a hell of a lot more men available for rotation than just the three of them. Besides, it wasn't like the weather, an injury, or the PGD had delayed Wolf's team as it had for Casey.

"Anyway," Javier said when Casey didn't reply. "See you in six."

Casey gave Javier a tight nod before fishing out his bedding from the side of his pack. It didn't take him long to follow Brad and Javier into sleep.

***

"Stop! Don't touch his shoulder."

Brad's whispered admonishment woke Casey abruptly.

"Why not," a man asked. The voice was familiar, but Casey couldn't place the name.

"He wakes up swinging," Brad said.

"Still?"

"Yeah," Brad answered.

"Huh," the man said. "He's been out for a while, though, right?"

Brad murmured a negation. "Only a few months."

"Oh. I thought it'd been longer."

"Kick his foot," Brad instructed.

Uh. No.

"Which one?"

"No need," Casey said, sitting up, wiping a hand down his face. "I'm awake."

"Sir," Brad greeted with a nod.

"Huxley," the voice— _ah, Kevin_ —said in greeting. In his hand, he held a small wrapped package. As he handed it to Casey, he said, "We're leaving in ten. Be ready."

"Uh-huh." Casey took the thing—a ration bar—from Kevin and waved Brad over. "Help me up."

Brad jumped to his feet and held out his hand. Once standing, Casey tucked the food into his pocket and stretched. He couldn't believe how hard he'd slept. It wasn't like Casey had done anything strenuous.

Shaking the remnants of sleep from his mind, he hobbled into the trees to relieve his bladder. Footsteps behind him had Casey swallowing back a groan. Brad tended to be too solicitous.

"I can take a piss without your help," Casey chastised.

"Good to know," Dan replied.

The owner of the voice had been unexpected, and Casey's shoulders tensed.

"'Cause we ain't here to hold your dick," Doug added.

Casey's guard. How could he have forgotten?

With effort, Casey relaxed and finished his business, then turned and met each man's gaze with his own.

"Ready?" Dan asked.

"Yep."

"Good. Let's go," Dan said, heading back toward Casey's cart with Casey following. "Need help getting in?"

Casey's lips pressed flat, and his hands clenched into fists. He shook his head. Gripping the side of the cart, Casey pushed up to remove the weight on his injured foot as he swung his other leg up and over. His knee landed on the plush blanket. Once stable, he finished climbing in by dragging his injured leg behind him. It wasn't the most dignified way to get into the conveyance, but really, what were his choices, having someone lift him in like they had last night?

_No thanks._

He could do it his damn self.

"Good?" Doug asked.

Casey smiled grimly. "As I'll ever be."

Doug's expression softened. "Yeah, I'd hate it too." Doug's momentary bout of empathy must have dried up for his gaze hardened, and he moved into position behind the handlebars. Within seconds of getting into position, Wolf signaled the column's readiness and everyone in charge of a cart or travois, grunted with their effort as they took off for the day.

***

Casey opened his eyes. His gaze found its way up the trunk and through the tree branches to the sky above. The monochromatic color of the night was fading, only to be replaced by the usual drab winter hues.

He marked the moment when the sun breached the horizon. The clouds positively glowed as they were lit from below by the sunrise. Their rainbow of color seemed to reflect his elation. He couldn't believe it. After only four days, they were less than an hour's walk from the settlement. He was home! He would see Lottie and Greysen again. His hands tingled, and his arms ached with the need to hold them both.

Soft footsteps and a slight vibration of the earth alerted Casey to the new arrival, and he shifted his eyes to the towering figure hovering over him. He couldn't see the man clearly but knew it was the leader of the Pack. "Wolf," Casey greeted and pushed himself upright. His blankets pooled in his lap, and he shivered in the frigid air. He grabbed his jacket from its place as his pillow and put it on. It didn't help much.

"Huxley," Wolf said in return and sat.

Wolf handed Casey a long pole. Casey's mouth fell open as he grasped it and felt the familiar dragon carving. It was the cane Brad had made days before their capture by Wolf and his men. Casey's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Casey never thought he'd see it again, and had already asked Brad if he'd be willing to make a new one. Casey looked forward to telling Brad not to worry about it.

"Your camp's nearby?" Wolf asked.

"Yes," Casey replied. "Less than an hour." Giving a small jerk of the cane in his hand, he said, "Thanks, by the way."

Wolf shrugged. "No quick moves and you get to keep it."

"Understood," Casey remarked with a snort.

"We'll have a hot breakfast and then get going. I'm eager to see this settlement of yours."

"Sure. How long?" Casey asked, needing to plan their arrival.

"Half hour?"

"Sounds good," Casey agreed.

Wolf clapped his hands against his knees and pushed to his feet. "Join us when you're ready."

"Will do," Casey said and proceeded to wake his men. They spent a few minutes doing their usual morning routine before joining Wolf, Kevin, Dan, and Mick at the fire. Wolf handed Casey and his team mugs of hot soup. They ate in silence, and when they finished, they all stood, ready to get going.

"Lead the way," Wolf ordered.

Casey nodded. "We'll loop to the northeast. There's a rock formation on a ridge that gives a good vantage point"— _and houses one of Noah's most sophisticated early alert systems_ —"for us to see the settlement without being noticed."

Ever-absent God, Casey hoped Tristan had fixed that alarm. When Wolf didn't object, Casey turned, and with an exaggerated limp, he headed away from the camp. In less than a half-hour, they reached the outer perimeter of the settlement.

_Please be set. Please be set_ , Casey chanted as his gaze swept the path, looking for the hidden trigger. He paused on the trail. Where was it? It had to be here. There it was! And in a stroke of good fortune, it was also armed. Casey blinked and exhaled slowly. Now to set it off. With another deep breath and an easily disguised clumsy step, Casey tripped the trap. Now all he had to do was delay the group for a few minutes.

"Shh," Casey cautioned, indicating everyone should hunker down as he pretended to see something in the distance. "We'll wait here a moment 'til they pass." It was the best idea he could come up with to buy himself at least five, maybe ten minutes. The delay should give his men enough time to secure the camp and send someone to investigate.

In a crouch, Wolf came over and whispered, "What's going on? Why are we stopping?"

"Avoiding a patrol."

"But they're your men."

Casey tried not to groan. Of course, Wolf wasn't stupid. He would state the apparent hole in Casey's plan. "True," Casey replied, wracking his brain for an excuse that would make sense to a fellow tactician. "But my men are under strict order to shoot first and ask questions later."

"They would attack an outsider in your presence?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"They think we went to Fort St. Louis," Casey lied.

"So?"

"They are extremely loyal." _...to the settlement and Noah._

"And?"

_Seriously, Wolf?_ Casey couldn't believe it. Wolf was too smart for this. Why did Casey have to spell it out for the man? "You're a stranger," Casey explained. Wolf didn't ask for clarification, but his silence was heavy with expectation. "I'm BDC," Casey said, trailing off. Surely Wolf could fill in the blanks by now.

After a second, Casey's words must have sunk in, for Wolf said, "Ah. They'd assume you were with us under duress."

"Bingo."

"Do we need to take better cover?" Wolf asked, proving he was on board with Casey subterfuge.

Casey shook his head and looked to the sky. He couldn't give in to the relief he felt at Wolf buying his lie. "If we stay put and don't move, we'll avoid them. They should slide west of us. And in a few minutes, we can resume our advance."

"Are your patrols that easy to predict?" Mick scoffed.

"No," Casey answered. "But our camp's down three men. Their resources are limited." Mick snorted. The dismissive tone irritated Casey. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you can easily slip past your guard, who's to say your enemies won't do the same?" Mick asked.

"No one," Casey said, falling back on his old standby of lying with the truth. "There is always the potential of someone watching long enough to find the weak spots. We did it to you."

"We let you in," Wolf said, interrupting the exchange.

Had Casey heard that, right? "You let us."

Wolf nodded. "I needed to know why you'd been sniffing around us for two days." Casey had no idea how to respond. A smile tugged at the corner of Wolf's lips. "It was painfully obvious that you weren't ARA." Wolf frowned. "Well, not active ARA," he said as an aside. "For one, we were behaving"—Wolf stressed the word with air quotes—"So it was clear you weren't there to raid us. And two, we'd already seen regular ARA patrols on the ridge the day you arrived. You took great pains in avoiding them."

"Okay." _Damn!_ He thought he'd been careful.

Wolf cocked his head to the side. "I haven't heard anyone since we stopped. Is it safe to move on?"

Sweat pricked Casey's armpits, and a shudder of unease tickled up his spine. Where were his men? Had they waited long enough? Were they securing the camp? Casey shifted his weight, and something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Before he turned to look, he detected the faint odor of mint.

_Noah_?

Casey twisted with care as he stood.

Searching.

Finding.

At about head height, a dark, cavernous hole, no bigger than the tip of Casey's pinky, came into focus. Behind the ominous sight, a dark brown eye stared at him, sighting down the barrel of a revolver.

Noah! Thank the ever-absent God.

A click and a crackle disturbed the silence, pulling everyone's attention to Javier as he brought the glow of his arc lighter to the tip of his cigarette. He took a strong pull, lighting it. Javier glanced over the hand-rolled, his gaze sweeping across everyone until Javier's gaze locked with Casey's.

"Wha?" Javier said, around the butt stuck between his lips. He finished exhaling. The smoke was a perfect diversion, and Casey'd never been so thankful for one of his men's vices. He hoped Wolf hadn't noticed the scent of mint or the gun aimed at his head.

"They're gone," Casey announced and began walking. "The arrowhead is this way. Stay low. We don't want them to notice us." And as Casey led them past Noah, he hoped Noah had caught the hint in his words, but fearing he'd been too subtle.

Thank the ever-absent God, Noah usually did 'subtle'.

***

Casey leaned forward and pushed the brush to the side, clearing the view for Wolf and himself.

"You spoke the truth."

"Of course," Casey replied as his gaze quickly took in the scene below, and he knew Wolf did the same.

Noah had made it back to the settlement in time to spread the word. He and Jules stood at the southeasternmost corner of the homestead. They had their backs to the central fire, while they conversed. The rest of the camp lounged around, seemingly without a care in the world. Occasionally, Noah reached down to scratch behind one of the dog's ears as the two men talked.

It was no surprise to Casey when Wolf whispered in an awed tone, "A dog? You have a dog?"

"Yes. We have two of them."

Wolf's head whipped around, after a beat, he demanded, "I want one. As payment."

Casey shook his head. "I can't do that."

"You owe us for the supplies."

Shifting his weight, Casey rocked back on his heels. "I am aware," he said, schooling his features. "We will pay for the food, I assure you. But, it won't be with a dog."

"Unacceptable," Wolf said, his tone hard. "I want a dog."

Casey turned slowly. Wolf held himself rigid. Expression fierce. _He's not budging._ Casey lifted an eyebrow. "Do you now?"

"Yes."

"Well," Casey said, refocusing on the camp below. "I would if I could, but they're not mine to give."

In his peripheral vision, Casey watched as Wolf glared at him. "What do you mean, 'not yours to give'?" He pointed down into the clearing. "Those dogs are here in your camp, correct?"

"Yes," Casey agreed.

"Then, they are yours."

"No. They're Noah's. He leaves them in our care, but didn't give them to us." Casey held up a finger when Wolf opened his mouth. "Though, I'm not averse to asking him if he can breed you a couple of guard dogs as payment for the food." Shrugging his shoulders, Casey said, "I'm sure he'd be willing. I just have to ask him."

Changing the subject, he pointed to Lottie pacing near the fire where Tristan, Jaesen, Zoe, and Nyah were playing cards. _Probably Knaves and Knights_ , Casey thought. It was their go-to game, after all. "You see that blonde over there, pacing with the toddler in her arms?"

"Yes."

"That's Lottie. My wife," Casey said. "And the screaming kid in her arms is my son, Greysen." As if his words called her, Lottie turned and headed back toward the card players.

The muscles in Casey's abdomen tightened. She didn't look healthy. Gaunt. Had she eaten anything while he was gone? She must have, he decided, for her protruding belly was significantly larger than when he left, though, he supposed it could be a case of misremembering. The baby in her womb couldn't have grown that much in seventeen days.

A wail drew Casey's eyes to Greysen in her arms. His son had his hands in the air. His tiny fingers clenched and opened in his usual I-want-you manner, and he was looking straight at Casey.

_Shit_.

"Daddy!" Greysen screamed, the word carrying across the distance as if Greysen said it right next to them. Lottie cupped Greysen's head to her breast and turned away from the ridge.

Casey glanced at Wolf

"They know," Wolf barked. "They know we're here."

Casey's shoulders rounded. No reason to deny it. "Yes."

"How?"

"My son," Casey began, "has this truly uncanny way of knowing when I'm near. It's been that way since his birth. He'll pitch a fit if I come within two kilometers or so, regardless of when I saw him last."

"And that's how they know we're here?" Wolf said, scoffing. "Impossible."

"One-hundred percent possible," Casey said with conviction. "They would have known we were near due to Greysen alone—and that's partly the reason we camped where we did. I didn't want to upset Greysen unnecessarily. Besides, you wanted to see the settlement from afar, and I assumed you meant relaxed and not under alert, which wouldn't have happened if I came within range but then didn't show. So, the best way for me to deliver on my promise to you was to let them know we had visitors and request them to act naturally."

"Let them know? How? Did you sneak away from camp last night?"

Casey shook his head. "No. Your guards did their job."

Wolf huffed, hopefully in appeasement.

Continuing, Casey said, "Approximately thirty minutes ago, I sent a message to my patrols that we were here. One of my men came out to investigate."

Wolf pinned Casey with a glare. "I didn't see or hear anyone. Not even this 'patrol' you claimed to have seen."

"No, you wouldn't have," Casey agreed. "Noah—the one who came to investigate—can get in and out of anywhere unseen. It's part of his charm"—Wolf grunted—"I told him we weren't under threat and to alert the camp of our arrival. I asked him to have the camp act natural, but I wasn't sure my message was received 'til we looked down."

"How did you send this Noah a message?"

"We have the camp surrounded by early alerts—booby traps if you will—and I deliberately tripped one. My men followed protocol. Within minutes I had someone investigating."

"You're far from the Fort, why do you need something like that?"

The reasons were extensive: IRT, Lottie's attackers, other ARA.

Casey sighed. He went with the easiest. "You can never be too careful."

Wolf muttered an agreement. When he spoke again, it was clear he had let that particular point go. "Are these traps hard to build?"

"No. Most of them are pretty simple to construct. The most complex part is camouflaging them and setting them up where you expect infiltration." Casey paused. "Back at your camp, Javier and I discussed your security and had a few ideas. If you want, we can help you design a few early alerts for your camp. I might even be able to convince Noah to help you install them."

"That would be great," Wolf replied, sounding sincere.

Casey gave Wolf a tight smile. "Good."

If it worked out, maybe Wolf would consider the knowledge a fair trade for all that he'd given them.

# Chapter 13

"Daddy!" Grey screamed inconsolably. "Wan' daddy! Wan' daddy!"

"Sweet Grey, shh," Lottie whispered. If he didn't hush up, he was going to give away their ruse, and since she had no idea how difficult the situation was—it wasn't as if Noah had been very forthcoming—she feared for Casey's safety.

Lottie pivoted on her heel, forcibly keeping her gaze from lifting to the ridge where she knew, if she looked, she'd see Casey and the man who may or may not be holding him captive. Lottie took a shuddery breath and pushed Grey's head to her chest. "Please be quiet," she whispered. "Please, baby?"

Jaesen tossed a card to the small table. "And that my friend"—he forced a chuckle—"is to make it look like we're actually playing a fucking card game."

Zoe giggled nervously, studied her cards, and shifted Dexy in her arms while Tristan threw his head back and laughed. When he let his false amusement die, he folded his cards tight in his hand and pointed to Jaesen with them. "I'd rather be stalkin' that mutherfucker and takin' him out than sittin' here with you. You feel me?"

"You think he's okay? Really?" Zoe whispered.

"Fuck yeah, he is," Jaesen barked. "If he wasn't, do you think his message would have been about not being noticed?"

"Possibly," Zoe replied.

"Or he is a prisoner," Nyah added.

_And that's the clincher, isn't it_ , Lottie thought and patted Grey on the back.

Tristan wrapped his arm around Zoe and pulled her to his chest while Nyah cracked her knuckles against her thigh.

"But what if he's threatened?" Lottie asked as her pacing drew her near again. Grey thrashed in her arms and wailed for Casey. She had to juggle his weight as he kicked her belly.

"Noah said Case didn't look concerned," Jaesen remarked as he pulled a new card from the deck. "Your turn, T."

Lottie shifted, moving away from the group, and Grey spun in her arms. "Daddy!" he cried, and Lottie tried to corral his grasping hands.

"Please, Grey," she whispered. "Be quiet. Daddy'll be here soon."

"No! No! No!" Grey's tears increased. "Wan' daddy!" he screamed.

As she swung around to head back toward Tristan, her gaze zeroed in on Casey. She couldn't help it, and as their gazes tangled, his eyelids widened, and she winced. _Shit._ She quickly looked away, soothing Grey in her arms. _Shit! Shit! Shit!_ She'd ruined it, hadn't she? Lottie looked skyward and bounced on her toes.

"Lottie," Nyah called. "Come sit here."

"Can't," she said and shook her head. There was no way she could sit without fidgeting. She glanced at the ridge, but no one was there. Lottie squeezed Grey tight, and as he went limp in her arms.

"Daddy?" Grey whimpered, his despondency could only mean one thing: Casey'd moved out of range. Grey's tiny chest shuddered with his ragged breath.

Fearing a resurgence of tears, Lottie whispered, "Shh, sweetie. Daddy's coming. I promise."

Grey hiccupped, and his thumb found his mouth. "Wan' daddy," he mumbled around the digit.

"I know, sweetie, I know." Her words were hollow, and with glassy eyes and a racing heart, Lottie kept to her pacing while time passed indistinctly.

At some point later, Grey tensed in her arms, his head lifting off her shoulder. "Daddy?" Lottie whipped around to face the path. Grey squealed, "Daddy!" His earlier tears forgotten. "Wan' Daddy!" A few breathless heartbeats later, Casey emerged from the tree line with Brad and three men Lottie didn't know. "Daddy!" Grey screeched and lurched toward him. Lottie set Grey on the ground, and he took off toward the object of his greatest desire. Casey's face lit in a huge smile. Stooping down, he dropped his cane and scooped the toddler up, hugging him close. Lottie would never get tired of seeing that expression of joy on Casey's face. She rubbed her stomach and hoped Casey's love for Grey wouldn't change once his real son was born.

Casey said something to the three men with him, and they stepped out of the way as Javier and another man appeared at the tree line. Javier leaned toward the man and said something to him. Javier's companion nodded, and they turned, dragging the camp's travois toward her. No sooner had they cleared the trees, then a second man emerged. He followed Javier without hesitation, and then a third man appeared. He tucked his chin and marched along behind them. Both of the newcomers' muscles strained against the weight of the oversized wheelbarrows they were pulling.

"Huxley girl," Javier greeted as he came alongside and then past her.

Lottie nodded and glanced at the Travois behind him. It was full of the original items they'd sent with Casey. She glanced at the two carts that followed. There was so much stuff! She looked at the two carts of goods and back to the travois. What had Casey used for trade?

A hand settled on her lower back. "Go on," Grace said, urging Lottie forward. "Welcome him home."

Lottie swallowed audibly. Yes. She should do that. Firming her shoulders, she headed toward Casey. He looked good. Comfortable. In control.

Casey turned his gaze to her. His expression softened, and the grin he sported, lifted not only the corners of his lips but creased the skin around his eyes as well. It made Lottie's heart stop. He was so handsome. Tension in her stomach eased, and she loosened her arms from around her torso.

Extending his hand, Casey waited for her to take it, and when she did, he tugged her into a one-armed hug. He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Missed you," Casey whispered, tucking her under his shoulder.

Turning to their guests, he said, "Wolf, this is Lottie. Lottie, this is Wolf."

Offering her hand to shake, she said, "Hello. And welcome."

Wolf took her hand, shook, then released it. He pointed to the blond man to his right and said, "This here's Kevin"—Wolf then indicated the taller man to his left—"and this is Dan."

"Hi," Lottie greeted them, feeling tongue-tied. "Uh..."

"Why don't you head over to the fire and meet everyone else," Case said, taking control. He waited for agreement, and once he had it, he turned to Lottie and asked, "Is lunch ready?"

"No—I mean—it will be soon. Jaesen killed another feral pig yesterday, and we put some of the meat in our oven earlier for a slow roast. I was about to check on it."

"I'll come with you," Casey said. Addressing Wolf, he added, "Why don't you have a seat. Get comfortable. We'll be back soon."

"Sounds good. Dan. Kevin," Wolf replied, and his men fell into step behind him.

With one arm tucked around her shoulder, Casey whispered in her ear, "You okay?"

Lottie nodded. "Yes. We were worried."

"Mommy?" Grey said. "Daddy," he added, patting Casey's cheek with his chubby hand.

Exhaling a breath through her pursed lips, Lottie ruffled Grey's hair before dropping her hand to Casey's at her waist. Intertwining their fingers, she said, "You were successful? He traded with you?" A fine tremor along Casey's arm made her heart stutter. "What?" She was almost afraid to ask.

Casey dropped another kiss on her cheek. "I'll tell you more later, but yes, he gave us food. And with careful rationing, I think it will be enough to see us through to March."

She squeezed his hand. "What a relief."

He smiled and nodded before letting her go. Bending down, he collected his cane from the ground. Lottie gasped when she spied the intricate carving. "Wow! Can I see it?" Casey held it up for her, and she took it from him. The details were fantastic. "Did you get this from Wolf? In a trade?"

He huffed a laugh. "This? No. Brad made it for me when my first one decided to take a swim in the Meramec."

She handed it back. "He does beautiful work."

"He does," Casey agreed with a smile and brushed his lips against hers in a light kiss. "Let's get Wolf and his men fed so they can be on their way."

"Okay," Lottie agreed, looking to the fire as they walked. Friends milled around the guests, asking questions, helping them settle, and amidst the bustle, babies cried, disturbed by the noise and change in routine. There was an overwhelming number of people. _We are going to need chairs. Lots and lots of chairs_ , Lottie thought.

***

The silence of the December night wrapped Casey in a cocoon of solitude despite the fact Wolf sat next to him at the central fire. It was late. Everyone—even Wolf's men—had retired hours ago, leaving Casey with Wolf, who appeared not to need sleep.

Ever.

Can't he just go to bed?

"You have a beautiful family," Wolf said, disturbing Casey's sense of situational detachment.

Casey stared at and swirled the lukewarm water in his mug as his focus returned. "Thanks." He took a sip as he let the quiet nighttime blanket them again as his gaze swept around the slumbering camp, confirming all was well.

_Man, I'm tired_ , he thought. His head felt bloated, like an animal carcass floating in the river after drowning.

He glanced at Wolf. _Son of a bitch!_ When would that man decide enough was enough and head to bed? Lottie and Greysen had retired over an hour ago, and Casey longed to join them.

"How does a former ARA soldier land a wife and child?"

"You saw the BDC," Casey said, referring to the tattoo on his back as a way of answering.

"Yeah."

"They are the reason for my discharge."

"I know. You told Elly, but that doesn't explain this."—Wolf indicated the camp around them—"What I want to know is, how did she come to live here? How did you _all_ come to live here? How did you make that jump from following strict rules and regulations to this? Frankly, I've never met an ARA soldier who wasn't an ate-up about his duty. And a complete asshole about the rules."

Casey snorted. Wolf had described his former Second in Command, Lincoln, to a T. He shrugged.

"She stumbled into my territory, and I took her to Fort Sutton, fully intending to process her per regulation, but I held off. She was near the end of her pregnancy with Greysen at the time, and I didn't think she'd be able to make it to Fort St. Louis. I was right. She delivered a handful of days later and," Casey trailed off.

"And?" Wolf prompted.

A small self-deprecating smile graced Casey's lips. He took another sip of his water. "Well, by then, I couldn't do it. I'd lost my heart to Greysen. He was mine."

"Yours?"

"Yes," Casey replied fiercely. Even he could hear the possessiveness in his tone and had been expecting Wolf to comment on it. Casey plowed on knowing Wolf intended to point out how Casey couldn't physically be Greysen's father if Lottie came to his camp pregnant, "Of course, that was a bit before I knew her." He shifted his weight, easing the strain on his leg stretched before him. "At that point, she was the mother of my son, but as I got to know her, I realized she was a beautiful woman—well, she always was physically... But now I could see she was strong as well as pretty—with more than the average amount of courage—way more than even some of my men back at Sutton."

He breathed deep, remembering. "And when she decided to rescue Zoe and her Mom... Well, I knew I couldn't let her go after that. I wanted her to be by my side, always."

Casey's expression softened as he thought about the past two years. Lottie had changed so much since he first met her, a highly capable woman had replaced that scared young girl. "You have to understand how terrified she was when I reclaimed her. She'd suffered trauma at the hands of her donor."— _That's putting it lightly_ , Casey thought with a wince—"It took over a year to break past her walls and her fear. To make her comfortable. Not just with me but with the other men too. It was worth it, though. For me. I can't imagine my life without her, Greysen, or the baby she is carrying."

Wolf held his tongue for a bit, but finally, he asked, "What about your men? How did they come to be here?"

Casey picked at his pants leg. The loose thread at the knee a metaphor for his life he supposed. "Everyone here except Brad and Noah once reported to me."

"Excuse me?"

"Every man here,"—Casey said, pointing to the tents which surrounded them—"is from Fort Sutton. Some are AWOL. Some are retired. But all of them are from my command."

"Every one of them is ARA?!"

"Yes. Well, except for Noah and Brad, as I said."

Wolf swallowed hard. "How?"

"How?" Casey repeated, unsure of Wolf's question.

"Yes. How did you get that many ARA to join you?" He said ARA as if it were the word for assholes.

Casey shrugged and gulped the last of his water. "I didn't make any of them follow me. They all did it on their own."

"But... Why?"

He snorted, thinking of Jules, Tristan, and Jaesen. "Various reasons. Bad management back at Sutton, the promise of a rekindled romance, a sense of duty, threat of discharge, active recruitment—"

Wolf's head whipped back toward Casey, and his eyebrows lifted, distorting his facial scar, making it pale and stretch. "—Recruitment?"

"Sure," Casey replied, thinking of Noah. Who, Casey knew, happened to be on the other side of the tents listening to them. It was then that Javier's words decided to surface and bounced around in Casey's head. _Wolf'd be a good ally to Noah's cause. He could be a conductor..._ Casey half hoped Noah would join them, if only for the fact that then Casey could beg their pardon and go to bed. "It's complicated and not my story to tell." When Noah didn't take the bait, Casey sighed. He had no energy to devote to the rest of the conversation, so he let it die.

After several minutes of quiet, disturbed only by the snap and crackle of the flames in front of them, Wolf said, "I think your proposal is acceptable."

Casey swallowed back his groan. More conversation was not what he wanted. "Which one?" There had been several.

Wolf huffed, the sound a blend between a chuckle and a sigh. "The protein trade."

"Ahh." Wolf was referring to the offhanded suggestion made by Jules to give the Pack a portion of each hunt as payment for future supplies. Casey and Javier had already discussed the idea. It was something Casey's team could comfortably accommodate since they didn't have a Fort watching them practically twenty-four-seven, and he was glad Wolf planned to take them up on it.

"Although, I'd like a guard dog or two if your Noah agrees."

Casey nodded. The day had been too full of meals, casual conversations, and surreptitious headcounts on visitors to find time to ask him.

"I'd also like to talk to—Was it, Trevor?"

"Tristan."

"—tomorrow about turning one of our gardens into a formal greenhouse. If that idea works, we'll be able to help you out—food-wise—for the next few years while your gardens get established."

Casey swallowed back a new yawn and nodded. Turning to Wolf, Casey studied him. He seemed as wore out as Casey felt. Why were they up? Losing the battle against his yawn, Casey asked, "You need help getting glass?"

Wolf didn't reply right away. "You have some?"

"Not handy at camp, but the house that coughed up the pipe, wire, and fixtures, had about twenty windows. We left them there, but they are in good condition. With a little bit of effort, you could use them for your greenhouse."

"How far away are they?"

"A day there. A day to load them up. And a day back. You'll want to use our travois in addition to your carts."

Facing the fire, Wolf gave a tense nod. "Three days here or three days there makes no difference."

"Excuse me?" Casey asked.

"I already planned a few detours for our way home. You never know what you'll find that is useful," Wolf explained. "Like that thick blanket you used—your wife can keep it, by the way—and your promised windows are a surer bet than what I had planned. I'd rather secure them than waste time on an unknown."

"Ahh." After a beat, Casey volunteered, "Tristan and Javier can take you. When do you want to go?"

"Tomorrow after breakfast. I need to get back home."

"Understood." Casey didn't like leaving the people who relied on him, either.

Once again, they let the conversation lapse between them. After a few minutes, when Casey was about ready to give up all pretenses of alertness and head to bed, there was a disturbance at the tree line near the tanning and butchering station. He squinted, trying to see the movement through the glow of the fire, but it was nearly impossible. The flickering light disguised their surroundings and teased him with night blindness.

Beside him, Wolf clapped his hands to his knees and pushed to his feet. "Well, now that Mason's back, we'll be off."

Mason? Sure enough, the tall black man with a deep voice slipped from the shadows and stopped at the fire. "Gabe," he said, greeting his leader.

"You get it all worked out?"

Huh?

"Yep."

"Good."

Wolf turned to Casey. "See you in the morning. About an hour after dawn?"

"Uh, yeah.," Casey said, standing.

Where had Mason been? The man had left with Dan over an hour ago about the same time Nyah and Lottie turned in.

Dropping an arm around Mason's shoulders, Wolf took Mason back toward the camp his men had established on the other side of the hill from Casey's settlement.

Mason's reappearance was worrisome. Who else had slipped past his surveillance?

Casey shook his head, and his lethargy dragged at his limbs. Grabbing his cane, he walked past Jules's tent to the bathroom. After a quick visit, Casey left the camp proper and made his way toward his tent, where Lottie and Greysen were resting. He couldn't wait to slip in behind her, wrap his arms around her belly, breathe in the scent of her, and fall deeply asleep.

His steps were heavy and uncoordinated as Casey left the small patch of woods for the clearing the three of them shared with Noah. Stopping at the northern-most tent, Casey eased the zipper open and ducked inside, where he promptly kicked a heavy box. Metal clanked, and Casey cursed, his gaze searching the darkness for Lottie and Greysen, who he hoped hadn't woken up at the noise.

"Hey," a sleepy response greeted him. "Did Wolf turn in?"

Casey nodded but realized Lottie probably couldn't see the movement. "Yeah," he answered in a whisper. "He was waiting for Mason to get back before he went to bed."

Lottie yawned and made an affirmative sound at the same time. "Did you see if Nyah returned?"

"Uh." A flash of concern chased away Casey's drowsiness. Should he look for her?

A warm chuckle caressed his ears. "I'll take that as a 'you didn't know Nyah planned on propositioning Mason' and don't worry about it. She stopped by the tent a few minutes ago to let me know she was all right."

Exhaling hard, Casey slipped out of his jacket. "Good. Glad she's okay." He folded it and set it on the box he'd accidentally found with his foot. "What is this?" he asked, tapping it with his booted toe.

"Your footlocker from Fort Sutton."

His eyebrow cocked. "Really?"

Lottie shifted in their bed. "Yeah. Noah had to go to Fort Sutton to research Gates, and he brought it back for you."

"That's great." Maybe his journals were inside. If they were, it would save him a trip.

Clasping the neckband of his shirt at his nape, he pulled it over his head, and after folding it, he added it to the growing pile of clothes on his box. The cold air stirred the hairs on his forearm. Goosebumps sprang up instantly, and he quickly ditched his boots, then pants, eager to climb under the covers with Lottie and get warm.

Once ready for bed, he crawled up their shared bedding and eased under the blankets. As his chest became flush against Lottie's back, Casey realized she wasn't wearing a sleep shirt, and he sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He hadn't expected to be skin to skin with her. She usually slept in his old clothes: a tank top or t-shirt and his boxers. His hand landed on her hip.

Her. Bare. Hip.

Ever-absent God. She was naked.

He groaned as a shudder of intense desire raced up his spine, flooding his body with warmth. Casey caressed the hollow of Lottie's waist between her hips and ribcage, and he nuzzled her neck, dropping small kisses where ever he went.

"Does this mean what I think it means?" he asked as he palmed her breast.

A contented sigh escaped her parted lips, and she nodded.

_Hot damn!_ Casey thought.

Best 'welcome home' gift ever.

***

Lottie stuffed her hand under Isabel and palmed the body-warmed egg while she thought about Casey's question. The chicken squawked and pecked at Lottie's arm before standing in a huff. She shook her body, fluffing her feathers, and then strolled away from her nest box. Lottie took the liberated egg, buffed the bird crap off it with a rag, and put it in the basket at her feet with the others.

"Egg!" Grey yelled.

"Yes," Lottie replied absently, already moving on to the next roost. "You want to offer Wolf some of our flock?"

"Yes," Casey said from the edge of the coop, where he leaned against the door-frame with his shoulder.

The birds twittered and shifted at the sound of his voice. To Lottie, it appeared almost as if they were trying to catch his attention, or maybe they were expressing their displeasure at his presence. Lottie couldn't decide which, especially when Isabel clucked and lunged at Casey's foot, pecking the ground at his feet as she tried to get at him. Casey danced out of her range, and Lottie covered her mouth to stifle her chuckle.

That bird did not like him.

"Uh," Casey said, pulling her attention from Isabel's antics. "Tristan has a good plan in place. Once we hit our desired numbers, we can easily trade our excess birds with the Pack for things we may need."

Lottie reached in and found two eggs under Monkey. _Score!_ "Hmm," she murmured as she wiped them off and put them in her basket. She lifted her eyes. It took a moment before Casey wrenched his gaze away from her breasts. The intensity in his expression made her body overheat, and she plucked at her collar. "It sounds like you already made your decision. Why are you asking me?"

"Because I want to know your thoughts."

She smiled and ducked her head. Maybe. Except, her thoughts had nothing to do with Wolf, the chickens, or eggs, and had everything to do with the burn Casey kindled in her chest, and her heart thudded as she remembered his touch from last night.

Turning, she stuck her hand under Caramel and found nothing. Lottie sighed and moved on to Header, where she discovered another two eggs. Lottie pet the exceedingly clumsy bird on her soft feathered head. Header cooed in response.

"Egg!" Grey squealed again.

"Well," Casey prompted.

_What was his question? Oh yes! The birds._ "You've already promised help with early alert alarms, windows, construction plans for a greenhouse, fruit from our orchard once our trees are producing, and a portion of each hunt. Do you think he's giving us enough in return?"

Adding sheepishly, Casey said, "I've also promised I'd ask Noah to give him some dogs."

"Maybe you've given him too much..."

When he didn't comment, Lottie glanced over and found him scratching his chin. Casey shrugged and pushed off the door frame and came toward her. His hands gripped her hips, and he pulled her tight to his body. Well, as close as he could with her big belly in the way. Sighing, she wrapped her arms around his waist as his lips found hers in a soft but insistent kiss.

"You're right." He rubbed his nose against hers. "I've given him too much. I can't back out, but I don't have to give him more."

Lottie nodded and rested her cheek against his chest as they hugged. "It's not that I'm not thankful. Or that I don't think he and his men deserve all we can share for what they gave us. It's that I want to make sure we leave enough for ourselves. We don't want another shortage—and if we're successful with rescuing those girls from Fort St. Louis—"

"—You mean the three women from Gates?"

"Oh," Lottie exclaimed and pulled back to look him in the eye. "You don't know what Noah discovered, do you?"

Casey shook his head.

"Egg!" Grey yelled. "Egg! Egg! Egg! Egg!"

"Shh, Grey," Lottie said, not taking her eyes off Casey. "Where to start?"

Letting go of Casey, Lottie resumed collecting the eggs. "Nine of the women at Gates have—or are about to have—daughters and Noah says it's next too impossible to get the women out. Security's too tight." Lottie paused as she checked under another chicken. "Of all the daughters, four are at Fort St. Louis, and the other two aren't born yet. Judy and Jackie—the pregnant ones at Gates—are due when I am."

Lottie pulled eggs out from under two more chickens. Skipping Spot who rarely laid anything, she moved to Blue-Blue and found another egg.

"Noah said we should forget the yet-to-be-born infants at Gates to keep future rescues easier, but me—and pretty much everyone else—disagreed, so he proposes two missions in tandem. One at Gates and one in Fort St. Louis." She glanced at Casey over her shoulder. Casey scowled as he stared at the ground. "There's a bit of a time crunch for both missions. Once the weather is nice, and the babies are eight weeks old, the Army ships them to their communals, and of the girls in Fort St. Louis, two of them are almost in the Conscription Compromise program."

Casey nodded. Lottie figured he'd heard her, but he was deep in thought, so she returned to her task. When she finished, and he still hadn't said anything, she prompted, "Casey?"

He looked up and caught her eye. "Hmm?"

Stepping toward him, Lottie asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Does Noah have a plan?"

Lottie shook her head.

"Hmm."

"Eggs!"

"Not now, Grey," Lottie said. "Casey?"

"When are they to be enlisted?"

"The oldest is this coming July."

"And the younger?" Casey asked, returning his gaze to the floor.

"Not due for almost a year after that, but she enters Basic June one."

Casey nodded, but there didn't appear to be any thought behind the action. "Has Noah gone to Fort St. Louis yet?"

"No."

"Hmm." Casey fell silent. Lottie stood by quietly, waiting. "Well," Casey began, his head lifting slowly. "I'll need to go. Find out what I can."

Lottie shook her head. He couldn't go. What if they caught him again?

"Lottie," Casey began, his tone held notes of censure, frustration, request at reasonableness, and pleading. Basically, he wanted to avoid a fight about it but was bracing himself for an argument.

She shook her head harder. Lottie's eyes burned, and she blinked, trying to hold back her tears. She couldn't lose him!

Casey stepped closer, bringing her back into his arms. "Hey," he whispered. "How about I talk to Noah first. Find out what else he knows. Okay? Maybe I won't have to go. Maybe he and Javier can do it."

She nodded, though she knew Casey lied. He would leave. Noah's answers never satisfied him. Lottie rubbed her cheek against his wool coat, scratching at her skin and drying her eyes.

"I won't go if it isn't necessary," Casey added.

"Okay." At least that time, he sounded sincere.

"Mommy! Daddy! Egg!" Lottie and Casey both turned in time to see Grey pluck an egg from the basket, lift it high above his head, and then smash it to the ground. He looked at them. His lips pulled tight in a huge grin, and Greysen pointed to the mess of yokes and shells on the ground. "Egg!"

Lottie and Casey groaned in unison.

"Egg!"

***

Lottie tilted her head and presented her cheek for Casey to kiss. When he did, she smiled and returned the favor before taking their collected basket of eggs to the shed while Casey took Grey to the central fire. Easing the door open, she stepped inside and made her way over to an empty slot on a shelf. She scooted several plastic jars to the side, making room for the basket. Confirming the containers wouldn't spontaneously hop off the shelf, Lottie grabbed Noah's bag of flour, the roasted chicory root, and a small tub of lard.

As she left the structure, she glanced over her shoulder, double-checking that the eggs were in their hiding spot. Pulling the door closed, Lottie strode to the smokehouse where she ducked inside to retrieve some of their hickory-smoked bacon. Once adequately provisioned, Lottie headed over to the fire where Tristan, Javier, Wolf, and Casey sat along with Grey and five of Wolf's men.

Her appearance drew the men's attention. As she set the items she'd brought on the ground next to the fire, Lottie asked, "Aren't you taking your whole team?"

Wolf shook his head. "I'm only taking Kevin, Doug, and"—he indicated the redheaded man at the end of the line—"Amos with me."

"Oh. Okay. Good."

At her response, Wolf's eyebrows lifted, and she felt obligated to explain. "Nyah'll be pleased you're leaving Mason."

"Ah."

_Yes, ah_ , she thought with a smile. Nyah had yet to tell her about last night, but if her friend's breathless check-in was anything to go by, it had been a good time.

As she knelt next to her supplies, Tristan jumped to his feet and came over. "Need help, Momma?"

Lottie tossed him the bag of chicory root. "Can you start it brewing?"

"You got it."

While Tristan worked on the coffee, Lottie whipped up some simple flat cakes using the lard and flour mixed with enough water to make a batter. While they were cooking on her iron skillet, she looked for the honey. She'd brought it, right?

"What do you need?" Casey asked.

She turned a quick smile his way. "I think I left the honey in the shed."

Before she could ask him for help, Casey stood, but Tristan clapped him on the shoulder, urging him back down. "I got it, Case. You stay here." Casey nodded and sat. Addressing her, Tristan asked, "You need anythin' else?"

She looked around her work station. "No, I think that's it." At least, Lottie hoped so. Her memory was faulty lately. Lottie blamed it on her hormones.

"'K," he said. "Be right back."

As he left, Lottie began taking the first round of cakes off the pan. She was finishing up with cooking the second batch when Tristan arrived with the honey. He handed it to her and returned to his spot next to Javier while Lottie drizzled a bit of the liquid gold on the meal, divvied up the cakes between the first three of Wolf's men, then returned to the fire where Lottie proceeded to cook more cakes. Occasionally she had to make more batter, but finally, all the men—along with her son, who was covered in-honey—were fed. Making herself a plate, she sat next to Casey, who was already deep in conversation with Wolf.

"We stored the windows along the south wall of the shed," Casey told Wolf. "Not sure how much you'll find inside the structure—we pulled out pretty much anything useful—but I bet, if you peeled back the siding, that the wood underneath is good. You could use that for your greenhouse framing." Casey bumped her elbow, nearly upending her chicory tea as he turned to speak with Tristan. "Sorry," he said, steadying the mug with his hand. "Do you have the lashings we used for the shed's travois?"

"Yeah," Tristan replied.

"Take it with you. Just in case."

"We're to make new ones?"

"Makes sense, right?" Casey asked, though, Lottie doubted the question was more than rhetorical.

Casey refocused on Wolf and pointed over her shoulder to the shed. "That way, you'll not only have the windows but the wood you'll need for framing."—Experience had Lottie ducking as Casey's arm swung back around—"Besides, it frees up your carts in case you find something else you need."

Wolf nodded but did not reply, and Lottie figured he'd come to a similar conclusion.

"I should have an answer from Noah by the time you get back," Casey said.

"You haven't asked him?" Wolf asked.

Casey shook his head. "No. Not yet."

"Okay."

Lottie shoved the last bite of bacon-wrapped cake into her mouth. As she chewed, she stood and began collecting the empty plates. After a quick kiss to Grey's head and a pat to Casey's shoulder, she left the men to their planning while she started her daily chores.

***

Casey's gaze lingered on Lottie as she walked away. It took five sticky fingers smacking his knee for Casey to change his focus back to the men around the fire. When he did, he caught Javier's smirk and Tristan's grin, and Casey felt his cheeks warm. Avoiding his embarrassment, Casey determined that Lottie would need help with her daily tasks, and he was tired of the discussion.

Picking Greysen up, he stood.

"You sure you don't want to come with," Javier asked? "We can settle you into your mobile throne for the trip. Tristan won't mind taking turns dragging your sorry ass."

Tristan chuckled as Casey's lips turned down, and he gritted his teeth. "You know why I'm not going," Casey said. His words calculated to remind Javier and Tristan of Casey's mission goals.

Reconnaissance.

"But it's so much fun seeing you so helpless!" Javier replied, winking.

"Don't cause a problem," Casey warned, hoping he disguised their conversation's real purpose enough to get past Wolf's bullshit meter.

Javier brought his mug to his lips, kicked back the contents. "Never," he said after swallowing.

Sighing, Casey let it go. His men would do what he asked to the best of their ability, and if Javier's attempts and information gathering proved half as bountiful as last time, Casey would be more than satisfied.

As Javier finished his beverage, the rest of the men gained their feet. After a few quick goodbyes, Wolf's men split with Mick and Dan heading back to their camp and the rest gravitating to Wolf's side.

Leaning in, Javier whispered, "Don't worry. We got your back."

"I know," Casey agreed. "Come on, Greysen," he said, trapping the toddler's sticky hand in his own. "Let's go get you a bath."

"'Ath!"

Soft laughter chased after him as he left the central fire.

***

After leaving a freshly cleaned Greysen with Lottie at the tanning station, Casey went to find Noah, and as he passed behind Ally and Katie's tent on his way to the perimeter, he heard a soft groan of despair. He paused, wondering what was wrong.

"More?" Katie exclaimed. "This is so not dulce, Sophia... Ally?" Katie whined, and Ally made a non-committal response. A newborn infant mewled in a disgruntled fashion. "When do they stop pooping black?"

Casey smiled as Ally chuckled.

Ally replied, "A few days. But then it turns rancid-mustard-orange."

"Ug. Thanks for the visual," Katie remarked, and Casey echoed the sentiment. "Mother Pussbucket! It's all over her and her clothes! I'm going to have to bathe her," Katie grumbled, and Casey cringed.

He'd already thrown out the warm water from Greysen's bath. It never occurred to him that one of the other mothers might want to wash their babies as well. Though he really should have thought about it, he chastised to himself.

"Can you watch them while I get some water heating?" Katie begged.

"I'll do it," Casey offered, eliciting a squawk out of the two women inside.

One of them cleared their throat.

"Thanks," Ally replied.

Casey ordered, "Clean her up as best you can. I'll be right back."

Changing directions, Casey walked briskly back to the tanning station, where he found Lottie working the latest hides.

"Daddy!" Grey yelled at the same time Lottie asked, "Can't find Noah? I'm pretty sure he was off at the dock earlier."

Snorting, Casey bent and grabbed the five-gallon bucket's handle. "Never made it that far. Sophia had an accident. I'm getting water for another bath."

Lottie wrinkled her nose as she looked to Ally and Katie's tent. "She need any help?"

"No," Casey said, shaking his head. "And even if she did, I got this."

Meeting his gaze, she asked, "You sure?"

"Yep." Her concern was sweet, but he didn't need it. He was fine. Casey leaned in, and she obliged his silent request with a quick kiss.

Beaming, she returned to her task. "Good. I didn't want to walk to the river more than twice today, anyway."

Chuckling, he turned and strode toward the well-worn path, and as Casey exited the tree line at the river a few minutes later, he spotted Noah on the deck with a fishing pole in one hand and bait in the other. As Noah glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge Casey's arrival, Casey asked, "Where'd you find the rod?"

Noah brought his arm back and cast. "Brought it from the cabin a few weeks ago."

"Nice," Casey said, as he descended the stairs to the pier, wincing when his heel hit harder than he intended. "Catch anything yet?"

"Some."

"Enough for Lottie to make dinner with it?" Noah's brown eye swiveled in its socket to pin him with a chiding look. Snickering to himself, Casey set his empty five-gallon bucket down. "Does that look mean 'yes' or 'no'?"

"It means 'no'. They're cold and slow to bite."

Nodding, Casey knelt to unhook the bucket and its line permanently attached to a spot on the pier. He dropped it into the river and watched as it filled quickly. He dumped it into his bucket and returned to the river for more water.

"I've meant to ask," Casey began. No reason to mince words. Noah wouldn't appreciate it, and their relationship didn't lend itself to subtlety—military maneuvers aside. "When will you be breeding dogs again, and do you think we can give Wolf one or two from the next litter."

He dumped out the second and third buckets of water as he waited for Noah to respond. At the forth, Noah answered, "Depends."

"On?"

"On the bitch."

"Oh?"

"Mira's being rotated out this spring and will be sent to Kansas for her retirement. I'm to drop her off with my equivalent on my way to delivering her last two pups dedicated to your recovery."

Noah's fishing line jerked, he began reeling in the catch. "I won't know the breeding qualities of the next female until she's cycled a bit." An eight-inch-long perch dangled from Noah's hook. He deftly removed the fish and dropped it into their fish cage at the edge of the dock. "She might be another under producer like Mira. If so, I can't guarantee a dog for at least another two years, but if she's a good breeder..." He paused. "It'll be sooner."

Attaching fresh bait to his line, Noah cast it into the river once again. "Aside from that, if he's willing to wait, then I'm happy to give Wolf his dogs."

"When are you delivering the pups for my manhunt?" The word manhunt felt bitter on the back of Casey's tongue, similar to the taste of a not-quite-ripe apple, tart and lacking juice.

At another jerk at Noah's line, he tugged it to secure his catch. Reeling it in, he said, "They are due in March."

Convenient.

"On my way back, I'm going to talk to a few contacts in Fort St. Louis to see if I can deliver the impossible." Noah liberated another perch from the water. He unhooked the fish and caged it.

Casey snorted. _Impossible? Must be..._ "Bean's rescue of the daughters in Fort St. Louis and Gates." It wasn't a question, and Casey didn't expect an answer.

Noah shot him a glance. "She told you about it?"

"Yeah."

"I have no idea how to secure them all," Noah said, shaking his head. His statement held unexpected emotion. If words were thunderstorms, Noah's would have been an early spring rain, gathering speed and influence, as the heat of the admission made itself felt in bold strikes of lightning and ominous thunder.

"Can you rescue one girl at a time?"

"Over several months to years?" Noah inquired. "Yes. But Lottie wants them all at once."

"Want me to try to talk her out of it?" It wouldn't work, but Casey could at least offer.

Noah shook his head. "No. As much as I don't like the idea of an all-or-nothing, it's a sound plan. We start kidnapping from the communals or barracks, and we're going to have issues we haven't even thought of yet."

"Like the IRT," Casey supplied, thinking about the ones deployed for his recapture.

"Yes," Noah agreed and checked his line. His hook was empty, and he quickly added a new round of bait before casting again and glanced at Casey. "The IRT is coming for you and the women. It will get worse after this mission. Be prepared. Sooner or later, they will find you," Noah said, his gaze steady on Casey. "The question is, what will you do when they find you?"

_Kill them._

Taking a deep breath, Casey pushed the IRT concern from his mind. Instead, he broached the more straightforward subject. "Well, I'm coming with." When Noah gave him the side-eye, Casey amended his announcement. "To Fort St. Louis." When that statement didn't elicit a response, Casey added, "In March. After you deliver the dogs to the IRT."

After another long pause where Noah didn't respond, Casey cleared his throat. "Obviously, with my manhunt,"—Casey shrugged. _Manhunt! Unreal_ —"I'm a liability, but"— _Not helping. So, not helping!_ —"if I'm to help you rescue those girls, I need to go."

Casey paused, waiting for a response.

Nothing.

Forging on, Casey said, "You know—to meet your contacts? Do recon?" He hoped Noah's silence meant he agreed, but Casey doubted it. He gritted his teeth. He had one more compelling point.

"There's no way you and Javier can do this job alone." Noah whipped his head toward Casey to pin him with a glare.

_Woo hoo, A response! Asshole._ "Think about it," Casey continued, pressing the issue. "Javier knows where Gates is, but with two infants, he's going to need help. Besides, after Bean's escape, they've probably doubled or tripled their presence—"

"—They have."

"—and he'll need the extra hands to get the job done. Who better to go with him than the best RAC there is?" Casey knew he was laying it on thick, but stroking Noah's ego had to help.

"Between the two of you, Gates won't know what hit them." Casey smiled. Now for the kill, since there was no way they could do this alone. Not to mention, keeping Casey out of the process was unacceptable. He _had_ promised to help, after all, but truthfully, deep down, he felt compelled.

"And with both of you up north, you won't be able to get to Fort St. Louis in time to get those four girls out. So, admit it, Noah. You need me."

Noah harrumphed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You were wasted in the ARA."

"Oh?"

"You should have been a _Soldier's Advocate_."

Laughing, Casey bent at the waist, needing to brace his hands on his knees from the force of them.

Twisting his head to the side, he looked up at Noah. "Me? In the Intervention and Ordinance Reconciliation division?"

Noah's smile grew. "You argue like the best of them."

"Fuck me," Casey murmured, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Him? Enlisted as an Army Attorney? He couldn't see it.

Slowly his amusement subsided.

Had Noah agreed?

"I'll go with you," Casey repeated.

Grunting, Noah ignored his statement and began reeling in his line, but Casey thought he saw a softening of the man's shoulders. He felt sure Noah would take him along. He had too. Noah didn't have much a choice. 

# Chapter 14

Casey's unhurt foot slipped on the path, and, as water sloshed over the side of the bucket, he grimaced. Now his shoes and socks were wet along with his cargos from Greysen's bath earlier. He'd need to get changed. Thank ever-absent God, his extra clothing from Fort Sutton was in his returned footlocker.

The thoughts reminded him of his journals. He added 'having to go to Fort Sutton to retrieve his missing journals' to his _cheery_ list of things to discuss with Lottie as soon as they had a minute. She was not going to be pleased, and he did not look forward to bringing it up. He sighed. He refused to keep anything from her, no matter how embarrassed he felt, or how angry she could become—well, except for that one thing...

Refusing to think about it, Casey stepped into the clearing and lugged the heavy bucket to the fire pit. He set it down with a mighty exhale and went to get the bathing tub from the storage shed where he'd stashed it earlier. He set it up near the flames and prepped the water into smaller containers for quicker heating. While they warmed, Casey went to Ally and Katie's tent and scratched at the flap.

"Yeah?" Ally asked in a stage whisper.

Cody must be asleep, Casey reasoned, since Max slept through pretty much anything, and Katie's babies were too new to the world to notice what went on around them.

"Water's heating," he told her.

A rustle of fabric preceded the tent flap unzipping, and Katie stuck her head out. She blinked at him as if the weak winter sunlight hurt her eyes. "Thanks, I'll be out soon," Katie replied.

Casey studied her. She looked exhausted. He could do more for her. "I'll take Sophia and bathe her for you."

Katie looked at him blankly. Slowly understanding dawned, and she grinned. "Really? You'd do that?"

When he nodded, she squealed, "Dulce!" which earned her an admonishment by Ally.

Katie disappeared back inside, much as a turtle would retract into its shell. An infant mewled, and a moment later, a swaddled newborn appeared through the gap. "Here!" Casey instinctually cradled Sophia's head as he took her from Katie. Katie peeked out again. "Can you also bathe Olivia?"

"Uh," Casey hedged. He hadn't planned on caring for two infants.

"Please?"

After a long pause, he said, "Okay. Sure."

"Dulce!" Katie said and disappeared. A second cry sounded, and Casey quickly juggled Sophia in his arms, making room for Olivia. "Please leave the bathwater for me," Katie told him. "I need to do laundry and take a bath."

"Yeah. Uh. Okay," Casey said to the accompaniment of crying babies and the rasp of a zipper as Katie did up the tent.

Turning slowly, he shook his head. How had he been roped into bathing the girls so quickly?

Standing at the central fire, Casey cast for a place to put the babies down and came up blank. He should have grabbed another blanket before he went to get Sophia.

A chuckle caught his attention, and he looked over. Lottie came toward him, holding the thick green and white blanket he had used in the transportation cart.

"Can I help?" she asked? Her voice lilted with her humor.

The muscles in Casey's back released, and he dropped his head forward.

"Please!"

Her throaty laugh at his relief made his blood heat, and as she bent to set out the cover, improper thoughts of their last night flit through his head, and a blush crept up his neck. He cleared his throat. Lottie glanced at him over her shoulder.

"What?"

"Nothing," he squeaked, coughed, and then cleared his throat a second time. "Nothing," he repeated in a more normal register.

He set Olivia and Sophia down. After a good look, he concluded the twins had to be fraternal, for Sophia took after Katie, with her slightly olive-colored skin, dark hair, and almost black eyes. Olivia, on the other hand, must look like her father—whichever one that was. She was pale and lacked the Asian coloring of her sister and mother. Also, her eyes were a lighter shade of slate blue.

"That one's Sophia, right?" Lottie inquired, pointing, and Casey nodded. "Good! I was worried I wouldn't be able to tell them apart."

"Yeah," Casey agreed. "I'd been thinking that same thing."

He couldn't believe it. With the addition of Oliva and Sophia two days ago, his camp now had four baby girls.

Four.

He looked at Lottie's baby bump. Once his next son was born, the camp would have an even split. It would appear that those FAR surgeons were doing something right.

"Why don't you check the water," Lottie prompted when he'd been quiet too long. "I'll get the towels and washcloths ready."

Casey leaned to the side, braced his hand on the stones circling the fire pit, and dipped his fingers into the water. "Tepid. Maybe a bit warmer."

"Okay. We'll give it a few more minutes. Be right back."

He nodded and resumed studying the babies. _They are adorable_ , Casey thought as he hovered over them. Ever-absent God, what would it be like to have a daughter? If he did, she'd be born into such a hard time, with dangers everywhere. He couldn't even keep his settlement completely safe, as Noah had so conveniently pointed out. What if someone attacked the women or girls under his care? Casey's view of the girls wavered, and he sat back, touching his forehead and rubbing a spot above his temple. A hand landed on his arm, and another patted his back, right between his shoulder blades.

"You all right?"

He blinked once. Twice.

Casey's gaze found Lottie's. "I promised to take care of two little girls."

She grinned at him. "Yeah," she said, relaxed and amused, clearly not getting it.

His eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat. "Two. Little. Girls."

Her smile slipped. "Yeah?" she asked, her tone less jovial.

Casey shook his head. "I don't know what to do." He paused. Lottie tilted her head, conveying her confusion. "I've only ever bathed Greysen," Casey added.

"I'm sure it's the same process," she said, snickering as she leaned over to pick up the top washcloth. Casey grasped her forearm, squeezing slightly. She returned to her heels. One washcloth in her clenched fist. "What?"

"You don't understand," he said.

"Enlighten me."

"They're girls."

"Uh-huh."

"Not boys."

"You said that," Lottie prompted, her confusion evident.

"They don't have the same parts!" Casey whisper-yelled. "Am I allowed even to touch them? What if I hurt them in some way—I don't want to—Ever-absent, God! I can't even say it."

Lottie slipped from his hold and gripped his hand.

"Casey," Lottie said, her tone and her expression serious. "You're not going to hurt them."

He shook his head. Logically, he knew she was right. Casey bathing them wouldn't be sexual abuse, but in the wake of his own experience with Felicia, he couldn't dislodge the thought.

"Casey!" Lottie chided, running her hand through his hair and drawing his attention. "Bathing them is not the same thing as sexually molesting them."

Had he said his concern out loud? "But—It's so intimate."

She shook her head. "It's no more so than when you took care of Grey. You'll see."

Casey gulped. "I don't think I can do this," he whispered.

She bumped his shoulder with her own and said, "It will be okay. You'll see."

"Yeah," Casey said, laughed weakly.

"Scoot over," Lottie urged. "I'll wash Sophie while you watch. You'll see, there's nothing sexual about it."

Her suggestion made sense, but he wasn't sure he agreed.

"Okay," he said, relinquishing his post. Lottie quickly filled the space he'd left and deftly removed Sophia's swaddling, revealing a large diaper wrapped around a skinny behind.

"Shouldn't she be? I don't know? fatter?" Casey whispered.

Seeing Sophia's tiny form, woke Casey's protective instincts along with Sophia's anger at being exposed to the cold air.

"She's fine. For being almost a month early and a twin," Lottie replied with a hush. "I have to hurry. It's too cold to drag this out."

Casey nodded.

In a few seconds, Lottie had the upper half of Sophia washed, dried, and rewrapped. Switching focus from the infant's chest, Lottie removed the diaper, warmed her rag in the water, and quickly cleaned the sticky, greenish-black meconium from Sophia's bottom, crotch and thigh creases. Once clean, Lottie patted her dry, deftly slid a fresh wool diaper under Sophia's bare bottom, secured it with a leather bloomer, and returned the blanket to its spot tight across Sophia's legs. She lifted the baby and nuzzled her head before handing the child to Casey. "See? Nothing to it."

He barely heard here. He fixated on the little life in his arms. Casey's trepidation disappeared, and he hoped with all his heart, he would have a daughter someday. A smile grew as he brought Sophia close to his chest. She smelled sweet, and her skin was so soft. He felt a chunk of his heart cleave from the rest as it fell under the spell of the little girl. Who'd have guessed he was such a sap for babies?

Thank fuck, none of his guys knew. He'd never hear the end of it. "I'd forgotten." ...how it felt to love someone else so quickly, so deeply, so wholly, and Sophia wasn't even his kid. Reluctantly, he admitted he felt that way about all the children in his camp. Even Maxwell. Ally's ornery little boy who laughed at everything and was trying to walk at eight months old.

"Hmm?" Lottie said.

"I'd forgotten how small they are or how they smell."

Lottie agreed with a soft giggle. "And you'll have another one soon," she added, rubbing her belly.

"Thank the ever-absent God for that," Casey murmured.

Lifting his gaze from the bundle in his arms, he to grin at her. Lottie returned it with a smile of her own. It pleased Casey to see it was her happy, lopsided one. At least she didn't think less of him for being a sucker for children.

"She's so tiny," he murmured. Greysen had never been this small. Did she even weigh a pound yet?

"You ready for Olivia?" she asked.

Casey nuzzled Sophia another time before handing her to Lottie. He clapped his hands together and rubbed. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Then get to it."

"Yeah," he said, psyching himself up for the task. A deep breath later, Casey began, duplicating the steps Lottie took when she bathed Sophia, and in fewer than ten minutes, Olivia was clean, swaddled, and cuddled.

"See? Nothing to it."

"Yep," Casey agreed as he tucked the blankets tightly around Olivia. She was equally as cute as Sophia and equally as tiny, and he lost himself in her gaze as her eyelids drooped. He shifted, giving himself room to rock her. Brushing his finger repeatedly down her forehead to end at her nose, he watched as his touch helped her fall asleep. When he looked up, he caught Lottie staring at him with an amused expression. "What?"

She bit her lip and shook her head, returning her focus to Sophia. "You ready to hand them back to Katie?"

"Nah," he said. "Let's give Katie a few more minutes alone to relax."

"All right."

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, taking turns watching the girls or keeping tabs on the camp. All was quiet with almost half of Wolf's team away and the other half keeping to themselves one clearing over. It left Casey at loose ends.

"The women want to have a solstice party," Lottie said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Oh?" Casey couldn't remember the last time he celebrated a solstice.

Lottie glanced at him, catching his eye, before dropping her gaze to Sophia in her arms. "We don't have everything we need, but I don't have the heart to tell the women no. It was something they looked forward to at Gates, and I was thinking—if you didn't mind going—we could go to that small abandoned neighborhood southwest of Fort Sutton—you know—the one that Tristan took me too—to raid the overgrown garden at that one house—It's where I got all those herbs when I was there—"

"—Okay," Casey said, cutting off her rambling as his mind latched onto her suggestion.

Her head popped up, and she stared at him. "Really?"

"Sure," Casey replied. Her request was the perfect solution to one of his problems. "Let's take Greysen. We can make a family trip of it," he said, but now for the caveat. "But, I need to make a stop at Fort Sutton while we're there."

Lottie sucked in a breath. "Why?"

"My journals," he answered. "Noah didn't know to look for them, and I hadn't known at the time of my summons that everything would go pear-shaped, or I'd have removed them from my desk and locked them in my box."

"I don't want you going there."

"I know." He braced himself for a fight.

"What if someone sees you? They could report you. Take you back to Fort St. Louis."

"Lottie," Casey interjected. Her points were valid, but that didn't change the fact his journals were like a map of his activities and would lead anyone directly to them. "There is no other option. I have to get them."

Lottie caressed Sophia's head as she quietly looked at him. "Why?" she whispered after what felt like an eternity of silent contemplation.

He hung his head, and his gaze once again fell to the sleeping child in his arms. He couldn't ignore the threat the loose journals posed. The lives in his camp—his unborn child—demanded it. He made sure to meet Lottie's gaze as he explained. He owed it to her. "I didn't trust the communication device. I wrote all my thoughts, all my plans, every little thing that came to me, in those little books thinking they were safe since the Brass couldn't get to them. Now they are there at Fort Sutton. Possibly loose. Available for anyone—the Staff Sergeant. Soldiers—to read. They layout my treason in a step by step instructions on—not only what I did for you, but for the others as well. Lottie, it tells anyone who reads it, where we live!"

As he described the gravity of the situation to Lottie, her mouth had slowly dropped open in a tiny 'o' of horror.

"Yep," he confirmed with a nod. "It was stupid. I see that now. But I can't leave them there. Not if there is a potential of getting them back before they cause us more harm."

Lottie sucked in a breath and leaned forward. "You're right," she said. "We have to go get your thoughts."

Casey exhaled hard, and the tension in his lower back eased with her acceptance. "I'd like to leave when Wolf does. I expect him back in two days. Leave the day after?"

"Okay," she agreed.

He smiled.

That went better than he'd expected.

***

"And, his back!" Nyah exclaimed. "Smooth as silk, hard as steel, dark as chocolate. I could lick it all night."

Lottie snorted as she helped Grey draw the string on his miniature bow. Brad assured her the weapon wasn't strong enough to hurt anyone should Grey manage the impossible of not only aiming but also steadying the arrow _and_ letting it fly.

"Okay, Grey. Now let go."

"Zoom! Zoom!" Grey shouted as his arrow shot an impressive two feet forward to embed itself in the ground in front of them. Zoe chuckled. The sound carried from her seat a few feet behind them.

"And, he's a god in the sack," Nyah continued, undaunted by everyone's split attention. "He has stamina and a cock so long, I can practically taste it on the back of my throat when he's inside me."

"Nyah! Grey!" Lottie chided. It would be her luck that Grey would latch onto the word cock and start repeating it ad nauseam.

"Aren't you worried about getting pregnant again?" Zoe asked.

"Nah," Nyah replied. "You can't get pregnant if you're nursing."

"Isn't that an old wife's tale?" Lottie queried, helping Grey nock his next arrow.

"Always worked for me."

A shocked inhale had Lottie turning around mid-draw and catching the scandalous expression on Zoe's face. Nyah shrugged. "I like sex. I hate waiting for it. And you'd be surprised how many donors aren't bothered by a little blood if it means they get to fuck some more."

"But your health," Zoe said at the same time as Lottie said, exasperated, "Nyah!" It would be a miracle if Grey made it through the day without picking up a new swear word or two.

"Lottie," Nyah returned in a sing-song. "You live with a bunch of ex-soldiers. Get used to the 'F' word coming out of that little boy's mouth. It's an inevitability." Nyah lifted Hunter and cooed in a high-pitched baby voice, "You're not bothered by a few bad words, are you, buddy?" Hunter mewled in response. At six weeks old, he'd yet to lose the newborn cry, and his voice cracked mid-complaint. "Didn't think so. Can you say 'fuck'?"

Hunter cooed.

"Weren't you worried you'd get sick?" Zoe asked again.

"Not really. The vagina is the perfect self-cleaning oven."

Lottie rolled her eyes. "When have you ever seen a self-cleaning oven, and why the hell would you call your vagina one?"

"The communals and Gates. And it is. All of those secretions—"

"—Enough," Lottie groaned, not wanting to encourage the biology lesson.

"She asked." Nyah pointed at Zoe as a defense.

Laughing, Lottie said, "But that doesn't mean you had to answer!"

Nyah shrugged and rubbed her nose against Hunter's belly before returning him to her lap. "Why are you trying to teach Grey how to shoot an arrow, anyway? Isn't he a bit young?"

"Many reasons," Lottie said, returning focus to Grey as he struggled with a new arrow. His prior attempt to fire without her lay broken at his feet. She hoped Brad wouldn't mind making more arrows for the little guy. "The biggest one? He keeps playing with mine. I thought him having his own will keep him from it."

"Good luck with that," Nyah said with a snort. "His arrow set won't be nearly as good as momma's for years to come." Nyah was probably right, but Lottie hoped that wasn't the case.

"Is Mason going to come back tonight?" Zoe asked, bringing the conversation back to Nyah's favorite topic.

"I sure as fuck hope so."

"Where does Grace go?" Zoe inquired.

"To Jaesen's." _Jaesen?_ This was news to Lottie.

"Doesn't he have patrol the same time as Brad?"

"No," Lottie answered Zoe's question. "He patrols with Casey—well when Casey's home."

"Ah," Zoe acknowledged. "At least Brad doesn't have to listen to both of them. It was so noisy last night I had to cover my ears."

"Too bad Tristan's gone."

Zoe shook her head. "He wasn't last night, but he slept through it."

"You should have woken him."

"Nyah!" Zoe exclaimed.

Lottie blinked, her gaze bouncing from one friend to the other. Maybe it was a good thing she and Casey kept away from the central clearing at night. Lottie could easily picture the arousal-cascade effect as it made its way through the couples.

Shaking away the thought, she crouched next to Grey and positioned his hands. "Sight down your fingers," she told him. "Hold your belly tight. Deep breath," she prompted. "Let it go." As he exhaled, Grey let the arrow loose, and it shot four feet away.

"Way to go, Grey," Nyah cheered.

"Foo! Foo!" Grey yelled and hopped in excitement.

"It flew. Good job," Lottie praised.

"Again," he cried.

Lottie smiled indulgently and prepared for another round of arrow-fetch.

***

"Case?!"

"What?"

"We have a problem," Jaesen said, pointing to the demolished alarm at his feet.

Blood drained from Casey's head, and his vision swam. "Go get Noah at the dock and then get to the clearing. Secure the camp, now!" he barked.

Pivoting, Casey hustled toward the training grounds where Lottie said she and Grey would be. _Don't be the IRT_. It was too soon for them to have found his camp, right? Noah said they were delaying their deployment until they had the dogs, but maybe he'd misunderstood. Ever-absent God, he hoped not. He'd counted on a few months to ready his camp before worrying about the IRT descending on them.

Casey burst through the trees and had to jump to the side to avoid Grey, who'd been anticipating Casey's arrival. Casey grimaced as the move wrenched his ankle painfully. He'd gladly suffer the pain again, seeing as his family, Zoe, Dexy, Nyah, and Hunter were all safe and sound and perplexed at his unexpected arrival.

"Daddy!" Grey cried happily, his hands, which had already been up, open and closed in a beckoning motion. "Daddy, it foo! It foo!" Casey obliged his son's wish by lifting him and settling Grey on his hip. "It foo!"

"Speaking of getting laid," Nyah remarked. "Looks like ask-and-ye-shall-receive. and, at a dead run, no less."

_Run?_ Casey's eyebrows twitched upward before he could control the reaction. He had been hurrying, yes, but his running days were long over. It was with that thought that Nyah's remark registered, and he felt his cheeks heat. _Sex._ They'd been talking about it, and he'd played right into Nyah's hands without realizing it.

"Nyah!" Zoe and Lottie both exclaimed.

"Come to camp," he said, ignoring his red face and Nyah's teasing. "There's a situation."

Lottie nodded, immediately all business. "What's wrong."

"I don't know for sure. I need everyone back at Base."

To her credit, Lottie didn't argue. Instead, she collected their loose things, and as the other two women stood, she indicated he should lead the way, and they would follow.

"Can you tell us anything?" she asked.

He nodded as he walked back to the central clearing. His attention riveted to the woods around him. "I don't know much, but something broke one of our alarms."

"Couldn't it have been one of Wolf's men?" Zoe's soft, melodious voice asked from behind him.

Casey scanned the area. "No. Not tripped. Destroyed. Whoever encountered it knew to disarm it first and then took the time to dismantle it. I sent Jaesen to get Noah."

"Think it could be Ayers?" Lottie asked.

_Ayers?_ Casey hadn't thought of that, but Lottie's suggestion made more sense than his first thought, especially since the IRT would be more likely to avoid or trip the alert than dismantle it.

Within a few minutes, Casey's procession cleared the woods from behind the outhouse, and Casey spied two familiar figures. The short, bald man, Ayers, stood at the fire pit's edge with Noah. Ayers's hand waved, animating a point he tried to convey to Noah, and Noah listened stoically.

Casey snorted quietly. _Probably waiting for Ayers to get to the point._ Coming to a stop next to the duo, Casey caught the tail end of the conversation, "Dammit! Don't you ever go home?"

"Due to head back this week," Noah replied, humor lurking in his answer, and Casey realized he hadn't missed their conversation at all. It had just started.

"I'm sick of chasing you across the damn state."

"Then don't."

"You need to tell Captain Kenzie to stop sending you messages through me."

"Ooo? What did he say?" Lottie asked, interrupting the two. A spike of jealousy seared Casey's chest, making his chest ache.

Ayers turned his disapproving gaze her way. "He wants a _Miss Lottie_ to prepare for the delivery of livestock."

"Animals? You sure?" Casey interjected at the same time as someone else asked, "What kind?"

Ayers's eyebrow lifted, and he looked down his nose at Casey. "Captain Kenzie's message clearly stated to get two pens ready by spring. Though he did not specify what for, I would presume it is for livestock of the small variety and not, say, a prison where he can lock up impertinent little boys."

Casey opened his mouth to retort when Lottie spoke over him, "He say why?"

"No," Ayers replied, his tone cold and clipped. "Only that a 'Miss Lottie's camp should expect delivery in late March or early April' and she should be ready with the pens by then."

Casey shot Lottie a look, and she shrugged, her lips pinched tight and turning down in a frown as she shook her head. It would seem, she had no idea either, but now he would have to talk to Tristan. Maybe Tristan would know what type of animal to expect. Too bad he wasn't available now. Casey groaned. After Wolf's expedition to the abandoned house, there'd be no more wood readily available for harvest. He'd either have to form a reconnaissance trip to find quality wood nearby or use the tree's they ringed early last year. The latter disappointed him. He'd hoped to be ready to use them by spring. He resigned himself to postponing the cabin's construction—again—in favor of this smaller project.

Tuning back in, Casey heard Noah's latest question. "He was recently promoted to captain within the Agriculture and Husbandry Cultivation division, correct?"

"Yes."

Noah nodded. "Private Ross used to deliver dogs to his branch. I feel it safe to assume Captain Kenzie is sending us sheep or goats." Noah glanced at Casey, and Lottie slipped her hand in his. Noah refocused on Ayers and added, "Possibly more than one. If you see Ross, will you inquire about a herding dog or two for us? My dogs are not up to the task, and we'll need something."

Ayers harrumphed and grumbled an affirmative. "What's with the extra soldiers? Where'd you get them?"

"They're not ours," Casey answered, not surprised that Ayers knew about Wolf's men. "Their leader helped us out, and as payment, we're helping them with what they need. They'll be gone soon, but we expect to open a trade route between us." As he spoke, he heard Nyah mutter angrily behind him. "Why are they up to something?"

Ayers shook his head. "They were sitting around, playing cards."

_Must be nice._ Casey had too much work to do.

Noah clapped a hand on Ayers's shoulder. "Stay for the day?"

With a reluctant nod, Ayers agreed.

"Great," Noah replied. "Let's help these folks out by bringing back something we can eat."

And as the two men walked away, Casey wondered what Noah wanted to hide.

***

Aside from Ayers's visit several days before, nothing much happened between Wolf's departure and his subsequent re-arrival. Casey spent those hours torn between fretting his deployed men's safety and enjoying some well-deserved relaxation with his family.

"Workin' hard or hardly workin'?" Tristan joked, coming up behind Casey.

Tristan was back.

"Shh," Casey whispered as he flipped the next card over in his deck. Unable to play it, he dropped it on the discard pile and grabbed the next one. "I would have had more to do if you'd stuck to the schedule," he replied quietly, thinking of his and Lottie's upcoming trip south. They would have left two days ago if Tristan and Javier had returned when expected. "What held you up?"

"Took longer to build the travois and lash down the windows than we expected."

Grunting a non-committal reply, Casey shuffled his helper deck and checked the next card. "Successful?"

"Depends..."

"On?"

"On who you ask."

Casey looked up from his game and pinned Tristan with a glare. Tristan laughed, to which Casey shushed him again. Putting his hands up, Tristan waved them at Casey in a placating manner.

"Okay. Okay," Tristan whispered.

He pointed to a move on the solitaire board, then said, "Wolf has his windows, and I drew up the plans for the greenhouse while I waited for his men to finish their tasks—By the way, Wolf says he doesn't need me to come back with him. He said my blueprints were detailed enough he could proceed on his own. He plans to leave in the mornin'." Tristan paused and sat.

"Javier asked me to tell you that he didn't learn anythin' new and then promptly disappeared. Said he was going to talk to Noah—he's still here, right?" At Casey's nod, Tristan continued, "All in all, it was an uneventful trip."

Tristan fell quiet for a bit then exclaimed, "Oh!" More subdued, he added, "We found another house about two-hundred yards behind and to the north of the first. We stripped it of windows and wood."

"Anything there we'd want?" Casey inquired.

"Na. I was hopin' for more solar panels, but nada." Tristan snorted. "We stripped it of windows and some wood. Not much else to take." Leaning back, Tristan rested his weight on his hands. "It was in worse condition than the other one."

Casey's lip turned up in a wry smirk. Casey had figured out that much on his own.

"So, where is everyone?" Tristan asked.

"Lottie and Greysen are napping. If the past few days are anything to go by, Nyah is off with Mason doing her best to get pregnant again. Jaesen's hunting. Noah—and now probably Javier—is at his tent packing. He spotted you guys an hour ago and set to work. He has to head back to his cabin." Casey finished listing each party of their small settlement before getting to the ones Tristan probably cared about most. "Zoe and Dexy were taking a walk with Brad and Jules acting as guard. They should be back in a bit."

Tristan nodded. "Good deal. Did I miss anythin'?"

Casey shook his head. "Not much, unless you consider Ayers coming and going a big deal."

"You're shittin' me? Ayers came back?"

Huffing a laugh, Casey said, "Yeah."

"What'd he want?"

"We're to build some livestock pens."

"For what?"

Halting mid shuffle, Casey glanced at Tristan. His eyebrows drew down. "For livestock?"

Tristan barked a laugh. "I meant, what kind of critter are we gettin'?"

"I don't know," Casey replied, shrugging. "Ayers didn't say—and our benefactor didn't specify either—but Noah suspects goats, sheep, or both."

"Ah," Tristan replied. His hand stroked his chin, and Casey heard the rasp of Tristan's whiskers as Tristan rubbed. "That's good."

"Oh?"

"A cow pen would be more than we could handle, and a pigsty would be next to impossible. Those fuckers can get out of anythin'—hence the feral pigs we keep encounterin'." Tristan nodded, clearly agreeing with a mental point he made. "We'll need wood for posts and rails. And if we can find wire mesh, that would be good. When are we to have it done?"

"Spring."

Tristan nodded as if 'spring' made perfect sense. "Buildin' it won't be hard. I can take Jules and Brad to find what we need."

Casey played a few more card choices from his deck while he tried not to laugh at how Tristan had taken the news and began planning. Out of the corner of his eye, Casey watched as Tristan's presumption dawned on him, and he snapped his mouth shut. After a beat, Tristan said in a contrite tone, "That is, of course, if you want me assigned to the project."

Tristan's differential tone made Casey snort. "Who else would I ask?"

Shrugging, Tristan said, "Dunno. Brad? Jaesen?"

"They don't have IRF experience like you do."

"Neither do I," Tristan argued. "I wasn't enlisted in Infrastructure Restoration and Fabrication."

"Could have fooled me."

Tristan snorted. Returning to his earlier point, he continued, "Still not an excuse for me to presume that you'd give it to me."

"Tristan," Casey said and waited until his friend looked over. Catching Tristan's eye, Casey said, "I wouldn't have brought it up with you if you weren't the one had in mind for the job."

Tristan grinned and bumped Casey's shoulder with his. "Good. Want me to start this week?"

"As soon as you're ready. I'd like to get it started before the worst of winter hits if possible."

"Will do, Case." A few quiet moments later, Tristan added, "I'll leave tomorrow, with Jules at first light."

"Search north and east," Casey directed. "Lottie, Greysen, and I are heading south. We'll scout as we go."

"Oh?"

Distracted, Casey muttered, "Damn." He lost his hand. He collected the cards in front of him and shuffled them. Answering Tristan's question, he said, "We're going to have a solstice party, and Bean wants to check for supplementals south of Fort Sutton—"

"At that house, I found for her?"

"—Yeah. She figures the garden's had enough time to rejuvenate. While she's off collecting, I'll go to Fort Sutton to get my journals. We'll reconvene once I have them, and then head back." Casey's chest felt heavy, and he took a deep breath. "Hope to be gone less than four or five days."

"Reasonable," Tristan said, agreeing. "Should Jules and I range farther or head back each night?"

Good question, Casey thought as he set out another solitaire tableau. If Tristan and Jules stayed out longer, they'd have a better chance of finding what the camp needed, but conversely, if they were gone each night, then the settlement was weakened. Coming to a decision, Casey said, "I'd rather not leave the women unprotected. Return each night, unless you find something promising."

"Understood." Leaning forward, Tristan pointed to three moves. "You're not that good, are you?"

Chuckling, Casey agreed, and the two of them spent the next several minutes finishing Casey's game before heading off to dinner.

***

Lottie had a bounce to her step that she could not subdue. She was too excited! They were on their way—the three of them—on a family trip. She was conveniently ignoring the fact that they traveled for necessities. She grinned and curled her fingers around the straps of her pack, which chafed her shoulders, but that didn't deter her from enjoying herself as they hiked.

Her breath puffed white crystals with every exhale, obscuring her view of the landscape. It had rained overnight, and the thin layer of ice sparkled. The beauty of it threatened her equilibrium with every slick patch, yet she couldn't keep from grinning. Not even treacherous footing would disturb her joyful mode.

She wouldn't have felt the same at camp, too many responsibilities, for one. For another, the ice would melt soon, and the settlement would be a quagmire of mud, making it a miserable experience for completing required duties. Lottie hoped it wouldn't be too annoying for the women she left behind.

Glancing forward, Lottie let her focus drift back to Casey. He plodded along in front of her. His steps were slow and precise as Casey hiked without his cane. She wondered if he needed help with Grey. Their son had fallen asleep at least half an hour ago, and Lottie knew how heavy his little body could become when he slept.

Bounding forward, she touched Casey on the shoulder before returning them to her straps. "Need me to carry him for a bit?" she whispered, letting sleeping babies lie, and all that.

Casey looked at her, the pack on her back, then down to her belly. Her fingers left their perches to land on her protruding stomach. Junior did a flip, and he'd kicked her bladder hard. Casey must have seen her grimace for his lips thinned, and he shook his head. Lottie shrugged. His expression had said it all, though he hadn't spoken a word, he worried about her.

Ugh, seriously! She was fine!

Dropping back, she took up her place behind him, and after a quick ogle of his ass—which she could barely find under his pack and covered by his coat—she turned her attention back to the woods around her.

The had to have walked another five kilometers—though, Lottie didn't know for sure—when Casey called a halt. He set Grey on his feet. Grey rubbed his eyes and looked around. Spying something interesting, he ran off. Lottie watched to make sure Grey didn't get into trouble. After a few moments, it became clear that Grey mostly wanted to burn off energy. She turned her focus to Casey. He stood next to her, scanning their surroundings for threats while simultaneously rubbing his shoulder.

"We stopping for long?"

He responded with a "Hmm?"

"I'll get out lunch if we are," Lottie added.

The word 'lunch' caught his attention, and Casey shifted to look at her. "What did you say?"

Grinning, she repeated her question, and he replied in the affirmative. She shrugged out of her pack and unzipped the pocket, which held their dry rations. Lottie pulled three strips of jerky from the pouch and handed one to Casey.

"Grey!"

When he stumbled to a stop in front of her, Lottie had him sit and eat.

Once finished, Casey unlatched his cane from its harness on his pack, then hefted the bag to his back. Taking Grey by the hand, Casey took them away from the small glen. It wasn't long before Grey began whining. Casey sighed.

Stepping forward, she took Grey from Casey. "It's fine," she told him. "I got him."

Together, they made it another two kilometers before she had to stop. As she put Grey down, she saw something through the brambles. _Is that corn?_

"Casey?" her voice came out strangled, and she cleared her throat. "Casey, do you see that?"

"What?" Casey asked as he joined her, his hand landing on her hip.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lottie saw Casey looking at her and not to the field. Lottie pointed. "Is that what I think it is?"

Slowly, he tore his gaze from her and looked to where she indicated. "I think it is..." he murmured, "Greysen?" he commanded in a tone, not even a toddler could ignore.

"Daddy!" Grey was further away than Lottie expected, and she had to crane her neck to spot him in the woods. At least she didn't have to chase him down. Casey's call had done the work for her. "Daddy," he repeated as he joined them.

"Stay close, bud, okay?"

"'Sss, daddy."

Casey forced the brush to the side and motioned for her to go through. Lottie took Grey's hand and passed through the path Casey created.

She stepped into a field full of brush, small trees, and corn.

Lots and lots of corn!

She grinned and bounced on her toes.

They must have found an old farm!

# Chapter 15

Casey didn't like it.

A field of corn.

It seemed too good to be true. And when things seemed to be too good to be true—They usually weren't.

"Hold him," Casey said. "Stay low."

Lottie frowned as she surveyed the land. "Why?"

Intuition? Training? Luck? He didn't know for sure, but he didn't trust their find. "I want to scout it. Make sure it's safe."

"You think," Lottie trailed off. Rallying, she queried, "You think we're in danger?"

He shook his head. He nodded. "Yes." Changing his mind again, he amended, "Maybe, but I'd rather check and be sure than be caught unawares."

Lottie asked, her voice at nearly a whisper, "Okay. Where do you want us?"

Glancing over his shoulder, he pointed to the woods they had vacated a few moments ago. "Stay in the tree line. Keep low and quiet. I'll be back." Lottie gasped, a soft noise of distress. __ "It's a precaution, Bean," Casey said. "I'm sure it will be fine. But if something does go wrong and I'm not back by nightfall, head to the settlement, okay? Let one of my soldiers know what happened."

She swallowed hard, loud enough he could hear it. _Shit._ He'd scared her. That was an accident. Casey cupped her cheek with his palm, leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. "It'll be fine. I'll be fine. You stay hidden with Greysen 'til I give the all-clear."

"Yes," she murmured.

Squeezing Greysen's hand until he squawked, she led him back into the woods, and Grey started keening, "Daddy!". _Shit. Shit. Shit._ Casey had forgotten about Greysen's little locator trick.

Giving them his six, Casey set his feet in motion. Hunkering low, he kept below the tops of the brittle corn stalks—a task made more difficult by their haphazard growing pattern—and hustled away from Greysen and Lottie. Casey needed distance from the crying toddler to be stealthy. Otherwise, Greysen would announce to the world he was near.

As Casey slipped out of his son's range, he stopped and ditched his bag under some brush. Righting himself, he caught his balance with his cane and took a breather before continuing. Heading south, he skirted the obstacles in his path. Finally, the cornfield thinned, and Casey peeked out from behind the last row of stalks. In front of him, waving in the cold December breeze, was a field of tall grass. Without Lottie's expertise, he couldn't be sure, but he'd bet Lanford's gun on his thigh that he was looking at wheat. If it was? Lottie would be ecstatic.

Casey's gaze swept the area. Seeing nothing dangerous, he stood and spun in a circle. As he moved, he spotted the sliver of woods where Lottie and Greysen hid before shifting his focus to the house in the distance and its barn.

To his left, there was a strand of trees that felt eerily familiar. Casey ducked back into the corn and slinked his way toward the woods. At the edge of the corn, he burst from his cover and hustled the remaining distance to the trees. Slipping from trunk to trunk, Casey made his way east, and as he went, the sense of foreboding grew. Casey stopped at the edge of a clearing and freed his gun from his thigh holster. Bringing it to the ready, he eased his head around his cover.

_Well, don't that beat all_ , he thought. His gaze darted around the clearing, taking in details. The field which held Shelter Two looked deserted—and not in the we're-pretending-to-be-something-we're-not way Casey had meticulously maintained but in the we-don't-give-a-fuck-what-happens-to-it-anymore manner of the truly abandoned.

But looks could be deceiving.

Keeping his gun at the ready, Casey advanced on the train caboose. He avoided the brambles south of the end car—no reason to trip over the railroad ties, which should still be there. Standing at the edge of the stairwell, Casey kept his back to the train as he took another quick look at his surroundings, refusing to get caught in the very trap he used to set.

Not hearing anything out of the ordinary, Casey pivoted and grasped the cold, rusted guardrail before pulling himself up the steep first step. At the threshold, he ducked his head and stepped in, revealing the train caboose's innards.

Not much had changed.

Oh, there were a few more holes in the roof, a few more soft spots on the floor, and a few more mouse homes, but all in all, it looked the same as it had the last time he'd been inside nearly nine months ago. Sniffing, he confirmed what his eyes had told him. No one had been in there in ages. He shuffled to the back and looked out the windows. Why wouldn't Staff Sergeant Cummin's use the shelters? Casey dismissed the thought. There weren't enough facts present for him to make a judgment, but at least now he knew why he thought the area felt wrong.

Casey snorted. To think, he lived at Fort Sutton for eight years and never once knew about that cornfield farm west of Shelter Two, quite literally on the next rise.

Moving through the shadows, Casey stopped at the train door, and after checking for threats, he left the structure, keeping his gun in his hand until he reentered the trees. Being so close to Fort Sutton was both a boon and a bane. It made raiding the farm risky, but it also meant Casey wouldn't have to backtrack to get his journals.

At the edge of the woods, where the corn, wheat, and trees converged, Casey stopped. He could go back and get Lottie, but he didn't want her or his son so close to the shelter. That thought decided it for him, and after holstering his weapon, Casey hiked across the wheat field for the farmhouse at the southern corner of the visible property. As he drew near, he knew the home wouldn't be a viable fit for them tonight, no matter how he felt about its proximity to Shelter Two. The roof sagged dangerously, and in some places, it rested on the second floor.

Blown out windows left chunks of glass that crunched under his feet, and the area smelled of something freshly dead. Though Casey didn't expect to find the hunter—whether it was two-legged or four—responsible for the kill, it was better to be prepared. Getting his gun out again, he proceeded to check around the dwelling for the source of the smell.

He didn't find it.

Crossing the yard behind the barn, he noted the dormant garden—something else Lottie would go gaga over—and stopped at the back porch of the home. The wood steps were splintered, flaked, and brittle. Pushing at the lower riser with his cane, he tested the step's strength.

Aside from a few fresh wood slivers liberated from the board, it seemed to hold against his prodding. Stepping onto it, he tested it against his weight. His eyebrows lifted in surprise when it didn't break. He gave it a little bounce. The board creaked but held fast. Mounting the first stair, he tested the next and then the third, before deeming the whole mess sturdy.

Once standing on the porch, he craned his neck to look inside. The light from the window illuminated a kitchen with kitsch on the counter and the walls. The prior occupants had a thing for decorative plates. From his vantage point, Casey could see white ones with blue etched lighthouses, sailboats, and Cliffside-scapes, then there were the cream-colored ones with different flowers on the centers, and finally, the random ones, that ran the gambit of clocks, cats, dogs, ducks, and? Wait? Was that a plate with a picture of turtles humping?

Well, the house may not be the best for safety against the elements or flush with reusable wood, but it had things they could use—that is, of course, if the settlement's occupants could stomach eating off of the representations of mating turtles.

Casey shook his head and swallowed back his chuckle. A wall full of plates didn't answer his first question. _What died?_ Stepping through the threshold, he scanned the kitchen for the safest path into the house proper. Finding it, he skirted fallen plaster, discarded kitchen utensils, and warped floorboards on his way to the archway between the kitchen and the rest of the house.

The flooring in the hallway was once grand. Unfortunately, now it looked like a soldier at the end of his shift in the middle of August: tired, sweaty, and irritable.

Stepping across the threshold, Casey headed toward the front door. There were rooms on either side of the hallway, and as he passed, he glanced inside. Each had plenty of furniture and tons of decorative décor. In the last room, right before he reached the front door, Casey found the source of the stench. Patches of light gray fur decorated the floor in a starburst pattern, and at the center, as if it were a macabre flower, white bones poked upward, picked mostly-clean of flesh, and gleamed. And as a ray of sunlight broke through the filth of the window, it illuminated the pointy jaw and tiny skull which Casey quickly identified: a possum.

Holstering his gun, Casey dusted his hands on his pants and opened the front door. Late afternoon sunlight poured in, and he stepped out onto the aged porch. Casey gazed north. The copse of trees where Lottie and Greysen hid were mere smudges in the distance. He needed to hustle back if they had any hope of returning to the farmhouse and pitching their tent before darkness fell. Besides, Lottie was probably worried sick by now.

Stepping off the porch, Casey left the farmhouse.

***

Lottie tucked Grey into the wool blanket from her pack. The poor little guy cried himself to sleep, giving Lottie a much-needed respite. Her back ached. Her arms ached. Her ears ached. Hugging her torso, she shuffled over to the break in the trees. Standing on her toes, she strained to see—well, anything. Casey had left them over an hour ago, and she hoped for a sign of his return.

Nothing.

Not even a whisper of movement met her curious gaze.

She sighed and rubbed her belly. Junior's gymnastics provided a distraction to her worried thoughts, and Lottie bit her lip. Where was Casey?

The skin of her neck prickled, and she whirled around. _Casey!_ Her hand pressed against her pounding heart. He strode toward her with a huge grin and wrapped her in his arms. Lifting her from the ground, Lottie squeaked in alarm as he gave her a small spin and kissed her on the lips. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him back, deepening it as she did so, and when they pulled apart for air, she asked, "What did you find?" for he had found something or he wouldn't have been in such a good mood.

"Wheat, Lottie! I found wheat."

She sucked in hard and managed to bite her cheek in the process. "Wheat? You sure?"

He nodded and gave her another peck.

"That's fantastic!" she exclaimed. There was wheat so close to home? Unbelievable.

"I know, right!" He put her down. "Come on, let's get your bag"—Where was his?—"and go. Where's Greysen?"

Before he could step away, she touched his forearm, slowing him. "He just fell asleep."

Casey's lips turned down in a frown, and Lottie wanted to kiss the expression away. "That's all right. I can carry him," Casey said, stepping away from her and stopping at the tree where Grey slept. He stooped, and when he stood again, he had Grey draped over his shoulder with one of Grey's little hands clenched around the lapel of Casey's wool coat.

"Daddy," Grey murmured around his thumb and snuggled closer. The corner of Lottie's mouth tugged upwards.

"Your bag?" Casey prompted.

_Whoops!_ So caught up in their little domestic scene, she'd forgotten to grab it. He waited while she hustled forward and hefted it up to her shoulder. Lottie took a few seconds to secure it on her back, and with a final snap of the waist buckle, she announced she was ready, and Casey left their cover for the cornfield.

Entering the rows, Casey angled them south and west—away from the more direct path near the trees on the east side of the field. "Why are we going this way," she inquired.

"Shelter Two is on the other side of that swale."

_Shelter Two_?! A healthy dose of adrenaline coursed through her veins at Casey's words and the baby in Lottie's womb reacted, jabbing elbows and knees in all four directions at once, making Lottie grunt in pain.

Casey glanced at her over his shoulder and stopped abruptly. "Bean? You okay?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "I'm fine. A kick's all."

Lottie rubbed her stomach, hoping she could soothe them both. Unfortunately, Casey's expression said he didn't believe her, but instead of pressing for details, he let her statement be his guide and returned to the task of forging a path through the corn. Lottie sighed in relief and snagged a cob from the stalk. She pulled back the husk to inspect the grain.

The flesh of the corn practically shimmered in the sun. The tips were sunken and had a milky yellow color. The edges of each kernel appeared translucent. Lottie had never seen molten gold before, but that's what she thought when she saw it. She plucked three more cobs, holding them tight to her chest. Fry them up, and they would make a tasty treat after dinner.

Casey paused in front of her. "Move quickly," he said over his shoulder.

She stumbled, exiting the cornfield, though it wasn't from uneven ground. No, the wheat which swayed in the breeze, had arrested her attention and faltered her steps. At the sight of the golden, brittle seed heads, Lottie's mouth flooded with saliva, thinking about all the bread she could make with it. "We'll have to come back often."

"Wait 'til you see the garden."

"Garden?"

"Yep. Has harvestables, too."

She groaned, eager to get her hands on the fresh greens.

They trudged forward in silence, but in no time, they reached the farmhouse. "We'll camp in back," Casey announced as he strode in that direction.

"Daddy?" Grey's sleepy voice asked as he lifted his head from Casey's shoulder.

"What bud?"

"'Gree."

Lottie rolled her eyes. Grey probably wasn't hungry but thirsty.

"We'll get some food going in a few minutes. Can you hold on 'til then?"

Grey nodded and tucked his head back into Casey's neck. Casey patted Grey's back and turned to address her. "I'll be back in a few minutes with the tent. I left it back there," he said with a wave of one hand.

"Sure," Lottie replied, juggling her four cobs to free up a hand for holding her son. "We'll be fine."

He smiled at her and extracted his coat from Grey's fist. Once liberated from the toddler's clutches, Casey quickly handed him over. He bopped Grey on the nose, forestalling the squall sure to come, and backed away. "I'll be back for you in three hops and a skip, 'kay, bud?"

Grey hiccupped, nodded, and shoved his thumb back into his mouth. "'Kay, Daddy," he mumbled around the digit.

Spinning on his heel, Casey hustled away, and Lottie braced herself for Grey's inconsolable tears. Grey sniffed a few times but then turned his back on Casey's retreating form. "Mommy?"

"Yeah?"

"'S, a skip?"

"It's like a hop, but you're sort of running too."

Grey's brows dipped down. "Jo'me, 'ese?"

She shook her head and set him down in the grass. Attempting something so athletic with her enormous belly and the overstuffed pack was sure to make her look like a newborn deer, all legs, and no balance. "Maybe Daddy'll show you when he gets back." Grey made a non-committal grunt and went to explore the edge of the house. "Don't go up those steps, okay?" she warned, earning a small nod from her son.

Knowing he would keep occupied for a few minutes, Lottie dumped her corn on the ground and slid her bag from her shoulders. Her hand curled around the sore muscle, and she kneaded it. About the time it loosened, she spied Casey on his way back. When he arrived, he dropped his bag and began unpacking the tent.

"You got him?" she asked, pointing to Grey by the stairs.

Turning to see where she indicated, Casey nodded and said, "Yeah, I got him."

"I'm going to see what I can find in the garden, and then I'll start the fire. Where will you want it?"

Casey indicated a spot closer to the house than she would have expected, but she accepted his choice and waddled away to explore the available food-stuffs.

***

Greysen's soft baby snores brought a grin to Casey's lips. The little tyke was out cold, amazingly, considering he'd slept most of the day, but there he was, nestled against Casey, sound asleep. His tiny back pressed against Casey's chest, and Greysen used Casey's bicep as a pillow. His son's hot breath puffed against Casey's skin, reminding him of all the significant people in his world.

Glancing down, he took in the sight of Greysen's dark, tousled hair and marveled at the power of genetics. Who would have thought a woman with Lottie's pale blonde, almost white hair, could produce someone who looked so incredibly different than her? A hair color, which, he knew for a fact, wasn't faked, since the chemicals used to dye hair had gone the way of the Dodo bird and Missouri Black bear. Besides, as Javier would say, the carpet matched the drapes. After all, her hair color held true from her head to her... shins. Aside from hair color, there were a few other tells between the two of them, proving not all of Greysen haled from his donor. One of Casey's favorite's happened to be Lottie's lopsided grin. It gave him a warm tingly feeling to see it duplicated in her son. And then there was Greysen's nose. His cute little nose. It looked like hers.

His beautiful Lottie.

With both arms pinned, Casey couldn't embrace her, but he persevered in hugging her close. She was breathing deeply in his other ear, using his shoulder as a pillow. Her hard stomach pushed against his ribs. Sure, having a loved one on each side, holding him down, brought Casey's mobility to zero, but he wouldn't have changed it for anything in the world.

He breathed deeply. The scent of recent sex and sleeping humans made his muscles relax. All his concerns melted away. The feeling would vanish tomorrow night since that was when he'd leave Greysen and Lottie here at the farm for his little journey back to Fort Sutton to retrieve his journals, and then return to their side.

A full night trip. Tops. Or at least, that is what he hoped.

Over dinner, they decided they would harvest everything they could carry and then some, storing the overage for a future trip. Then, that evening Casey would leave on his errand. At dawn, Lottie would pack their bags and wait for him to arrive. If he missed their rendezvous, she would leave the bags and high-tail it home to get reinforcements, but if everything went according to plan, they would leave together a day and a half from now. It was a sound plan, but Casey knew anything could go wrong. If Cummin's had found his books?

Casey would have to handle that it if it happened, he supposed.

Lottie groaned and shifted, tossing her leg up and over his. The motion brought her naughty bits against his thigh, halting all his strategic planning for a moment as he replayed their after-dinner activities, scene by scene. As the memory pulled to a close, an unwelcome one took its place.

_Felicia_.

Casey's heartbeat skipped, and he tensed. Cold sweat beaded on his lip. Casey had yet to reveal _that_ infidelity—he hadn't cheated, had he? He hoped not—but that didn't change the fact he felt like he betrayed Lottie's trust by stepping out. Should he disclose the details to her in the morning?

Probably ought to.

But?

He grimaced. What would honesty gain him? Casey hadn't been a willing participant, so that meant it didn't count as being unfaithful, right? Besides, Casey didn't want her to look at him with the same pity he knew he'd given her when he learned about Greysen's donor.

Then there was the concern his experience may trigger a memory of hers during the retelling.

No. It would not be in Lottie's best interests for him to share those details of his trip to Wolf's camp. He would keep it quiet, bury the guilt, and with a little luck, she'd never had to know.

***

The bluffs loomed above Fort Sutton, casting a dark shadow that blanketed the fort and brought about early dusk to its inhabitants, something Casey remembered all too well. It was painfully easy to cast himself back in time and recall all those simple summer nights and busy winter days under the watchful gaze of those stoic cliffs. The nostalgia gripping his heart was a painful reminder of where he'd been and who he'd become even if this new life was right where he belonged.

Casey shifted his weight from elbow to elbow, attempting to get comfortable. The sharp rocks of the overhang bit into his skin as he lay, sprawled along the edge, collecting intelligence on his target.

Gazing farther afield, he noted little movement in Staff Sergeant Cummins's camp. This, in and of itself, wasn't unusual for the season, but Casey expected some sort of activity. At the very least, there should be a soldier or two on KP duty, but the center of the camp was quiet.

"Maybe they're on some sort of patrol or out doing maneuvers," he muttered to himself.

A possibility, sure, but Casey doubted it. More than likely, the majority of Cummins's men were on temporary leave and taking refuge in their tents. Fort Sutton tended to be a quiet little outpost and rarely saw any action. It was one of the reasons Casey had worked so hard to have a structured team. Men with no free time rarely made trouble for themselves or others. Casey smiled wryly, thinking of the men he'd left behind. They were good at hijinks.

After another hour of observation, Casey's assumption proved to be accurate. The only movement around the camp had been a few men who exited tents, only to return minutes later after visits to the outhouses on the edge of the property.

"Mark my words, Cummins," he mumbled. "Boredom will be your downfall." Casey sighed and glanced over his shoulder. The sun had a half hour to go before it set. He'd wanted to wait for full dark, but now that he was here, the idea seemed a bit over-thought.

Casey wiggled out from under the brush, and belly crawled backward until he was free of the shrubs. Using his cane, he laboriously gained his feet, swallowing back a groan as his weight came down on his sore ankle.

Standing there in the thin, overly-long shadow of a tree which disappeared over the lip of the cliff, blending with the other shadows, Casey dusted off his front. "If they stay in their tents all night," Casey trailed off and finished in his mind, _It'll make infiltrating the Fort a hellova lot easier._ And easy was something he needed right now. He didn't like leaving Lottie and Greysen alone so close to Base. What if Cummins sent out a patrol, and found them? Plus, his mobility was less than desired. With a mental grumble, Casey turned south to come down off the cliffs a few kilometers from base.

With ginger steps, Casey inched his way down the steep path. It switched back on itself a few times before leveling off at a river ford right behind the obstacle course. That equipment, Casey noticed, had been kept in good repair since he left. It pleased him to know Cummins hadn't destroyed all of his life work. "Just some of it," he muttered and then chastised himself silently about making noise. He was no longer high above the Fort where he didn't have to fear imminent discovery, but instead, had both feet on Army soil and had to be more careful.

He stepped across the river using the river stones to shield his boots from the icy water. When he gained the bank, he cast his gaze upward. The central tower of his obstacle course rose several stories above him, hovering as if it were an angry parent preparing to scold a child.

Oh, how he longed to climb that tower. Casey shook his head. Maybe someday he could come back and test his reduced agility, but not today.

Squaring his shoulders, he left the obstacle course for the path back to Fort Sutton. Casey kept his eyes and his ears open, but nothing stirred in the dusk, and he arrived at the edge of camp undetected.

If Cummins kept the Base's barrack assignations the same as all his predecessors, then Cummins tent would be on the top of the hill furthest from Casey's current position. That would mean the only tents between Casey and his target—the storage shed—were the lower ranked Privates, like Paul and Brandon.

_Paul?_

It was a shame that Casey couldn't seek out the men who were still loyal to him. He wouldn't mind saying hello to Paul, Ty, Hong, Wu, and Wade. The sense of melancholy pulled at his shoulders, making them slump. He'd let those men down, and he felt the failure deep.

He swallowed back a sigh, beating himself up over it now wouldn't find his journals any faster. He needed to jettison the mental weight and concentrate on his task. With conscious effort, Casey did so and resumed his infiltration of Fort Sutton. Keeping to the thick shadows of the tree line lining the Black, he gained on the sheds. Once perpendicular to them, Casey stopped and waited. He was near the bathing point's path, and it would be embarrassing to be caught by a soldier on his way too or from a cleansing.

Hunkering against a tree, Casey kicked out his injured foot and rested his weight on his other heel. The position would grow old fast, but he didn't need it for long. After a few minutes, Casey deemed it safe. He moved quickly and with firm purpose toward his goal, for it was always easier to conceal your movements when you appeared to belong, and within a few strides, he'd reached the edge of the shed. Sliding along its boards, Casey stopped shy of the central fire's sightline. Slowly, he shifted, so one eye cleared the side of the command shed and kept his back against the storage building.

No new activity. Good.

Casey finished the distance from where he hid to the corner. He needed to get a good look at the lock on the shed before he tried to break in. With luck, Casey would be able to brute force it open, but if that didn't work, he'd remove the door hinges, and as a last resort, he'd raid Lincoln's tent for the key.

He inched around the corner, keeping low and slow. Casey didn't want to attract attention. Running his hand up along the wall, he tested the knob. After a quick tug on the door, he knew all of his plans were for naught.

It wasn't locked.

Casey shook his head. _So sloppy!_ _Cummins is a Staff Sergeant, right? Not a fresh recruit?_ Casey had some growing doubts.

Pulling the door open enough to squeeze inside, Casey let himself in. Standing by the door, he gave himself a few moments for his eyes to adjust. The shed smelled faintly of dust and disuse with a gentle overlay of a former latrine. The smell made sense. The shed used to be a working restroom facility in its distant past. Once Staff Sergeant Kerner, Casey's former CO, had inherited the fort, he had ripped out the restrooms, leaving only the showers.

Of course, now, those were moot. Kerner had made sure of that before he transferred away.

Casey swallowed back his sigh and shook his head. Memory lane had no place here. He had to find his journals. As the edges of shelves became 3D against their darker cinderblock background, he moved from the door. He'd start at the back and work his way forward.

Along the back wall, Casey found unopened food crates, abandoned weaponry, and the ammunition those weapons required. Closer to the front of the building, on the north wall, he found bedding and tents. He caressed the fabric. It felt rough and frayed. A sensation Casey knew all too well. The ability to manufacture nylon for new tents expired more than thirty years ago. Although the Army had a stockpile of shelters for the men stationed at the outposts, the supplies were all showing their years, and eventually, they would be gone. Casey couldn't count how many times he'd taken a needle and thread to his stock to shore them up. Though, by the state of things here, it seemed the Fort ignored this duty in favor of other things. Casey didn't know what those 'other things' could be and hoped Cummins didn't avoid the work out of a sense that the task was beneath him. The idle state of the camp indicated otherwise.

Casey pushed away from the back wall and went to the south side to investigate. Here his fingers found cooking gear, a communication device—the one from the command shed perhaps?—a stack of crates which held—light bulbs? Seeds? Casey put them back in their boxes and shifted them over—and found a few notebooks. His heart skipped a beat, and he grabbed the top one. Casey cracked it open and licked his dry lips.

Tilting the pages toward the door and the quickly fading light, he read: _30 lbs flour, 50 lbs beans (red and black), 15 lbs corned beef, 50 lbs potatoes._ Casey put the supplies log aside and grabbed the next notebook.

It was more of the same.

He shoved it away and began the third.

"Damn!" Casey muttered.

"Looking for these?"

Casey whipped around and simultaneously dropped the book he was reading. He snatched his gun from its holster, flipped off the safety, and leveled it at his discoverer.

"Adan." Casey greeted, holding his gun steady.

"Case," Adan acknowledged with a sneer.

In his hands were several notebooks, and Adan held them up for Casey's inspection. He couldn't see any identifying characteristics in the gloom, but Casey felt sure they had to be his journals. Casey's stomach clenched.

Adan glanced at the covers as he shuffled them in his stack. Opening the top one, he rubbed the page as if he were reading the text and said, "Interesting." He looked back at Casey, pinning him with his glare.

"Wife and child, huh? And to think, you had the whole settlement believing you were above such antics." Adan tsked. "The nerve of some Cos."

"Give them back," Casey demanded. His gaze dropped to the books momentarily as he stepped forward. He would yank them from Adan's hands if he had too.

"I don't think so. Finders keepers, and all that."

"You have no right to them."

"And you, _sir_ , left them behind," Adan said, his tone mocking. "I find it curious... After your disappearance and"—Adan indicated behind him—"your obvious reassignment, that your oh-so-clearly-abandoned belongings keep disappearing, yet no one has seen you come and collect them. I wonder why?"

"Classified."

Adan snorted. "Hardly. Was it Noah? Javier? Who else do you have in your pocket willing to do your dirty work?" Adan snapped his fingers. "Maybe it was Tristan or Jules when they deflected? I hear Wade's planning on joining you." Casey shook his head and took another step forward. Adan stepped back. "But, you should note, I have stayed. Just like you told me to."

"Adan," Casey tried again. "Give me my journals."

"Nope," Adan replied. His attention dropped to the pages drawing Casey's eye to them. When Adan next spoke, his words were soft and slightly melancholy, "You got some of it wrong..."

Casey didn't know what Adan meant, but he didn't care. He needed his books back. "I'm not kidding, Adan."

"I'm not either." Adan's tone had hardened once more.

Forcing his eyes up, Casey met Adan's cold expression.

"Aren't you even going to ask what you got wrong?" Adan inquired.

"No."

"Pity." Adan barked a laugh and snapped the journal closed. "I'll tell you anyway." He paused. "She offered herself to me—us—we didn't have to force her at all."

_Katie. Ever-absent, God, he meant Katie._

"Once a whore, always a whore. Wouldn't you say? I learned later—from Brandon, no less—that it was her that they all fucked in his barracks back in Basic. You remember that story, right?" Adan snorted. "Like three more men were that much of a hardship for her."

Adan tapped the top book. "I wonder. Do I have a son? Does Teo? Or maybe it was Ethan?"

"You leave her alone," Casey growled at the same time as Adan said, "I could come and check on her anytime I like." Adan grinned and tapped the book a second time. "I know the way, thanks to you."

"You show up at the settlement, and I will kill you."

Adan chuckled. "Maybe. But you'd have to catch me first." Adan shifted his weight on his heels and looked out the door. Casey rolled his center of balance to the balls of his feet, prepared to pounce on Adan if Casey had half a chance. Adan turned back, refocusing on Casey, and his eyes widened a moment before he snickered. "One day's run out there to see for myself and then back, and I could be gone less than twenty-four hours total."

"No one needs you out there, least of all, Katie." As if Casey didn't have enough things to worry about, he now had to add Adan to the list.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Case. Not anymore. And, I'm pretty sure if Cummins knew what was in these"—Adan indicated the notebooks in his hand by holding them up and shaking them—"that he'd give me the authorization to go to your little camp and make a few arrests in his name."

Casey stepped closer, prepared to ask Adan what he wanted, but as he did so, Adan slid back, maintaining the distance between them. Casey cocked an eyebrow. Adan's wariness gave Casey hope that he held some sway over his former soldier.

But how much?

"Give me my books."

Adan's lips twitched as if he suppressed a smile. He glanced outside again. Casey debated craning his neck to see what kept catching Adan's attention but decided against it. One, it would open himself up for attack, and two, Adan probably did it unconsciously in an attempt to keep his situational awareness acute and not out of any real sense of danger.

As Adan returned his focus to Casey, an arm materialized around Adan's throat, surprising them both. The assailant locked the chokehold in place by grasping his wrist and pulling his securing arm tight to Adan's throat.

Adan dropped Casey's notebooks. He tried an elbow hit, squat and spin combo maneuver, but failed to execute the escape sequence correctly. Adan's assailant tightened his hold, and Adan's fingers scrambled for purchase against the coat covered arm and dark-skinned hand that held him tight.

Casey jumped backward. His foot slipped on the smooth surface of the floor as he tried to keep his balance. Adan continued to claw at the arm which held him captive, but his motions were weakening, and before Casey could blink, Adan's struggles came to a stop as he succumbed to his strangulation.

"Kill him?" Javier asked, his tone calm as if he didn't have a nearly dead man in his arms.

"Javier! What the ever-absent God are you doing here?"

"Tick tock, Case. Choose. Quickly. Or he'll be dead, and it won't matter what you want."

Adan's death on base would be catastrophic for Javier. For Casey. For the settlement. He blinked. "Don't kill him!"

"Then, you better run. He's gonna come to as soon as I let go."

Casey nodded, knelt to scoop up his books.

"Leave 'em," Javier barked.

The admonishment came too late, for Casey already clutched them to his chest.

"Go, sir. Go now," Javier ordered.

Casey, with no other reason to stall, skirted past Javier and Adan and out the door. He heard Javier maneuvering behind him, but he didn't slow his pace to investigate, and instead, pushed his injured ankle hard for safety as he stumble-ran toward the woods. He'd barely gone twenty meters when something lifted him off his feet. Casey didn't know how Javier'd done it. One minute Javier held Casey as if he planned to deploy the Heimlich maneuver, and the next Casey was over Javier's shoulder in a typical fireman's carry. Miraculously, Casey still held his notebooks. The ever-absent God only knew how he'd managed to do so.

"Did you get them all," Javier asked, and grunted as he picked up speed. "Never mind. Instead, tell me what in the blue-ball fuck are you doing here?"

"My books..." Casey tried to say, but the way Javier's shoulder bit into his chest with each running step made the words sound a bit breathy and indistinct.

"Dammit, Case. Hold up your damn cane," Javier growled. "You trying to trip me?"

Casey pulled his cane up and to the side as he repeated, "My books." This time his words were decipherable.

"What the fuck? I told you I'd get 'em. Why else would I be here?"

Now, Casey remembered the conversation on the porch during the winter storm. Had it only been a few weeks ago? It felt like forever. Not to mention, he had conveniently forgotten about their little talk when Lottie first proposed her idea.

"Didn't want to bother you," Casey answered instead. It was only a partial truth.

"Didn't you wonder where I went?"

"No." If he hadn't been held immobile by Javier's punishing grip and pounding step, Casey might have tried to defend himself. In the end, it was simpler to admit cluelessness than to fake any form of understanding. "I thought you left with Noah for training or something."

Javier snorted. "Let's just say, I get 'on-the-job' training, and leave it at that." Casey didn't have anything else to add, so he opted for silence. Javier snorted again—or maybe that was huffing and puffing with exertion. It was hard to tell from Casey's vantage point draped over Javier's shoulder.

"You caught the villain monologuing?" Javier asked.

"Not really," Casey answered. "He wasn't twirling his mustache or telling me how he planned to blow up the world."

"Doesn't have a subterranean lair, either," Javier added.

After a few more minutes of uninterrupted jogging, Javier came to a stop and set Casey down. "What did Adan want?"

"I'm not sure," Casey trailed off as he examined Adan's possible motives. "I think he wanted to know if he was a father."

"Think he is?"

"Could be." Casey shrugged and adjusted his hold on his journals. With a quick count of the spines, Casey determined they were all there. "Neither Sophia nor Olivia look like him, though."

Javier grunted. It didn't sound like an agreement.

"You get them all?" Javier asked, changing the subject.

"Surprisingly, yes. They're all here."

Javier grunted again. "You think Adan'll be a threat?" he asked, bouncing back to the original topic. This time it was Casey's turn to grunt in the affirmative.

"Are you heading back to the settlement tonight," Javier asked.

"No," Casey answered with a shake of his head. "Lottie and Greysen are half a kilometer west of Shelter Two. I'll reconnoiter with them tonight and head back tomorrow."

Javier nodded. "Need me home?"

"You getting intel here?"

"You know it."

"Then stay."

"Will do, Case," Javier replied and saluted.

Casey rolled his eyes. "Get," he commanded.

Javier flashed him a grin—his white teeth almost looked disembodied in the surrounding night—and took off back toward Fort Sutton.

After a moment to stare at his journals in amazement, Casey set his steps for Shelter Two. He would meet up with Lottie ahead of schedule.

# Chapter 16

Upon returning to their temporary camp, Casey unequivocally knew three things. One, Greysen was awake. Two, he had not cottoned on to the fact Casey was near, and three, because Greysen didn't know Casey was back meant something was very, very, wrong. Not to mention, Casey could hear Greysen's whimpers from several feet away.

"Lottie?" he called in a hoarse whisper.

A dry rattle of plant matter caught his attention, and he turned toward the barn door. "Here," Lottie answered as she exited the structure.

Why was she over there?

Casey changed his trajectory mid-course from their tent to her location. As he drew near, she holstered his spare gun at her thigh. Once she'd secured it, he pulled her into a quick hug. "What are you doing over here?"

"You're early," she replied. Casey waited for a beat to see if she would elaborate. She added, "I felt watched, but didn't think it could be you."

"You took defensive action," he said at the same time she added, "I took defensive action." They softly chuckled when they realized they had said the same thing.

_She's been with me too long_ , Casey thought, smiling wryly. She would never have used that terminology when he first rescued her. He dropped his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. The muscles in her back shuddered under his touch, and Casey wondered if she was cold or if he'd inadvertently triggered a panic attack. It had happened before, and he was all too aware of how it could happen again.

"Is something wrong with Greysen? Is that why you left him?" he asked, hoping to distract her from her fear, assuming, of course, that emotion had been the basis for her shiver.

"I knew I could eliminate an intruder easier without him." Her matter-of-fact tone told Casey all he needed to know. Her tense muscles and shudders were from the temperature and not due to his proximity. He kissed her temple, relieved.

"Besides. He's sick," Lottie continued. "He's got a fever and a cough, and he hasn't slept yet."

The worry which infused her voice was unmistakable. It made Casey's heart beat faster, and he frowned. "A cough."

"Yep. Started not more than a couple of hours ago."

As if to illustrate her point, Greysen took that moment to cough wetly. The gurgle sounded foul—like someone gagging as they also tried to blow into a trumpet. With a wave of her hand, Lottie indicated Casey should go to their tent. Holding back a sigh, Casey ducked inside with Lottie following. Once there, Casey ditched his cane and dropped to his knees next to Greysen.

"Daddy," the little boy said around the gunk in his throat. The fluid displacement when he spoke made him cough.

When Greysen put his hands in the air begged to be held, Casey scooped him up bedding and all and tucked him to his chest. Greysen nestled against Casey's neck and coughed again. The temperature of Greysen's skin alarmed Casey. The little tyke was burning to the touch.

Addressing Lottie, he asked, "You think you can sleep if I take him?"

"Aren't you tired?"

Casey gave her a small smile. "I am. But I'm not growing another human." Even in the dark, Casey could see Lottie's flush spread on her cheeks. "You get some rest, Bean. We'll be close by."

Yawning, Lottie nodded, divesting herself of his weapon and her clothes before crawling under the covers. "Thanks," she murmured. After a pause, she continued in a garbled tone. "Did you know? There's a plate in that house—You can see it from the door—Looks like two turtles having sex," she trailed off, and a minute later, her breathing evened out as she slept. Casey tried not to snort, both at the ease of her sleeping and at the fact she found the turtle plate.

Backing out of their tent, he covered Greysen's head with the blankets and zipped the shelter closed.

As Casey turned to head toward the barn, Greysen coughed. Now it sounded as if Greysen was trying to play the trombone underwater with a box of rocks in the horn's tubing. There was no way in the ever-absent, God's earth, Casey _wasn't_ going to get sick from this.

He sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

***

It had been a miserable night, but now dawn's rosy glow illuminated the horizon, and Casey welcomed its blush. Everything was more straightforward in the daylight.

Hopefully, Lottie had been able to sleep, even if Casey hadn't.

He pushed to his feet using the barn wall for balance since he left his cane in the tent. Amazingly, Greysen managed to sleep through the entire process with barely a murmur of complaint. He did cough right in Casey's face a few times, though, making Casey wondered for the umpteenth time that night, where Greysen caught the illness.

He'd been a relatively healthy baby, never really sick except for a few minor colds. But this? This illness was something so much more than a childhood cough. Truth be told—and Casey would never admit it to Lottie—he worried about Greysen's ability to bounce back from it. If the sickness was pneumonia or bronchitis? Well, they had nothing available to treat it, and even if he could somehow sneak back into Fort St. Louis for medication. The medical staff wouldn't help him. They didn't sanction drugs for males.

Casey's lip curled in distaste. One would expect that in a world with a rapidly declining population, the surgeons would do everything in their power to save every child, but nope. Three-quarters of the population was male, and that made them expendable. All medication went to female children. Casey had heard his fair share of resentment—hell, he'd spread his own a time or two—from the other boys in his communal, then, again, in the barracks during Basic, and finally, from the men in the field. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair, but Casey didn't see that changing any time soon. But maybe Greysen would be fine. Perhaps he'd bounce right back. He patted Greysen on the butt and limped toward the tent where Lottie greeted him at the flap.

"How's he doing?" she asked.

"Not good. Coughed all night."

Lottie frowned. Her hands fluttered at the blanket wrapped around Greysen. "Should we stay here? Let him rest?"

Casey had thought about it. It made sense, but people were counting on them, and they were too close to Fort Sutton for Casey's comfort.

There was also the chance he or Lottie would fall ill, and then where would they be?

"No," he decided. They needed to go home. "Can you take Greysen for a bit while I strike camp and get things ready."

She nodded, and they did their odd little don't-wake-the-baby shuffle, and after the handoff, Casey disappeared into the house. He needed an interior door for what he planned. Last night, while Casey sat up with Greysen, he tackled the problem of how to bring their bags, gathered food, and sick baby home efficiently. Casey couldn't carry Greysen, his pack, and the extra food weight. There was no possible way Greysen could walk any distance—not as sick as he was—yet they couldn't leave anything behind, so he'd do as he'd done before. Casey would make a travois.

He found a door he wanted, popped it from its hinges, and dragged it to the kitchen. There Casey sifted through the detritus on the floor and in the cabinets until he found something he could use as a hammer.

Hefting the solid-metal meat tenderizer he'd found, Casey identified the balance point and swung it into the top door panel just below the top rail. The board splintered but didn't break. Casey pounded it a few more times until the wood gave. He moved to the second panel. Once it was gone, Casey used the threadbare curtains from the kitchen windows to wrap the splintered wood, giving himself softer handles. He was about to leave the kitchen when the naughty turtle plate caught his eye. He left his door-turned-travois and went to inspect it.

Mushrooms.

Chuckling, he took it from the wall. The artist had done the configuration of the three mushrooms in such a way that even up close, Casey could see the resemblance to the two turtles humping. He had to keep the plate. Returning to his travois with his prize, Casey grabbed the door by its missing panel. Hauling it outside, it bumped down the stairs after him, the clatter loud enough to wake the dead, or in his case, Greysen.

"Daddy?!" Greysen wailed. Lottie had him in her arms as she paced the clearing. "Daddy!"

Casey dropped his travois next to the tent, set the plate on top, and went to take Greysen from Lottie. "I got him for a bit. Can you make breakfast?"

Without missing a beat, she said, "Here" and handed him a cloth wrapped piece of bread with a strip of jerky slapped inside. He took it gratefully and chewed.

Lottie grinned, adding, "It would've been better with bacon."

Dismissing her statement with a wave, Casey shifted his focus to the tent. He simultaneously yanked the stakes out with his foot and pulled the lines with his free hand. Within moments the tent was collapsed, and, as Casey popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth, he knelt to roll the nylon. Finished, he secured the tent to his bag. After that, he loaded up the travois with all their gear and new supplies.

"Think you can you carry him for a bit?" Casey asked. If she couldn't, Casey would figure out how to strap Greysen to the door.

"I got him," she replied. "You ready?" she asked, indicating the travois. He nodded and lifted the travois by the handles he created. "Are we going back the same way?" she asked.

"Yes."

Lottie nodded and turned toward the small copse of trees across the field from them. On the way back, they passed several square feet of harvested wheat, and Casey knew they'd also went past several missing stalks of corn. But between those few cleared sections, they had acres of unharvested crops to cross.

It was a good thing. It meant future food if the settlement ran low, and it meant a stock available for future cultivation. Casey assumed Lottie had made plans to do as much, and other than providing her the manual labor to make it happen, Casey would let her run that show.

In no time at all, they gained the trees where they'd viewed the farm two days ago, and Greysen's curiosity in his surroundings waned. He dropped his head on Lottie's shoulder with a whimper. His thumb promptly went into his mouth, and aside from his coughing, Greysen appeared to fall asleep.

The three of them traveled in that manner for several kilometers before Casey noticed Lottie rubbing her lower back more and shifting Greysen from arm to arm. Casey stopped and propped the edge of his travois against a log before hustling after her. A task made harder without the stabilizing aspect of the travois, and he wished he'd taken a moment to unpacked his cane.

Catching up to her, he touched her free shoulder. When she turned, Casey's heart jolted. She looked flushed, and her eyes were glassy as if she were about to cry. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and then took Greysen from her arms. She didn't feel hot—yet—but she looked feverish.

"You okay?" he asked.

Lottie nodded. "Just a bit winded, and my back hurts." She rubbed her tummy.

"Is the baby all right?"

"Yes. Just need a rest 's all" Lottie paused a beat, then added, "You?"

Casey's head snapped back, and his eyebrows twitched up. Why? Did he look ill? "I'm fine."

Lottie snorted and pushed both hands against her lower back. She leaned forward, then backward stretching it. Her back popped, and she groaned.

"I'll take Greysen if you think you can drag the travois for a bit," Casey offered.

"I'll try," she replied and walked toward it. Casey waited to confirm she could before he resumed their trek, and they spent the next several hours trading Greysen and the travois back and forth, and as the late afternoon drew near, so did the settlement.

When they were a little over half a kilometer out, Attila and King joined them. Their tails wagged in greeting, and King bounded up to his hind legs to lick Greysen's face. Greysen giggled then coughed, and Lottie staggered under their combined weight.

As she caught her balance, she ordered, "Down, King," and like the well-trained dog he was, King complied. Both dogs turned in unison, jostling each other as they did so, and headed toward home, clearly intent on escorting their humans the rest of the way. When Lottie, Casey, and Greysen entered the clearing, they stopped at the shed to unload the supplies.

"Here," he said, taking Greysen from Lottie. She sighed and nodded, bending to the task of unpacking. Casey hated leaving her to empty the travois, but she would do a better job unloading and storing their harvest than he would. While she worked, Casey moved to the central fire and set Greysen down on one of the stump-turned-chairs.

"Can you stay here, kiddo?" he asked the toddler.

Greysen nodded. His color was off, and Casey wanted to scoop him up again, but he couldn't. He had work to do. For one, no one was out tending the central fire or making a meal, and it didn't take a CPS squad to figure out why. There were others in camp with the same wet, underwater-trumpet-playing coughs. Casey identified at least two of the infants were ill and three adults. A new cough behind him had Casey amending the tally to four adults. It would appear that the glassy-eyed look Lottie sported earlier _had_ been a precursor to the illness.

"All done," she said, coughing again. She rubbed her forehead. "You think you can set up our tent without me? I don't think I can help. Not without a break first."

Casey pulled her into a hug. "Yes. Take care of Greysen and yourself." He kissed her on the tip of her nose and left her at the clearing. It didn't matter if she sat there with Greysen and did nothing or took care of the fire. She needed to rest. Besides, Casey could restart the fire if it went out.

Marching out of the central clearing, he made a quick stop at the shed to get the tent before moving off to his quiet site in the woods. The tent erection was nearly complete when he heard Jaesen and Grace drawing closer. When they spotted him, they quieted and walked over.

"Report?" Casey requested as he pounded in the second to last stake.

"Last night, Nyah, Hunter, Dexy, and Zoe began coughing," Jaesen began. Casey walloped the stake one more time, then stood. "And this morning, Tristan came back from his mission with a cough. I sent Brad to find Jules with instructions to scrub the mission if they fall ill but too, but otherwise complete the task you set for them. I know you told them to come back each night, but, with everyone sick, I told them to stay out."

Casey nodded. He would have done the same.

"Then I sent everyone else to their tents with 'quarantine' orders," Jaesen continued, "Everyone's agreed not to come out unless they had to." Jaesen pointed to Grace and then himself. "Since we feel fine, we took over patrols, and Grace's been medicating the sickos with—"

"—Horehound," Grace supplied.

"—Horehound. Other than that, nothing new to tell you."

Casey nodded and moved to the last stake. "Lottie and Greysen are coughing."

"Damn," Jaesen muttered. "I wonder where everyone got it."

"Yeah." Turning to Grace, Casey asked, "Can you give Lottie and Greysen some horehound?" Grace acknowledged him with a curt 'Yes' before moving off down the path.

Casey sighed. Grace hadn't warmed up to anyone at camp besides Jaesen, and Casey wasn't too sure what to make of it.

Leaving the relationship pondering for another day, Casey knelt and drove the last tent stake home. "Thank you," he said, acknowledging Jaesen's willingness to step in and give orders in Casey's absence.

"Any idea where everyone got it?" Jaesen asked.

Standing, Casey replied, "Nope. But, if I had to guess, I'd say it was one of Wolf's men."

Jaesen snorted. "Probably. Nyah _was_ the first one to start coughing. Then Hunter."

Casey nodded and did a quick check on the tent. Everything looked ready.

He wiped his forehead with his forearm and then shivered.

Now he needed to get Lottie, Greysen, and their stuff moved back in.

***

Lottie huddled deep in her coat and wrapped it a bit tighter around both herself and Grey. Her sinuses felt thick and swollen, and the gunk draining into her throat would not stop tickling. And the cough! It sounded so foul and felt worse. She needed to get some garlic oil and some honey from the shed to treat her and Grey's symptoms, but the building felt a million kilometers away.

Not only did she lack the energy for herself, but she also felt helpless in how to treat the other cold sufferers. The infants could take the honey for their coughs, and, although garlic worked—somewhat—it would be hard-pressed to cure them, and Lottie didn't know what to do. No one who was sick could take anything stronger, yet they all needed it. She groaned. Delving deep into her energy reserve, she gripped Grey tight and stood.

"Sit," Grace commanded, drawing Lottie's eye to the woman stalking toward her from the shed. "I'll have a hot tea ready for you two in a few minutes." Lottie nodded and sank back into her seat, grateful someone else would take care of their treatments.

Grace bustled around the fire, building it up and setting the water to heat. Lottie barely saw the movement. Her gaze clouded with fatigue, and each cough hurt. All she wanted to do was lay down. Lottie looked over her shoulder, hoping to see Casey. No luck. When would their tent be done? Ever-absent, God, she was so ready for bed.

"Here, drink this," Grace ordered, handing Lottie a mug.

Lottie brought it to her lips and prepared to take a sip when the bitter scent—a cross between old mint and burnt leaves—teased her nose. "What is this?" As she asked, the smell registered to her muted senses. "Is this horehound?"

"Yes."

Handing it back to Grace, Lottie shook her head violently and said, "I can't take this."

Grace's eyebrow shot up as she accepted the mug. "Your book from Gates recommended it. It seemed to help the others."

Lottie felt faint. She squeezed Grey to her chest. "How many have you given it too?"

"Everyone. Nyah, Hunter, Dexy, Zoe, and about an hour ago, I gave it to Tristan." Grace paused. "Was that wrong?"

Very.

"How many treatments have you given?"

"I don't know, three or four? Why? What's wrong with it?"

Hopefully, four doses wouldn't be enough to cause harm. "Large quantities causes diarrhea and irregular heartbeat. Didn't you read the caution at the bottom?"

"Yes, but I felt it an acceptable risk."

Lottie to push to her feet a second time. "Don't give it to anyone else, okay?" Lottie demanded, setting Grey in her newly vacated seat.

"Yeah... Sure..."

Regardless of the fact, the herb was too potent for babies—even nursing ones—Grace hadn't meant any harm. She'd only been trying to help. Lottie wrapped her arms around her mother. She shouldn't have yelled.

"It'll be all right," Lottie assured her mother.

Leaving her side, Lottie shuffled her way to the shed. She had to get more acceptable treatments for everyone. But what? Lottie grabbed the garlic oil and honey. When she pulled them from the shelf, she spied her jar of Echinacea. It was perfect. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? She pulled it from the shelf and left the shed. Grace met her halfway, and Lottie handed her the jar. "This is safe for the moms. Can you make it into a tea for everyone?"

The world swayed. Lottie rubbed her forehead. "I'd do it, but I need to sit down."

Grace nodded, and while Lottie sat, she was aware of Grace doing as she'd asked, but the details were fuzzy. Lottie answered questions, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember what anyone asked. Her eyes drifted closed. The effort needed to keep them open proved too much.

Lottie jerked backward and nearly fell off of the stump when Grace plucked the garlic oil from her and handed her another mug. The steam wafting up reminded Lottie of pine trees. She sipped the brew and smiled at Grace. "Thanks."

"It's okay?"

Lottie nodded.

"Brewed all right?" Grace confirmed.

Again, Lottie replied with a nod. The effort to speak seemed nearly impossible.

"Want me to give it to everyone else?"

Yawning, Lottie closed her eyes. "Just the moms and Tristan, if he wants it, though he can take the horehound since he isn't nursing."

Lottie paused, her head dropping forward to her chest, and she coughed.

"He isn't? Is he?" When Grace didn't respond, Lottie lifted her head to gaze at her mom. Grace's glare made Lottie sigh. "A joke. You know? Funny. Ha. Ha?"

Grace ignored her and turned back to the big batch of tea she was tending. When Grace stood to leave, Lottie added, "I have garlic oil for the babies and honey for everyone else's cough. Let me know if anyone wants any?"

Grace acknowledged her with a curt "Yes" and left her to tend Grey and herself.

***

Casey cracked open one eye and promptly closed it again when a stabbing pain shot straight through his brain. The pain was so sharp, so hot, that if he hadn't known better, he'd fear he'd scorch the bedding from its intensity.

Groaning, Casey rolled over and brought the blankets up to his chin. A corresponding tug pulled them from his tight fist, informing him he'd uncovered Lottie in his efforts to roll over. Casey eased himself closer to her and draped an arm around her middle. His hand bumped a tiny foot, and he moved to wrap Greysen in his embrace as well.

As he shifted, Lottie rested her arm on his. Her skin felt cold. "You feeling better?" he whispered.

"No," she mumbled, and a wet cough followed her words, and then shuddered. It was then that Casey realized his skin was hot, and that was why she didn't feel feverish.

He was sick.

He touched his forehead with the back of his hand and then hers. _No difference._ Weren't they all a perfect matching set: scalding hot to the touch and shivering from fever. Casey wanted to groan again, but he held it back. Lamenting the fact he was ill wouldn't help him get better. Casey needed to get up and get the—

He braced himself for the pain and opened his eyes. He winced. "What did you give everyone yesterday?"

"Echinacea tea, honey, and garlic oil."

Casey took a deep breath and promptly began coughing. Wrenching his head to the side, he mentally noted he shouldn't try to breathe again.

Keeping his breaths shallow, Casey slid from the covers, and after tucking Lottie back in, he turned to get his clothes.

They weren't on his footlocker, where he usually left them.

He looked down, spying his cargo clad legs and his standard-issue winter undershirt covered chest. Casey's shoulders drooped, and he didn't even try to hold back his groan. For the second time that morning, he'd been struck by a fact he should have known unconsciously but hadn't.

He was sicker than he first thought.

Shoving his feet into his boots, Casey strapped on his holster and gun, slid into his coat, and slipped from the tent. He stood at the flap, body swaying as he took time to overcome his unexpected vertigo.

Once stable, Casey moved down the path as quickly as he could.

"I hope there is a fire," he muttered.

Casey doubted he had the strength or endurance to start one, tend it, get water, _and_ make tea. As he left the tree line, he felt the ache in his chest loosen. Grace sat at the fire, bundled in a blanket, stirring something heating over the flames. He hoped it was more tea.

"Morning," he whispered.

A gurgle precluded the cough, which had him bent at the waist, hands on knees, hoping to catch his breath. Damn! He hadn't even had time to cover his mouth adequately.

When he looked up again, Grace had a mug extended his way. He took it and sniffed. It smelled horrendous. Almost like Noah had decided to smoke his mint instead of chewing it. "What is this?"

"Horehound tea."

He sniffed it again and grimaced. It stank.

"I'd give you the Echinacea," Grace added, "but I don't have enough for the men and the women now that Katie and Ally are sick."

Casey lifted his gaze. "They're sick? Cody? Max? Sophia? Olivia?" With each name, Grace nodded, looking progressively grimmer. He pressed his lips tight. The quarantine hadn't worked, not that there had been much hope—not with a community this small. "You're giving them the Echinacea?"

"Lottie says its safe for them." Grace faced the fire. She picked up her stick and poked at the flames. "I only have enough for a few more days now that five are using it. You"—Grace pointed at him with her hot poker and then to Zoe's tent—"and Tristan are stuck with the bitter horehound herb."

If the horehound was all he could take and it meant the women and babies had more of what they needed, then he'd gladly drink the foul brew. He'd make sure Tristan agreed, even if that meant giving his friend a direct order.

As if to prove his point, Casey held his mug up in a toast before downing the contents as fast as he could. Casey sputtered at the end and had to swallow around on a gag, but he succeeded in drinking it all.

Handing the mug back, he asked, "Do you have any of the Echinacea tea for Lottie and Greysen? I'd like to take back some."

Grace nodded and made him two mugs. He took them and shuffled back to his tent. Three-quarters of his settlement was sick, and he worried about the weakest amongst them. Even in the Forts, it wasn't unheard of to learn that an infant died from complications due to illness.

Ever-absent God, he hoped that didn't happen to anyone here.

***

The next several days passed in a blur for Casey. The only time he knew whether it was day or night was when he left his tent in search of supplies for Lottie, Greysen, or himself, and each time he went out, it was an ordeal involving a crap ton of coughing.

It had been during one of those trips to the communal fire for healing herbs when he'd learned Brad and Jules were back and had been successful in finding supplies for the camp's future livestock pen. Casey didn't remember where they said they had found the wood, but he was sure they had marked the location on a map for further study. When he was better, he would organize a team to go and slowly demolish what they had found.

Casey rubbed his eyes. How many days had it been since fell ill?

At least three, he decided.

He rolled to his back and promptly started coughing. With a groan, Casey shifted to his hip. Laying on his side seemed the only comfortable position, but he was tired of the health-necessitated limitation. Casey wanted to be on his back. Except, what he needed to do was get up and get treatments for his family.

He frowned. Casey vaguely remembered Grace telling him they were about out of Echinacea. He coughed and wondered, one, if that were true, and two, where he could find more? Greysen and Lottie were both sick and needed any kind of medicine—safe medicine, Casey amended—available.

Casey was contemplating how he would accomplish this when Nyah's frantic voice came from the other side of his tent.

"Lottie. Lottie! Wake up!"

With a mighty heave, Lottie lurched upright beside him, dragging the blankets from Greysen and Casey as she did so. The instant chill on fevered skin had Greysen waking with a sputter and a wail. Casey yelped. He rubbed a hand over his face.

"I'm awake," Lottie assured her, her gaze whipping back and forth. Casey assumed she looked for her clothes, which were in a wad at the foot of their bed.

"Hunter's dying, Lottie." Nyah paused to cough. "I'm sure of it."

The blood drained from Casey's head, leaving him woozy.

Dying?

Lottie found her clothes and scrambled to get dressed. "I'm coming," she said around her continuous cough. Casey eased out of the blankets. Lottie turned to him, "You don't have to come."

Like hell, he didn't.

Hunter? Dying?

Casey hadn't known Nyah long, but she wasn't prone to over-exaggeration, constant sexual innuendo, yes, but not emotional extremism. If she thought her son was dying, then there was a fair chance he actually was, and there was no way Casey would let either woman face that alone.

He shook his head and dressed. "I'm coming."

"What about Grey? I don't want to leave him."

"I'll take him," Casey assured her. She nodded and left the tent with her boots untied and her coat over her arm.

He finished tying his shoes and then scooped up Greysen.

"Daddy?"

"Going to help auntie Nyah with Hunter," he replied, hoping he cleared up the little tyke's evident confusion at being moved.

"Daddy," Greysen said and looped his arms around Casey's neck.

Casey touched Greysen's forehead. Was he cooler? Greysen coughed wetly against Casey's shoulder, and Casey grimaced. If—and it was a big if—Greysen's fever was breaking, then that would be great news, but his continual cough sounded disgusting and was worrying.

In record time, the three adults reached the clearing and headed toward Nyah's tent. As they passed Grace, Casey's gaze clashed with hers. The worry in the older woman's eyes was undeniable. So were her flushed cheeks and overly shiny eyes. It could only mean one thing.

Grace was sick.

"Damnit!" he growled.

"What?" Lottie asked over her shoulder.

"Damnit," Greysen echoed.

Casey shook his head. They needed to worry about Hunter and not Grace. Grace could take care of herself.

At Nyah and Grace's tent, they paused to ditch their shoes and then dove into the dwelling. Nyah's bedding lay rumpled near the back of the shelter with little Hunter swaddled and resting on top. Casey could see a rolled-up blanket behind him, which helped prop the six-week-old infant on his side.

Lottie dropped to her knees and crawled toward him with Nyah following. Casey hung back. When Lottie reached Hunter, she rolled him to his back and removed his swaddling. Pressing her ear to his chest, Lottie scrunched her eyes closed in concentration. Casey supposed she listened to Hunter's lungs. Or maybe his heart. Casey didn't know. But whatever she heard, it wasn't what she wanted to hear, for as she listened, her frown grew, and her gaze sought his. In her eyes, he saw the whole, stark story.

Hunter was dying.

_No!_

Nyah's wail echoed Casey's thought.

Lottie turned her worried gaze to Nyah. "I think he has pneumonia." She looked at Casey. "Can you go get and cut up, one of our onions? I want to try something. It's a long shot..."

Casey gave her a curt nod and put Greysen down. As Casey backed from the tent, Greysen ran over to her and leaned against her back. Casey pivoted and nearly bumped into Grace.

"What's wrong with him. Will Hunter be okay?"

"I don't know." Casey ran a hand over his face and smothered a cough, which brought mucus up from his lungs. He took a step to the side and spat.

"Lottie thinks he has pneumonia," he said when he could speak again.

Grace nodded and cleared her throat. The gurgle of phlegm was unmistakable. "Do they need the Echinacea tea?" she sputtered while holding back a cough.

"I don't know. Lottie sent me for an onion," Casey replied and stepped past her on his way to the shed. Grace fell into step beside him, both struggling with their coughs. Casey urged, "Take a treatment. Please?"

"I'll prep some more for everyone."

Casey agreed. While Grace moved to the back of the shed and began searching the shelves for herbs, Casey turned and pulled an onion from the onion chain near the door.

On his way back to Nyah and Grace's tent, he stopped at the fire to cut up the onion. When Casey re-entered the dwelling, he noted Nyah trying to nurse Hunter, and Casey averted his eyes. He sidled up to Lottie and crouched. "Your onion," he said, handing her the pieces.

She thanked him, and after taking it from his hand, she dropped it on the edge of the blanket. She then drizzled some of her garlic oil on it and wrapped the mess into a small bundle. "Here," she said, handing it to Nyah. "Keep it on his chest. Skin contact." Lottie coughed.

"Will it work?"

"I don't know, Nyah. Keep trying to nurse him, and we'll keep you"—Lottie had to stop for a fresh round of coughing—"you supplied with chopped onion."

"Okay," Nyah replied, and Casey's heart broke at her tone. It was clear she'd given up.

_Damn it!_ He felt so helpless. Nothing but the grace of herbal medicine and mother's love kept that little boy alive and ever-absent God, and everyone else knew how that would work in the long run.

"If Hunter dies—" Nyah began.

"—He'll get better," Lottie said, cutting her off.

Nyah shook her head and tried again, "If Hunter dies, do you think Grey, Dexy, Cody, or Max will make it?" Casey wondered if she had intended to leave out Olivia and Sophia? They were sick also.

A shiver of dread tickled down Casey's back, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. Sophia and Olivia were younger than Hunter _and_ premature. A sharp pain twisted in his chest, and his breath heaved in and out, making him cough anew.

Sophia and Olivia! Those lovable little girls! Losing any of the children was unthinkable, and he forced his thoughts to something—anything—else, like spring, yeah, spring, with its buds on the trees, and flowers, and grass.

He couldn't fool his heart. The settlement's numbers would be decreased come spring, and the thought made him feel sick.

"Hunter will make it," Lottie asserted. "I won't accept anything else."

Nyah sniffled. "Okay."

There wasn't anything else to say, and they fell into an uneasy silence. After a bit, Casey had no idea how long it had been, Greysen came over and climbed into his lap. "'Gree, daddy."

"Can you go feed him?" Lottie asked. "We're fine in here."

He nodded and shifted Greysen in his arms so he could stand. Finding his feet, he swayed for a moment as his blood pressure equalized. Once steady, he left the tent and was surprised to see night had fallen.

Before he went too far, Lottie called after him, "Can you bring back a fresh onion?"

"Yes," he responded and headed toward the fire where Brad, Jules, King, and Attila sat.

"How are they doing?" Jules asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Casey set Greysen down. "Stay there, kiddo," he ordered, then looked into the pot by the fire where a thick gruel like mixture bubbled. "Stew?" he asked Jules and Brad.

Brad nodded, but Jules piped up with a cheery, "Yep." Continuing, Jules said, "I sent Grace to bed. She's in Jaesen's tent. Brad"—Jules pointed to him—"and I decided to take the next patrol shift. I couldn't go on an empty stomach, and I thought others might be hungry too." Jules shrugged. "Ain't much, but it's filling."

Casey picked up a mug from where they kept them by the fire and scooped some stew out of the pot. He then handed it and a spoon to Greysen before turning back to get his serving. "Hunter's pretty sick," he said, answering Jules earlier question. "I don't know if he'll make it."

"'Oo, daddy?"

Directing his attention to Greysen, Casey answered, "Hunter, auntie Nyah's baby, is very sick."

As Greysen nodded, he dipped his spoon back into his mug. "Bye. Bye. 'Untr."

Casey's heart skipped a beat. Greysen's words felt like an omen. A silly concept, considering Greysen was two and had no way of knowing such a thing. "Hunter isn't going anywhere, kiddo. He'll get better. Mommy's helping him."

Greysen chased his spoon with his mouth, dropping stew on his lap and smearing juice on his cheek. "'Untr, bye, bye."

"Casey?" Lottie called, her tone held a tinge of alarm, and Casey felt his palms begin to sweat. Was this it? Was Greysen right? He lurched to his feet and thrust his mug toward Brad, who took it from him.

"Yeah?" he asked as he limped toward the tent.

"Can you get some water boiling? I want to try to steam to ease his breathing."

Casey's shoulders drooped. False alarm.

"On it," Jules chirped from behind him.

Casey stood there, halfway between Nyah's tent and the fire, and watched Jules leave the clearing at a good clip. His stomach clenched. The food he'd eaten felt heavy in his stomach, and he pressed his hand flat against his belly.

The pressure didn't help.

He was useless. Casey couldn't save Hunter, or protect everyone from the assassins hunting them. He couldn't farm or take care of the chickens without Tristan's knowledge. Hell, he couldn't even get water from the river without taking an eternity while doing it.

_Stop it_ , he growled silently. The negativity didn't serve him here. It wouldn't save anyone, and he needed to banish it from his thoughts. He marched back toward Greysen. What he could do was take care of his son. "Need anything else, kiddo?"

"I gave him some Echinacea tea," Grace said.

For a moment, Casey wondered where she'd come up with the water to brew it, but then saw the small bucket next to the flames. Now that he thought about it, he remembered seeing it beside the fire when he'd served Greysen his dinner.

"That's the last of it, though," Grace added.

Casey rubbed a hand over his eyes. They were stuck. It was December—the longest night of the year—there wasn't any more Echinacea, and there wouldn't be for several long months.

"Okay. Thanks, Grace," he said.

It wasn't her fault the entire camp ran through the supply. He hoped no one else became sick or that they would need the medicine another time this year.

"Here's the water," Jules announced as he set the buckets down next to the fire to heat. "You think she wants them poured into the tub or as is?"

"I don't know," Casey answered and turned back toward the tent. "I'll find out." After a few steps, he drew close enough to Nyah's tent to speak without yelling. "Bean? You want the water in a tub or buckets?"

A rustle of fabric and then her head popped out of the tent flap. "Buckets are fine," she trailed off. "Actually, can you sit with them a bit? I need to use the restroom."

He nodded. Casey could sit with them.

Lottie extracted herself from the tent. "Nyah is resting, and Hunter seems to be sleeping, but..."

"But?"

She shook her head, clearly unable to continue.

Casey helped Lottie out of the tent before pulling her into a hug. He rested his chin on the top of her head. Lottie's body positively vibrated with tension. The life in her womb, twisted and bumped, reacting to her stress and making itself felt even through her coat. Casey needed her to calm down and take care of herself.

"Grab some food on your way back. I got this."

Lottie nodded and left him there.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed aside the tent flap and let himself in as quietly as he could. His gaze sought Hunter. The infant's already pale skin looked ashen in the dim, diffused moonlight of the tent. Casey sat on Grace's bedding and watched as the infant's chest rose and fell.

Casey's shoulders slowly uncurled. If Hunter breathed...

Nyah rose on her elbow and slowly brushed her fingers down Hunter's forehead and cheek. Casey's breath lodged in his throat. It looked as if she were saying goodbye. He couldn't imagine how hard this had to be. He'd lived through the loss of a son—little Grant—but it hadn't been the same.

For one, Lottie hadn't carried him to term. Casey hadn't held Grant in his arms. Hadn't learned to love him. Grant had been a concept, an idea, something Casey wanted but couldn't quantify.

But Hunter? Hunter was _someone_. Someone Nyah had loved for six weeks. Someone she had worried about and cared for and kept her body healthy for, through escape and settlement. He was someone who replaced the others she had lost to the communals.

And here she was, about to lose Hunter.

It fucking sucked.

A solidary tear beaded on his lashes and fell down his cheek. He'd do anything to ease her burden.

He looked away. Casey told himself it was to give Nyah some privacy, but in truth, he couldn't watch her pain, but her sniffling brought his attention back to her. Tears poured down her cheeks and dropped like rain around Hunter. Casey watched as they fell. It took a moment, but then he realized what they meant, and he searched for a contradiction to his conclusion.

He didn't find it.

Hunter's chest no longer rose or fell.

Hunter was dead.

# Chapter 17

The air felt thick as if a thunderstorm was coming, making it hard for Lottie to breathe, yet it was winter, and—she checked the night sky—completely free of clouds. She supposed the difficulty for her to pull a solid breath could be from her cold, but she knew the truth. Lottie couldn't breathe knowing how powerless she was to save Hunter. Pain in her chest had her rubbing her palm over her heart as Lottie came back from the bathroom.

Losing Grant had been devastating, but he'd been inside her. Not yet a person. Hunter? Well, he'd been a living, breathing baby. No one cared that his donor had been the dominating asshole Sergeant Major of Power Generation and Distribution Zan Ito—otherwise known as Sergeant Major Asshole to the women at Gates. Hunter had been his own, unique little person and Lottie didn't know a single man or woman here who didn't love him, least of all Nyah.

_Nyah_. How she must be hurting. Nyah lost Robert to the communals, and now, when she finally gets to keep one of her babies, he's taken from her too. It wasn't fair. Forcing her feet forward, Lottie continued toward the central fire. She needed that hot water and some food.

"Hey, Chica," Jules greeted her, and Brad nodded. "Need some grub?"

"Mommy! Daddy?"

"He's with Nyah, honey," Lottie addressed Grey then Jules. "Yes."

Smiling sympathetically, Jules served her some soup in a mug. "You think this steam will help?" Lottie's shoulders drooped, and she shook her head. Jules's smile faded, and his expression turned sorrowful. "Shame," he whispered.

"Yeah."

"Should I prep the yard?"

What an upsetting thought. Lottie had hoped to avoid the graveyard for several more years. With tears in her eyes and a tingling, scratchy, throat, she nodded. Doing it now was best. No telling when the ground would freeze solid, preventing them from digging anymore. As it were, Jules would have a monumental task ahead of him.

"Okay," he murmured, his hand resting on her shoulder. "Brad and I'll take care of it." Jules turned to Brad. "You'll help, right?" Brad nodded in response, and Lottie tried to smile.

She glanced at the tent where Nyah, Hunter, and Casey were waiting. The thought of going into that den of sadness sent a shudder down her spine. Was it horrible of her to want to stay out here next to the fire with Grey, Brad, and Jules? She supposed it was.

After swallowing the last of her stew, she handed the mug to Jules and straightened her spine. _Best to get on with it._ She grabbed the two hot buckets and headed toward the tent. As she neared, the hairs on her arms stood on end. Lottie rechecked the sky, expecting a lightning strike at any moment.

Still no clouds.

Lottie took a deep breath, and as she exhaled, that was when she heard the soft crying. Dropping the buckets, she launched herself inside, where she found Casey with tears streaming from his eyes, giving mouth to mouth to Hunter. Nyah's arms were wrapped around her torso as she rocked back and forth. Her gaze was blank. Lottie doubted Nayh saw anything as she sobbed. Her breath hitched in and out in frantic puffs.

Lottie dove for her, wrapping Nyah in her arms. They rocked together as Lottie tried to share Nyah's pain. She hoped with every cell of her body, Casey would be successful in resuscitating Hunter, but she knew it was futile. It would take a hospital to save him.

After minutes which passed slower than ten years, Casey looked up. His chest heaved, and he shook his head.

"No!" Nyah screamed.

Outside Nyah's tent, the entire camp erupted in noise. Babies began wailing, which made their coughing worse. By the sound of many zippers rasping, it didn't take any kind of effort to imagine the adults hustling from their tents to investigate.

"No," Nyah sobbed again, her voice broken and lifeless. "No." And then she spoke no more.

Lottie held her tight, pulling Nyah's head to the crook of her neck, and as her friend cried, Lottie's heart cracked in two.

***

Dawn brightened the tent walls to a murky grey as Lottie and Nyah sat in silence around the shrouded body of Nyah's son. Lottie's gaze kept skittering past the small, forlorn bundle resting in front of them. Neither woman had the heart or bravery to touch the lifeless body.

"I guess yesterday was fitting," Nyah whispered.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Lottie asked, "Why?"

"Matched my mood."

Lottie didn't see the connection.

"We were going to have a party yesterday. Good food. Good company. Toasting the new year."

Ah. Solstice day.

Lottie wiped the fresh tears from under her eyes. What would Nyah do now?

Nyah snorted and looked to the tent flap. "Guess it's good. I didn't want Ito's brat anyway."

"Nyah," Lottie chided. Anyone who looked at Nyah would know her words were a lie.

Nyah heaved a great sigh. "I... I can't stay here right now..." she trailed off. "I'm going to go."

"Go where?"

Getting to her knees, Nyah said, "I don't know. Not here. Not with _that_."

Lottie grabbed Nyah's forearm. "Nyah?"

Shaking free, Nyah grabbed her coat and a blanket and left her tent without a backward glance. Lottie stared after her. Should she follow? As the seconds mounted, Lottie decided to let Nyah be. She probably needed to grieve alone.

Returning her gaze to the bundle, Lottie wondered if she should take the body or leave it? She did _not_ want to have to make that decision, but no one else was here to make it for her.

Lottie couldn't move. Inaction felt like action, and she took solace in it. After an unknowable amount of time, the rasp of a zipper woke Lottie from her lethargy.

"We have a problem," Jules said.

What now? Couldn't Casey handle it?

"Sometime last night, Olivia passed."

Lottie's breath hiccupped in her chest, and she rubbed her face feeling fresh tears. She covered her eyes.

"Do you know what happened?" she asked, her voice muffled behind her palms.

"No," Jules replied, but his tone indicated there was more.

"What?"

"Sophia looks to be dying."

"Fuck," Lottie whispered the word she rarely uttered.

"Yeah."

"Anyone else?"

"I don't know."

Ever-absent, God, he sounded tired. Lottie dropped her hands from her eyes. Jules crouched next to her. His arms hovered close as if he wished to offer comfort but didn't know if it would be accepted. Hell, maybe he just needed a hug of his own but couldn't quite bring himself to ask. Lottie wrapped her arms around his chest and rested her cheek against him.

"Do you think we'll lose anymore," he whispered into her hair.

"I hope not," she replied. _I hope not._

***

Casey stood in the clearing of his camp and prayed to a God few believed in anymore.

It didn't help. The camp didn't get more medicine, herbal or manufactured, and his people stayed sick.

What wouldn't he give to help the babies? He'd gladly suffer his injury over and over again if it meant saving the life of even one of the dead infants.

He cursed.

There was nothing— _Nothing!_ —he could do, and no matter how much he prayed, the ever-absent God never answered.

***

"We're gathered here today," Jaesen began, only to pause a moment later to cough. "To honor the lives of little Sophia, Oliva, and Hunter—"

Lottie gripped Nyah's cold, lifeless fingers in her own. Lottie's thumb gently rubbed little circles on her friend's hand, though, Lottie feared, Nyah didn't feel it. Lottie wasn't sure Nyah felt anything anymore.

Glancing at Nyah from the corner of her eye, Lottie watched her friend struggle silently. Nyah's stoicism set everyone at the graveyard on edge. No one, least of all Lottie, knew quite what Nyah would do when she did break from her depression. Lottie's gaze shifted from Nyah's lifeless expression to once again took in the three small cairns next to her son Grant's grave. Lottie wiped a tear from her cheek.

"—Though they did not live long, they were loved by all—"

Rather than focusing on Jaesen's eulogy as she should, Lottie let her gaze seek out Casey and Grey instead. By prior agreement, they stood across from her, and when Casey felt her eyes on him, he looked up and gave her a sympathetic smile, making her thoughts returned to the night Hunter died and how hard he'd worked to save the baby boy. He projected a strong front, but Lottie knew how much he ached inside.

Her gaze returned to Nyah. Why had Lottie been so lucky and not Nyah? Not that she wanted Grey to die—she didn't—but why had she been spared? Or Zoe, or Ally, for that matter? What had been the key?

Lottie dropped her gaze to the ground and took a deep, shuddery breath. Every time she thought of Hunter dying, she also remembered how mere hours later, Grey's fever broke, and his cough eased. Death had spared Grey but took Hunter

It was so unfair.

"Nyah?" Lottie whispered, hoping for a reaction, any reaction.

No response.

"We're here for you, you know," she added. "You're not alone."

Again, no response.

Lottie gave up for the time being and returned her attention to Jaesen as he said, "Does anyone else want to say a few words?"

No one spoke up.

Jaesen gave the group a curt nod and turned toward the settlement. Today was the third day of his illness, and he was probably tired. Lottie assumed he would head straight back to his tent for some well-deserved rest.

"Nyah?" Lottie tried again.

"I'll stay here," Nyah whispered.

Lottie and Zoe shared a look. Did they trust her alone?

_No weapons_ , Zoe mouthed.

Lottie gave Zoe a curt nod. It wouldn't keep Nyah from killing herself should she be contemplating something so drastic, but it would make it harder for her.

Nyah shifted and moved to sit next to the three small graves. Lottie made a mental note to ask Jules and Brad which grave had which child. She'd need to mark them somehow so that no one would forget.

Lottie squatted next to Nyah and put her hand on her friend's shoulder. "If you need me... for anything. You come and get me, okay?"

"I'm fine," Nyah replied in a clipped yet dead tone.

Sharing another look with Zoe, Lottie knew the lie behind Nyah's words, but what could she do?

Dropping her hand from Nyah, Lottie took Zoe's offer of help and pulled her bulk upward. As Lottie finished standing, Casey and Grey reached her. Casey twined his fingers with hers and kissed the back of Lottie's hand.

"I'll have someone watch her," Casey whispered.

Lottie nodded, and when he tugged her arm, she reluctantly left Nyah to her grief.

***

Snow landed on the ground around Lottie in thick splats. The speed in which the flakes collected concerned her, but there was no way she'd leave Nyah alone on a night like this. The last thing Lottie needed was for Nyah to 'lose her way' and never come back to camp. It was no secret that Nyah struggled with being childless, and everyone hoped she'd be able to heal from her monumental loss.

Uncomfortable in the cold, Lottie shifted her weight and wrapped her arms tighter around her middle as she shivered and wished her friend would leave Hunter's little gravesite for the warmth of the central fire. But Nyah never moved.

The minutes passed, accumulating nearly as fast as the snow at Lottie's feet until a soft baby's cough alerted Lottie to someone coming up the path. She turned to greet the newcomer with a finger to her lips, requesting silence. Zoe nodded and tucked Dexy closer to her chest, and returned Lottie's smile with a troubled one of her own.

"She move?" Zoe whispered.

"No," Lottie replied and rubbed her ear as she turned back to watch Nyah. "She hasn't moved. Not once."

"I'm worried."

"Me too," Lottie agreed and stuffed her hands in her pockets. She didn't know how to fix this. Anytime she went near Nyah, Lottie cringed. Nyah's empty stare froze Lottie to the core, and it was infinitely worse knowing Greysen lived when Hunter hadn't.

"It's been a week," Zoe continued, softly. "If she doesn't eat soon, she'll—"

"—I know," Lottie said, cutting Zoe off.

The thought of losing Nyah shot pain through Lottie's chest, leaving her skin tingling in its wake. She moved her hands back to her armpits in an attempt to keep from scratching at her itchy forearms.

"But if she doesn't want to leave... I can't force her," Lottie murmured.

"I know."

Both women fell silent as they waited, watching, yet Nyah didn't move, not even to brush the snow off her shoulders.

Eventually, Zoe asked, "What can we do?"

"I don't know."

The two women resumed their vigil over Nyah's snow-covered form. After several long moments of silence, Zoe revealed the direction of her thoughts. "Maybe we really should do that Solstice party after all. You know. The one she requested back in November?"

Lottie cleared her throat and dropped her hands to her belly and rubbed it. "You think that's wise? A party?"

"Sure," Zoe replied.

"Well, it seems a bit..." Lottie glanced at Zoe. "Inappropriate..." Lottie refocused on Nyah. "Considering..."

"Maybe," Zoe ceded. "But we have to do something, and I know a party is something Nyah would usually enjoy."

"But now?" Lottie inquired.

A party seemed counterproductive to the healing process.

Shoving her hands into her pockets, Lottie stared at Nyah's huddled form. Nyah's shoulders shook. Lottie presumed it was because Nyah cried, and it broke Lottie's heart to see it.

"Yep. Back at Gates, she'd be the one with all the great ideas. There was one party where she organized a scavenger hunt." After a minor pause, Zoe added, "She was the prize at the end."

"Of course she was," Lottie interjected with a wry smile.

Zoe continued as if Lottie hadn't spoken. "I forget that donor's name. I didn't like him much."

"But that doesn't matter to Nyah," Lottie said at the same time as Zoe added, "But that didn't matter to Nyah."

"Jinx," they both said and shared an amused look before returning their gazes to Nyah's back.

Expanding on Zoe's earlier point, Lottie asked, "Maybe we can invite Mason back for a visit. Be our donor? You think that would help?"

"Possibly. She does like him," Zoe answered, shifting Dexy in her arms. "But I don't think Wolf will go for it. Not so soon at least. Especially since we're about to hit the worst of winter and traveling any distance is a bad idea."

"Yeah," Lottie agreed. "Except he worked out a deal with Casey for supplying us with food. And Tristan was supposed to go with them to help build their greenhouse." Lottie took a deep breath. "Maybe Tristan can go? You know? Under the pretense of checking on their progress? And while he's there, maybe he can convince Wolf to let Mason come back for a bit."

"You thinking Mason could be the one to deliver the goods this time?" Zoe asked, and Lottie wagged her eyebrows. Zoe rolled her eyes with a sigh. "In that case, it might work," Zoe replied. "But only if they have actual supplies to deliver. I doubt Wolf will let him go for the heck of it."

"It's worth a try..."

Zoe nodded. "It is."

They both let the conversation lapse.

After several minutes, Zoe spoke. "Why don't you head back? I'll keep watch for a bit."

Lottie shifted her weight on her heels, not pleased with the idea. "What about Dexy?"

"What about her?"

"What if she gets too cold?" Lottie couldn't help but ask. She'd never forgive herself if they lost another infant to something as easy to remedy as a chill.

"She won't," Zoe affirmed. "She's snug as a bug in a rug right here in my arms, but if she gets too cold, I'll be sure to whistle for help."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Zoe replied. "No reason for both us to freeze out here, and you've done the watch more than the rest of us."

Lottie glanced at her, then down to Dexy and back to Nyah. What Zoe said was right, but that's what friends did for one another.

"Okay," Lottie finally agreed.

"Have Grace come out here in about an hour to spell me, 'kay?"

"Yeah," Lottie said and rubbed her cold nose. "I'll do that."

Zoe nodded and shifted Dexy in her arms. "Go. We'll be all right. Promise."

After another agonizing moment of not wanting to leave Nyah, Lottie patted Zoe on the shoulder and left her to the watch duty.

As Lottie trudged through the snow, her thoughts centered on the Solstice party. What could they do? There was plenty of food, thanks to Wolf and that farm she found, but not a lot of 'festive' supplies. She smiled wryly, remembering Leo's party. _No marshmallow roasting bonfire party this time_ , she thought.

Entering the clearing, she veered east toward Jaesen's tent, where she knew she'd find Grace. Scratching at the flap, Lottie waited for an acknowledgment.

"Yes?" her mother's grumpy voice responded.

"If, in an hour, Nyah isn't back, can you take over the watch duty for Zoe?" Lottie asked.

A huff then a snort sounded from inside. "Yes," Grace eventually replied.

"Thank you."

Another grunt greeted her, and Lottie chose to take the noise as a form of agreement-with-dismissal.

With Lottie's task complete, she left her mother and Jaesen's tent for her own. Lottie managed to knock snow into her boots as she stepped from the relatively well-trod clearing to the snow-covered path leading to her home. The ice crystals quickly melted, making her socks a soggy mess, and Lottie cursed. She didn't have another dry pair.

As she stomped her way to her tent, her mood plummeted. The only thing keeping her from being an irritable mess was knowing Casey and Grey were in the shelter waiting for her. They would give her a hug, a kiss, warming her body and her soul.

At her tent door, she simultaneously kicked the snow off her boots and unzipped the tent. Pivoting on her heels, she eased her backside down so she could ditch her shoes at the door. When she turned, she was surprised to find only Grey in the tent, huddled under a blanket, snoring.

Where had Casey gone?

Shedding her socks and coat, Lottie grabbed a free blanket from the stack on Casey's footlocker and wrapped it around her legs, taking extra care to cover her feet. She sat there by the door for several moments, watching her socks dry until her shivering lessened, and her toes felt less stiff.

Feeling nostalgic, Lottie shuffled over to her bag—the one Lottie had since before Casey found her—and unzipped the side pouch. She pulled out two pieces of paper and, after a quick inspection, fluffed them back into their original forms.

In one palm, a graceful origami swan had its wings spread as if it were landing or resituating itself on water. In Lottie's other hand, she held a second swan. This one had its wings folded back as if it were already gliding along placidly.

They were beautiful works of art.

Lottie remembered the night at Gates when the women had celebrated with a private Solstice party, and Maggie had handed Lottie her present. Even before Lottie had opened it, the other women had gasped collectively. Receiving a gift from Maggie was a coveted deal, and Lottie couldn't believe she'd been that lucky to have been paired with Maggie. Opening the present, Lottie had found the two gorgeous origami sculptures.

"What do you have there?" Casey asked in a loud whisper from right behind her.

Lottie jumped. She hadn't heard him come in. Turning, she handed the figurines to him. "Origami swans."

His eyes widened. "You make these?"

She shook her head with a smile. "No. Maggie did."

"Astounding." Casey glanced at her before returning to his inspection of the paper figurines. "What does it say?" he asked, leaning in.

"I never dreamed of such happiness as this," Lottie said. "I don't know what book the page came from, but knowing Maggie, it is a social commentary of some sort."

"She was good."

Lottie nodded. "The best. When Grace had her miscarriage, Maggie helped me make her a 'get well' bouquet."

Oh, how Lottie missed Maggie and wished the easy-going woman were here. Maggie would know what to do to get Nyah back.

Casey's arms wrapped around Lottie, urging her into his lap. He must have heard the tears in her voice. "I'm sorry she's gone," he said as his hand rubbed her belly. The baby kicked at him.

Lottie nodded and sniffled. "She would have known how to help. At Gates, she was the one that held us together whenever we broke apart." Lottie shuddered. _Gates._ She didn't want to think about the facility and the enforced isolation, the constant fertility treatments, or the surgeons' repeated attempts to entice her toward sex. Casey, for his part, didn't press her for details.

Eventually, she relaxed and brought up Zoe's idea.

"So, Zoe _still_ wants to do one of those parties like you had at Gates?" Casey confirmed.

"Yes."

"You think it's a good idea?"

Lottie shook her head and shifted in Casey's arms. He let her go as she moved away to sit on her heels.

"No," Lottie replied, "but we have to try something, or we're going to lose her, and this idea seems as good as any."

After a long pause, he asked, "When are you planning on doing it?"

She shrugged. "A week from now?"

"Tight." After another extended moment of thought, Casey asked, "What can I do to help?"

Tension in Lottie's shoulders uncoiled. Even after everything he'd done already, Casey was willing to help her.

"Not sure," she replied and scratched her ear as Casey resituated the blanket over her shoulders. "We'd need to make the clearing feel festive for one. We'll need food, too." She shrugged. "I'm not a good party planner, so I'll have to ask the ladies what else we need."

He nodded. "Let me ask around. Find out what the other communals did for their Solstice parties."

"Okay. At Gates, the women exchanged gifts, and I know Ally, Zoe, and Nyah had planned on doing that too."

Casey grunted and scratched his chin. "A bit too short of notice, but I'll see what the team can do."

"That's okay," Lottie said and patted his thigh. "You don't have to do anything besides, eat and be merry."

"Does this mean I can keep the humping turtles plate for myself, then?"

She chuckled, remembering the item from the house. "Yeah. Yeah, you can."

"Excellent!"

Lottie snickered. Shaking her head, she glanced at her lap and picked at a wool-burr she found. "What was it anyway? Did you ever go look?"

"The plate?"

"Yeah."

Casey chuckled. "Mushrooms. They were mushrooms."

"Mushrooms?"

"Yeah."

After a beat, Casey returned their conversation to the topic of the party. "So, if we're doing a gift exchange, how should it be run? What did you do at Gates?"

"We pulled names out of a hat."

He was quiet for a few minutes. "We could do that—if it doesn't matter to you who gets who." Lottie quirked an eyebrow as Casey's neck and ears turned red. "What if I had to give a gift to Zoe or Nyah?"

"You'd give them a gift." She shrugged nonplused. "But, you could as easily get Brad or Jules." Lottie glanced past him to Grey.

"Oh. I thought it would be male/female split."

She caught his gaze. "Maybe. As long as the names come from a hat." When he didn't say anything, she added, pointing to him and then herself. "We have each other. Zoe has Tristan. Grace has Jaesen. But Katie, Ally, and Nyah have no one."

Casey made a noise at the back of his throat. It wasn't quite a grunt, and it didn't sound like a hmm either. He said, "All right. I'll talk to the men and see what they say."

"Okay," Lottie said and kissed him on the cheek.

***

Dawn of the Solstice party found Lottie hard at work at the cobb oven as she tried to bake her latest batch of bread.

"How's it going?" Casey asked, pulling her into his arms. He buried his chin into the crook of her neck to drop kisses there.

"Fine," Lottie gasped between giggles and mock protests.

"Good," he murmured against her skin, making her squirm with delight and budding desire. Lottie twisted in his arms, her lips founding his.

"Need anything?" Casey asked as he pulled away.

She shook her head and rubbed his stubbled chin.

"Okay. Well, if you need Tristan or me, we'll be at the coop checking on the birds and collecting eggs."

"Okay," she replied with a final kiss.

He rubbed her nose with his as his arms fell away. "See you soon?"

She nodded.

Lottie knew that no matter what excuse he may have used, Casey and Tristan were off to put the finishing touches on their gifts for Nyah and not to check on the chickens.

Her heart rattled in her chest. She couldn't wait to see their contribution.

Bending to her task, Lottie shifted the coals in the oven, making room for her latest attempt at leavened bread. It had taken weeks to grow the starter, but it finally smelled right this time, and she hoped it yielded a tasty, yeast, sourdough instead of the inedible bricks from her last attempt or the rotten starter the time before that.

Leaning back, she pressed her hands into her spine and rubbed. Her back ached something fierce this morning, and her belly gave her regular spasms. They didn't feel painful—only tight—so she hadn't said anything to Casey about them. Besides, by her reckoning, she had close to three months to go before Casey Junior was born, so she doubted what she felt was anything of consequence.

"Damn, that smells good, Huxley girl."

Lottie squeaked and whirled around, and pressed her hand to her chest. "Javier! When you get here?"

He gave her a secretive smile. "It warms my soul," Javier added, using his hands to wave the scent of cooking bread to his nose. "You know, every good man needs to have his soul warmed," he added, giving her a pointed look. "Problem is his ass gets cold while—"

"Javier," Lottie said with a groan, anticipating Javier's next statement.

"What?" Javier asked in his most innocent tone. "Just ask Case. I'm sure his ass gets cold when you warm his soul."

"Javier!" Lottie cried in dismay. She really ought to be used to his crass statements, but much like Nyah's coarse language, Javier never failed to get a rise out of her.

Dropping all coy pretenses, Javier said, "Where's Case? I need to talk to him."

Lottie swallowed hard. Something must have happened at Fort Sutton, or he wouldn't have left his post. "He's with Tristan at the coop."

Javier nodded, his expression turning thoughtful, then he frowned. "Why is it so quiet?"

"What do you mean?"

"Something's wrong," he said, glancing over his shoulder to the settlement. "Too quiet." His gaze refocused on her and turned sharp. "What happened while I was gone?"

"We were all sick. A few babies died from illness complications, but we're starting to recover now."

Sadness crept into Javier's expression. "Which ones?"

"Hunter, Olivia, and Sophia."

"Damn... But that makes some of this easier."

Lottie's brows shot toward her hairline. "Easier?" When did losing children ever become easier?!

Javier nodded and patted her shoulder. "I'll explain after I tell Case."

"Uh," Lottie said.

"Be back in a few, Huxley girl.," he said and then in a flash was gone, leaving Lottie confused and a bit apprehensive.

What did he know?

***

"Hold these," Tristan said, handing Casey the cord ends.

Casey looped the edges around his fingers, pulling them taut.

"Brad?" Tristan prompted, and Brad went to work.

"Nice," Tristan murmured as the pieces slid together smoothly. "Weave them here," Tristan ordered, and Casey obliged as Brad worked his way closer. Once done, Casey secured the ends and sat back.

"Good work." Tristan grinned and grabbed the next piece of wood. "You finish your part yet?"

Knowing the question was for him since Brad finished his, Casey replied, "Yeah," and pat his pocket, making the pieces inside rattle. "Finished this morning."

"She's going to love it."

Casey hoped so. The checker board's construction had required both Tristan and Brad's woodworking expertise to complete. Each square painstakingly carved so that each mortise and tenon joint fit perfectly, and Tristan had devoted his considerable creativity to the 'no glue' problem and its subsequent solution. The cord woven into the blocks and used to hold the pieces together was Tristan's idea. One that Brad had fully embraced. He'd provided the delicate groves needed for the cable to lay flush, thus preserving the aesthetics of the design.

"You figured out your skit yet?" Tristan asked Brad, his cheeks puffing with effort as Tristan tied off the line.

Brad nodded and aligned another square's tenon up to its corresponding mortise hole. "Though I'd do a few jokes from Jules Dexter's 2191's All Lives of Tomorrow routine and a couple from Marquardt's philosophy handbook." Brad finished that row and handed it to Tristan before picking up a woven cord. "Then maybe a little President Weaver and Sonnen."

Casey smiled, eager to hear Brad's routine. Brad's impressions were sure to be a hit.

"I'll round it out with a few lines from Henri and Dewayne Goldschmidt."

"Nice," Tristan replied, taking the latest cord from Brad. "I heard a recordin' of theirs once. Funny shit."

Casey stilled.

Tristan's banter with Brad disappeared as he concentrated.

The air felt different. Thick. A prickle on Casey's skin, similar to when he felt overstimulated by Lottie's touch, started at the back of his neck and crawled down his spine. The skin on his arms twitched. He inched his hand down his thigh for his cane, lying on the ground beside him. He was reassured when he felt the cold wood under his fingertips. Casey palmed it, waiting. Someone was coming—slinking along the back wall of the coop opposite them—and Casey needed them closer.

In a fast jerk, he lifted the cane from its resting place and swung it behind him in an arch. He hit something substantial. The sturdy rod drove the firm resistance back until it smacked against the coop with an audible whoosh of exhaled air. Tristan and Brad jumped to their feet, but due to Casey's awkward angle, he opted to stay where he was so he could maintain constant pressure on the interloper behind him.

"Let... go... Case..." the trapped entity wheezed.

"Javier?!" Brad and Tristan both exclaimed.

At Tristan's identification and Casey's recognition of the voice behind him, he eased off on the cane keeping his prisoner pinned.

"Fuck!" Javier panted, pushing Casey's cane away. "That hurts."

Casey stood and moved in front of Tristan. He leaned heavily on his cane as the blood rushed back to his ankle, bringing sharp pains that threatened to overwhelm him with their intensity, and he struggled to hide the reaction from his men.

"What are you doing here?" Casey barked.

In hindsight, the fact the chickens were calm should have told Casey all he needed to know about who stalked them.

"No, hello?" Javier said through heavy breaths. "A kiss? A wank? Damn," Javier whispered and rubbed his chest. "You're wicked with that thing."

"Be glad I didn't have a knife handy," Casey said. He would not apologize for protecting himself or the men with him, and Javier'd been with him long enough to know not to test him. "I didn't expect you," he said, his tone hard. "Now, why are you here?"

"Shit, man. Let me catch my breath."

Casey inclined his head, bestowing permission for Javier to have the time he requested.

Javier leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. After a few loud puffs, Javier eased out of his protective crouch and stood straight. "Adan's AWOL. I have reason to believe he's coming here for Katie."

"Shit," Tristan rumbled.

"Who's Adan?" Brad asked.

"Former soldier of mine," Casey answered, then demanded, "When did he leave? How much time do we have?"

"Two days ago," Javier answered. "But, it gets worse."

"Ethan and Teo as well?" Casey asked.

"No. Worse," Javier replied, shaking his head.

Casey swore. "How?"

"Cummins is getting a second squad. They are due for deployment in April."

"Jesus," Tristan whispered. "Why?"

"I see," Casey said, but inside he was fuming at the ever-absent God. A second squad? In April? What the hell? It couldn't be because of him or the women at his camp.

"Lincoln, Wu, and Brandon have all put in for transfers. I think Paul's going to come here—but I'm not positive on that—not yet anyway," Javier continued.

"They all put in for transfers?" Casey asked, but mostly to himself.

Leaning in, Tristan murmured, "I think we should look for a new location for camp."

_Maybe_ , Casey thought, but they'd put too much effort into this location to give up on it, and he'd hate to start over somewhere else.

Of course, their safety was more important, and Casey _would_ up and move everyone in the middle of winter if the threat grew severe enough, but baring near catastrophe, they needed to stay. As it was, prepping a new site for their numbers would take a whole summer, and they were planning on increasing their population by seven before spring was out.

No, their best course of action was to stay here and look for a new home in spring. If they found something suitable, they would take the required time to make it livable before moving in.

"I think it depends on what the second squad's purpose will be," Casey answered Tristan. Addressing Javier, he asked, "How confident are you that you could discover the reason behind Cummins' new men?"

"One-hundred percent," Javier replied without hesitation.

Casey gave a curt nod. "Good. Then after you rest, head back and learn what you can." Javier saluted Casey. "You said Adan was on his way. Proof?"

"None," Javier replied but gave Casey a pointed look. "He was headed south when I left."

_So even if he doubled back._ They had at least a day.

"That's the opposite direction. Why do you think he's coming here," Tristan asked.

"Katie," Javier replied. He pulled a Noah for the rest of his answer, and Casey knew it was up to him to fill his men in.

Casey elaborated, "Adan confronted me at Fort Sutton when I retrieved my journals—"

"—Mother—" Tristan interjected.

"—He read them. He knows where we are, and he knew Katie was pregnant when we returned her to Fort St. Louis. He threatened to come and meet his son."

"He doesn't have one," Tristan growled, referring to the fact Katie had daughters and that they were now deceased.

"Exactly. And if we see him, we'll tell him as much." Casey paused a moment, thinking of how the new information affected him and his camp. He was seriously tired of always being on a heightened alert. When would they catch a break?

A tight nod to his group indicated a conclusion to his thoughts, and Casey barked a few orders.

Continuing, Casey said, "It's a good thing we're all healthy again. We need to increase our watches." Turning to Tristan, Casey said, "You'll be in charge of babysitting the alerts. Brad?" Casey said, changing focus, "You'll have to redouble your efforts on the archery equipment. I want all the men and any of the women fully outfitted with bows and arrows. We'll all be pressed into duty until we know Adan is no longer a threat."

"Got it," Brand replied.

"Javier?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Javier inclined his head once in acknowledgment of Casey's remark. "You could always thank me by dropping your drawers or your knees."

Casey pressed his lips tight together to keep from retorting, and Javier snickered. At least this told Casey there was no more bad news to impart.

"What are you working on?" Javier asked, changing the subject. "Why is the camp decorated with broken pine branches—"

"—Wreaths," Brad corrected. "They are wreaths."

Javier waved his hand in dismissal. "—Wreaths?"

"We're going to proceed with the Solstice party for Nyah," Casey explained.

"She's not doing well after losing Hunter," Tristan added.

"What about Katie?" Javier asked.

Casey frowned.

_Katie._

That woman had a disturbing lack of emotion in regards to her twin girls' death. He knew their conception was under deplorable conditions, but Casey would have expected her to be more—upset. "She's grieving in her own way."

"Ah," Javier replied, clearly drawing his own conclusions. "She didn't want them, so I'm not surprised."

Unfortunately, Casey was. He hadn't expected the girl to be so cavalier toward her loss. He expected some form of distress. It was curious in its absence, but then again, Katie was young, barely eighteen.

Pointing at the mess abandoned on the ground behind the men, Javier asked, "Lottie's?"

"No," Casey answered.

"Grey's?"

"No," Casey answered again.

"Who's?"

"Nyah's," Casey replied.

"Nyah's?" Javier repeated, his eyebrows jumping.

"We're all givin' Nyah gifts this Solstice," Tristan said. "She needs it the most."

"Ah," Javier remarked and then said nothing else.

"Why don't you head back to camp. I'm sure Bean could set you up with some food. You must have been running all night to get here so quick."

Javier waved away Casey's concern. "Not that tired. I'll stay and help."

"All right, but you don't get to take any credit," Tristan readily agreed, earning a snort of amusement from Casey and Brad.

"None expected," Javier replied.

***

Lottie came around the corner of the shed from the bathroom—a location she'd been visiting more and more frequently of late—to the sound of Casey's voice singing songs with his guitar as accompaniment, and she paused to take in the tableau.

Her heart thrummed with pleasure. Casey sat, bent over the instrument as he plucked out an old favorite, while Grey bounced on the balls of his feet at Casey's side, occasionally smacking Casey's thigh or the guitar with his chubby baby fingers. Off to one side, Ally and Katie stood, each holding a squirming baby in her arms. Zoe sat across from Casey and next to Nyah with her head on Tristan's shoulder. Tristan was singing and failing miserably, making several people laugh. Behind them, Jaesen had his arm around Grace, who carried Dexy and with their backs to her, Jules, Javier, and Brad rounded out the party.

She stepped closer. A prickle of warmth teased her skin when she spied Nyah's tentative smile. The woman of honor seemed to be breaking out of her melancholy shell for the party, and Lottie couldn't be happier. Casey's idea of everyone giving Nyah a gift instead of exchanging amongst themselves appeared to have worked. Nyah had been taken aback by the attention but had gracefully accepted all that the camp had given her. It wasn't a lot, but each gift had shown the personality of the giver. The only ones to forego the exchange had been Grace—she'd made baby clothes for Hunter—and Javier. Javier's lack of contribution didn't count. He hadn't known about the party.

Lottie finished advancing toward the group and took her seat next to Casey and Grey as Casey launched into an amusing reimagination of _Oh Susanna_. This song was about Susanna's less kid-friendly cousin, and after a loud 'whoop!' the men all began to sing it at the top of their lungs. Six verses later, Lottie stood and moved over to Nyah and Zoe.

"I never knew this song has so many versions," Zoe murmured loud enough to be heard of over the singing but not enough to steal the focus from the men. "Did you?"

"Never heard this one before," Lottie admitted.

A small peep coming from the depth of Nyah's pocket distracted Lottie, and she glanced down at the chick in Nyah's pocket. Lottie had given it to Nyah as a present. In fact, finding the baby chicken had been a surprise, one that not even Tristan had anticipated, and upon seeing it, Lottie had approached Casey and Tristan with her intentions. After confirming it was a hen, they had all agreed on giving it to Nyah.

Nyah slipped some ground corn into her pocket. The baby chicken squirmed in the pouch as it fished for the seed.

"Thanks," Nyah whispered and bumped her temple against Lottie's.

Lottie inhaled sharply. It wasn't Nyah's first word since her self-enforced exile, but it was the first direct contact Nyah had extended toward Lottie since the death of Hunter.

"For everything," Nyah added.

Lottie wrapped her arms around Nyah, and hugged, careful not to injure the chicken in Nyah's pocket.

"Anything," Lottie whispered, and Zoe reached across them to grip Nyah's hand. The three sat quietly, absorbed in each other, and the laughter of the men around them. Even with all the death, Lottie couldn't remember a time when she had been happier. Maybe with her friend Wendy, but that had been years ago, and she barely remembered those good times.

At last, the bastardized version of _Oh Susanna_ drew to a close, and Brad took up the reins of entertainment. His addition, a clear continuation of his earlier gift, and several punchlines later, Casey once again brought the men to a song.

"You doing okay?" Lottie asked Nyah while the others sang.

"As good as I'll get tonight, I'm sure."

Lottie gave her another hug. "Anything else I can do?"

Nyah shook her head. "I think you all did enough."

A chick, a checkerboard, a chore coupon, plus all the other gifts Nyah'd received, didn't constitute 'enough', not in Lottie's eyes, but she understood what Nyah meant.

Lottie glanced across the fire and beyond to the decorations Brad had helped create and to the pseudo table laden with exploded apples, collard greens, parched corn, and smoked pig. It wasn't a bad showing and would have made the other women at Gates proud to see what her camp had come up with for their 'donor' party even if her camp's donor was a woman and not a man.

"What do you think the other women are doing right now," Lottie asked.

"The same," Zoe replied. "Only for men they don't like instead of a woman they love."

Nyah reclasped Zoe's hand and squeezed it between her own and Lottie's.

"Well, I'm sure Meghan took Maggie's place in keeping the peace. Judy and Jackie are probably thick together," Nyah said. It caught Lottie's attention and gave the impression Nyah meant something other than their stages of pregnancy.

Nyah continued, "Kaylee's probably kicking herself for not leaving when she could, and Gwen, Dawn, Debbie, and Ashley are probably already transitioned out of the facility for future's unknown. I don't expect they're having a lot of fun."

Lottie and Zoe shook their heads in silent agreement. Nyah's enumeration brought home their lack of plans for getting the women and their babies out of Gates.

Not meaning to, Lottie muttered her thoughts aloud, and Javier glanced her way. After a moment, he stood and walked toward her.

"Gunpoint," he said without any sort of preamble, proving he knew their conversation. "We'll knock them out, tie them up, and steal the babies."

"It won't be that easy," Lottie whispered. She didn't want to talk about it, not at the party.

"I don't see how it could be hard."

"I think you're forgetting—"

"—No, I'm not," Javier argued. "The ATR was lazy."

"Maybe before Lottie's escape," Casey spoke up, mid-verse. "But not after."

He set his guitar down at his side, told Grey to leave it alone, and then refocused on their small group. Lottie sighed. It looked like they would discuss the rescues, no matter what she wished.

"They may not be a large squad, but they have the training and now the ire of the Army to keep them vigilant. Stealing babies will be a challenge," Casey finished.

Javier made a face almost as if he hadn't thought of it that way before.

"Add to it," Lottie said, touching her belly for emphasis. "We don't know when Jackie and Judy's babies will be born. For all, we know they'll leave at two different times due to their different birthdates."

"And go in different directions," Nyah chimed in.

Javier's agitated expression morphed into a full-frown.

"And more guards per each child," Casey pressed his previously expressed point. "After the women escaped, they doubled their ATR presence. You dealt with one guard. Now you'll have at least two, probably more." Casey glanced around the group and returned to Javier. "The daughters will be priority white, and you know what that means. Besides, you're the only one who knows where Gates is. Hell, Noah doesn't even know," Casey said.

"I haven't talked to Noah about it yet, but you two will have to be on that rescue." Casey ruffled Grey's hair. "I'll be in Fort St. Louis getting the other four."

Lottie swallowed hard and grabbed Nyah's hand. She understood the wisdom of Casey leading the Fort St. Louis rescue, but she didn't like the danger it posed.

"It won't be like it was with us," Zoe said.

"It'll be a thirty-day walk with two infants," Grace pressed.

"They'll cry. They'll poop. They'll need to eat," Jaesen added.

"It will take all your skill and Noah's to keep yourselves hidden, on track, and safe from retaliation," Casey tacked on.

Javier's frown grew. "Where is Noah?"

"Last I knew; he was at his cabin training the dogs the IRT plans to use against us."

Javier nodded curtly. "I will leave in the morning. He and I have things to discuss."

"You have a task to do at Fort Sutton," Casey reminded him. He needed to know the purpose behind the additional soldiers.

"I remember," Javier replied. "I will strategize with Noah and then return to my post."

Casey nodded. There wasn't much he could do about Javier's plans. There had never been. Javier did what Javier wanted whenever Javier wanted to. It made for a good RAC but not an ARA.

"Let me know as soon as you find out," Casey said.

"Understood."

# Chapter 18

Casey set his cane on the ground and shrugged out of his jacket. Tossing it to the side, he pointed to a stylized marker on the dirt map. "You say there were four houses here? And two there?"

"Yes," Tristan replied as he bounced Dexy in his arms and paced around the central fire to keep the infant from crying. "There are two on the southern tip, and"—Jules pointed the locations on the map at Tristan listed them—"one smack dab in the middle."

"There were a few partial hits here and here," Brad added, marking the map in four more spots. "But, the wood quality was low."

"That one"—Jules stabbed at one of the houses Brad indicated—"had other value." Casey quirked an eyebrow at Jules voracity. Turning to Casey, Jules added, "There were yard tools in the shed, and inside, there were plastic crates filled with practically anything you could think of: chairs, blankets, games. There was even a box filled with old Solstice decorations and another with camping gear."

"Yes," Brad said. "But our mission was for supplies acceptable to building livestock pens and not for household items."

_Ah._ That explained it. Jules knew Casey would want all the details, whereas Brad didn't know him well enough yet to find the validity of the household item's inclusion in this debriefing. Casey would have to take a moment after the meeting to praise Jules and privately educate Brad. "Was the home in good condition?"

"No," all three men said at the same time, and Casey snorted.

"But, the things inside are worth a second look," Jules asserted.

Brad glowered at Jules.

"Or third," Tristan added as he walked past them for the dozenth time.

"We'll go and see what we find after we collect the wood," Casey said, agreeing with Tristan and Jules. Jules beamed at him, and Brad turned his scowl Casey's way. Wisely, Brad kept his mouth shut.

"At a minimum," Jules continued, "we'll have more weatherproof storage."

"Too bad, we don't know what the weather will be like," Tristan said as he made another slow circuit around the fire. "If we knew, we could plan when to go."

Another point to which Casey agreed, but they were running out of time and would have to brave it, regardless.

"Yes," Brad began. "But none of the houses are more than a few hours walk from here."

"You can get lost in a snowstorm," Tristan replied.

"But how often do we get whiteouts?" Jules asked.

"Wouldn't want to be caught in one," Tristan said.

Jules harrumphed. Whether he agreed with Tristan or not, Casey didn't know.

"I can't spare anyone for extended stays outside of camp," Casey said, interrupting the fight. "So what we'll do is go in two-person teams. Each team will salvage what they can on the day of arrival, stay the night, and then the next morning, pack up and head back home. In the meantime, the next team will leave the settlement right after breakfast, and head to the designated house. The process will repeat 'til we're finished. We should be able to dismantle a house a week." Tristan, Brad, and Jules nodded. "We'll start with—"

A light tinkling of bells sounded from within the shed. Casey's mouth snapped shut with an audible clack as they all snapped to attention, straining to hear the sound again. Was that a bell? Before the triggered alert could make additional noise, Attila and King ran past, quiet as fog but as deadly as lightning.

Brad and Jules leapt to their feet.

"Go!" Casey barked. "Go now!"

Brad and Jules burst into motion, following the dogs as they ran south toward the river dock path. They detoured only long enough for Brad to grab his bow and quiver before disappearing around the bend.

Tristan thrust Dexy into Casey's arms, before, he too took off for the river path. His passage created a ripple of yelps from Katie and Ally when they realized something was wrong. It didn't take Dexy nearly that long to know something wasn't right, and she began to wail in his arms. Casey glanced at her and then to the path. He needed to join them.

Casey needed Zoe.

He grabbed his cane and pushed to his feet while he looked to Lottie and Zoe by the tanning station. They had been taking advantage of the warm day. Both women stood near the laundry tubs, with their arms coated in suds up to their elbows and dirty water dripping off their fingers. Casey's gaze traveled up Lottie's body until his gaze clashed with hers. Her eyes blew wide with worry. He indicated Dexy in his arms, and both women jolted into motion. Zoe marched toward him, hands out for Dexy.

"Be careful," Lottie said as she drew near.

He pulled his revolver from its holster on his thigh and checked the barrel to confirm it was loaded and snapped it shut again.

"You know I will, Bean. Get the other gun from my locker. Barricade everyone into the shed and wait for my signal."

Lottie nodded, and Zoe hugged Dexy close.

Casey leaned in and gave Lottie a quick kiss. "Hide. I'll take care of it." Turning on his heel, he moved in the direction his men had taken.

As he moved silently through the trees, he hypothesized about what he would find. Had an animal tripped the alarm? Was it the IRT? It wouldn't be Ayers or Noah. Ayers had twice proven he'd disarm the warning system without setting it off, and Noah would avoid them, but would the IRT—the certified assassins of the Army—be oblivious enough to trigger one?

Casey highly doubted it.

He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or continue to stay on guard.

Up ahead, voices and soft growls caught his attention, and as Casey rounded the path's corner, he spotted four patches of olive green amongst the dull brown of winter branches. He splashed across the Black to get to his men.

"Attila. King," he commanded, commanding the dogs to back off from their prisoner. The dogs obeyed, though they didn't move far or lower their hackles.

Casey came to a stop between them. Tristan, Brad, and Jules surrounded a severely bruised and battered Adan, bound and kneeling at their feet. Casey noted Adan's injuries and deduced he'd been roughed up by both his men and the dogs before Casey's arrival.

"What are you doing here?" Casey demanded. "I told you, you weren't welcome."

Adan spat blood at Casey's feet. "Where is my son?"

"You don't have one," Casey replied, his tone carefully neutral, furious at Adan's audacity.

"Bullshit," Adan growled. "She was pregnant when she left, and now she's not."

Adan had been close enough to their camp to see Katie? _Impossible. The dogs would have gone nuts._ But if he had seen her, then Katie must have left the settlement at some point, and Casey didn't remember seeing her leave the clearing.

"I want her and my kid."

"You. Do. Not. Have. A. Child," Casey repeated, slowly and distinctly. As he spoke, Tristan had shoved Adan between the shoulder blades, making Adan lurch forward, but Brad and Jules gripped his forearms, keeping him from face-planting.

Adan twisted to glare up at Tristan, and Tristan smiled. His friend's sinister expression reminded Casey of a feral dog protecting a bone, all teeth, and promised violence. Adan, for his part, kept his gaze steady until he slowly and deliberately disengaged from their staring contest.

Facing Casey again, he said, "I know she's delivered. She's got a flat stomach. I want my son."

Casey fumed, stepping forward, intent on shaking some sense into Adan, but Jules beat him to it with a backhand to Adan's face, splitting the man's lip.

"I will only say this one more time, Adan," Casey said. "You do not have a son."

"No," Javier drawled, drawing everyone's attention to him as he leaned against a tree trunk. He popped a cigarette into his mouth and clicked his lighter to get a flame. A second later, tobacco smoke wafted through the air. "You don't _have_ a son. You _had_ a daughter."

"Jesus," Tristan muttered, his tone full of contempt.

"Case," Adan began, his voice softening, pleading.

Javier laughed, arrogant, proud, and unconcerned. "But she's dead, so... Adan. You. Got. Shit."

Adan's expression flashed pain, and Casey wanted to throttle Javier. There had been no benefit to telling Adan anything about the girls he may or may not have fathered or about Katie. Adan could have gone to his grave without knowing that information. Javier took a deep drag, exhaling blue smoke as he added, "You're gonna hafta kill him, Case. You know that, right?"

Casey grimaced. He'd come to the same conclusion moments ago, though he'd been lying to himself about the need until Javier brought it up.

"Want me to do it?" Javier asked, staring at the glowing end of his cigarette. "It would be my pleasure."

"No," Casey said, and cocked his gun. Casey _could_ do this. He _would_ do this. The safety of the women at camp was at stake. Lottie and Greysen were at stake.

As he pressed his gun to Adan's forehead, right between his eyes, a hundred things passed through Casey's mind. He'd spent his whole career with a loaded weapon at the ready, but until this year, not once had he shot another human being. And now Adan was about to be his third killing. The first two men were justified. He had been trapped, nowhere to go, and being beaten daily, but here? Now? Casey wished there was another course of action, some way to let the threat go without him turning into a cold-blooded murderer. But there wasn't any other choice, was there?

Casey sighed. "You really should have stayed away," he repeated and pulled the trigger.

***

Casey watched as Adan's body slumped forward in slow motion. Blood and brain matter splattered on the ground behind Adan's body. Casey cocked his head to the side. If he remembered his geography lessons correctly, the stain looked a bit like Florida.

Adan's body twitched, dragging Casey's attention from the gore on the ground. The fine tremors were almost as if Adan wished to get up and walk away.

_Just a few residual electrical pulses_ , he told himself. _Adan is dead._

It was bizarre, though. Casey couldn't remember if Stewart or Lanford shimmied and shook after he shot them, but maybe they had, and Casey didn't remember it clearly due to his need for escape. Casey nodded, agreeing with his inner monologue. In any case, Casey was responsible for all three soldiers' deaths.

He tore his gaze from Adan's lifeless body and huffed in surprise at what he found.

Tristan and Javier were rolling around on the ground, punching each other, with Brad and Jules attempting to pull them apart.

Huh.

Casey reran the last few moments through his mind. What had happened since he shot Adan? Oh, yes. Tristan had called Javier an 'asshole' and said what Javier had done had been a 'dick move', and Javier had rejoinder with 'the fucker had it coming'. Of course, this created more insults, which dissolved into an actual fight where both Brad and Jules had tried to intervene. Casey watched dispassionately as his four men continued to whale on each other.

"Enough!" Casey barked after a few more moments of free-for-all brawling.

All four men stopped in their tracks and looked to him.

It was comical. Tristan and Javier were on the ground, twined together in a lover's embrace as neither one had the upper hand in their battle. To separate them, Jules had fisted Tristan's shirt, but now a tear in the fabric was about to pull completely loose, which would dump Jules on his ass. Brad had one of Javier's arms in each of his hands and was yanking in an attempt to separate them.

"Javier, what are you doing here?" Casey asked, latching onto the first available topic he could think of, which didn't involve Adan's dead body or the fight between his men.

Javier cleared his throat, and at that second, the fabric holding Jules and Tristan together, gave way, and Jules landed hard on his rear with an oomph. Casey had to swallow back a snicker. There was nothing funny about the past five minutes.

"I found tracks south of here," Javier answered while shifting out of Tristan and Brad's grip. As he sat up, he winced and dusted his hands before looping them around his one raised knee. "Figured you needed help, so I doubled back."

_Sounds reasonable._ "Did you know you would find Adan?"

"No," Javier replied. "But I had a pretty good idea who it was coming your way."

"Okay," Casey said.

Focusing on Tristan, he asked, "And why did you deck Javier?"

Tristan fondled the bruise forming under his eye and then flexed his hand. Blood dripped off his knuckles. Casey glanced at Javier, looking for the source, and found a slight trickle under his nose. Javier must have felt it, for he wiped his thumb under each nostril, and, in the process, smeared the vibrant red across his upper lip.

Returning his attention to Tristan, Casey raised an eyebrow in silent question, urging him to continue. Tristan grimaced. "Adan was already good as dead. Javier didn't need to be cruel on top of it."

"I did," Javier began in his defense. "After you left with your journals, I spent extra time listening in." Javier lifted his other knee and wrapped his arms them both. "Regardless of what he told you in the shed, he did rape Katie, and he planned to do it again."

Javier's lips thinned as he pressed them tight. A moment later, he spat. A thin trail of blood dribbled down his chin, which he wiped away with his sleeve. "Ethan and Teo were to meet him west of the old train caboose. They were going to keep her as their sex-slave"—At the mention of turning her into a slave, Tristan, Jules, and Brad all muttered curses—"I would have done more to bring that fucker low if I'd had the time."

Casey sighed. "Why didn't you tell me this yesterday when I asked?"

"Figured I had time before it all went down."

Knowing the fate that Adan had in store for Katie, made Casey want to kill the bastard all over again. He nudged Adan's lifeless body with his booted toe. "What about Ethan and Teo? Do they know where we are?"

Pushing to his feet, Javier shook his head. "No. I don't think so. Adan was a closed-lipped, mutherfucker when it suited him."

"Want to make sure they never learn?" Casey asked.

A devious grin grew on Javier's face. "Oh, hell, yes!"

"Then go," Casey commanded. "Make it happen." He knew his order was akin to setting a fox loose in a hen house, but he couldn't bring himself to care. They had to take care of Adan and his cronies. Javier would make sure there would be nothing left of Ethan and Teo. "Their deaths cannot come back on the settlement," Casey said, imparting one last directive. "Other than that, I don't give a fuck what you do to them."

Javier saluted. "It'll be my pleasure," he drawled. "Need help with that"—He pointed to Adan's body—"before I go?"

Casey shook his head, leaned over and offered Tristan his hand. Tristan clasped it in his own, and Casey heaved him upwards. "We'll take care of it," Casey said, though he wasn't quite sure how.

"Okay then," Javier replied, and with a curt nod, he said, "Well, I'm off" turned on his heel and strode away.

Casey and his team watched him go. Once he disappeared from view, Casey focused on the body at their feet.

"Now what?" Jules asked, voicing Casey's unspoken question.

"We'll have to get rid of it." Casey wasn't sure how. When he fled his captors, he hadn't cared whether or not wild animals or other guards found them, but this close to the settlement, it seemed weird to leave Adan here. Besides, as the children grew older, one of them may stumble across the body.

Casey's lips turned down in a frown. They could bury Adan in the graveyard, but that felt sacrilegious. Not that he believed in the ever-absent God, but putting that rapist's body next to those little girls. Casey didn't think the dead could harm anyone anymore, but that didn't mean he wanted to test that theory.

"We'll take it to one of the homes we're dismantling. When done, we'll leave it there."

"Why don't we burn it?" Tristan asked.

Casey brought his gaze to Tristan.

"That way," Tristan continued. "The body is unidentifiable, and we destroy the house."

"What would that gain us," Jules interjected.

"A deconstructed building leaves forensic evidence," Casey explained, warming to Tristan's idea. He hadn't realized he'd worried about the home's remains. "But a burned one looks like an accident."

"Hide our tracks," Tristan added.

"Ah," Jules murmured.

Casey followed Jules's glance to Adan's body. "Who gets the honors?" Jules asked.

It was his murder. He should be the one to do it. "Mine," Casey answered.

"I'll go with you," Tristan volunteered.

Casey looked to Tristan across the body from him. He gave his friend a grateful nod. "Let's bundle him up and stash him in the woods at camp. We'll leave in the morning."

"Understood."

***

Lottie wiped beaded moisture from her forehead. The shed was stiflingly hot, especially with eleven bodies packed inside the small space. They had all taken refuge inside when Casey, Jules, Brad, and Tristan had taken off to investigate the tripped alarm.

Fear made her swallow hard. Her hands shook. Her stomach did another one of its weird rhythmic contraction things, and adrenaline spiked through her body, adding to her shivers.

_Don't come out yet. Don't come out yet_ , Lottie mentally chanted to her unborn baby. Her baby had to cook in her belly for at least two more months. If she went into labor today, it would be a death sentence for the infant. The thought brought renewed sweat to her brow. She did not want to lose his baby!

"What's taking them so long?" someone whispered.

Lottie couldn't be sure, but she thought it was Katie.

"I don't know," Lottie answered.

Several bodies shifted at the inquiry. The tiniest of them mewled in protest while others cried. The adults did their best to shush the disgruntled children while also staying alert. A task made more difficult due to their secured location in a small wooden box.

Lottie glanced at Jaesen across from her. He, too, had his gun at the ready, pointed at the door, prepared to defend their lives.

"Sorry," Ally voiced a second before she began retching again.

Lottie clamped one hand against her ear and the other against her shoulder to smother the sound. It didn't help, and her stomach roiled. She seriously hated Ally's nervous stomach.

Darting her gaze to Jaesen again, Lottie found him looking grim and a bit peaked, but he was otherwise ignoring Ally's vomiting.

As the sound died away, Lottie unplugged her ears.

"If they're not back in fifteen,"—Jaesen said, wiggling his fingers while referencing the method Casey used to keep track of time when he was without a watch—"then I'll go investigate."

Lottie shook her head. She did not want him out of her sight. If something had happened to the others, then he was the last man in camp. What if he was hurt or died! She feared the settlement couldn't live without him. And, Lottie grimaced, how selfish did that make her if she only wanted him around for his upper body strength and what he could do for the camp? It made her stomach ache to think of how shallow she sounded.

A tinkle of a bell high in the corner caught everyone's attention and made Lottie's heart stutter. She shot another look to Jaesen, and he shook his head. The bell jingled again, and a few of the women whimpered.

"Either that is Case rearming it," Jaesen muttered, "or we have more incoming." Lottie could have smacked him when Ally groaned and vomited again at his news.

Lottie shook her head, and after another quick check on the now silent bell, she glanced at Jaesen.

"That wasn't a ring from a pendulum swing," Lottie replied, more for Ally's benefit than anyone else's, especially since Jaesen already knew about how that alert worked and didn't need her clarification. He'd been trained by Noah, Casey, and Tristan, after all, whereas her knowledge came from when she'd helped Casey test it. Consequently, she knew what each triggered alarm would do and how they would sound. This one—one of only two with an actual bell attached to their alert line—made a distinct ring as the triggered weight swung after coming loose from its mooring.

"Someone reset it. At least one of them is okay," Lottie assured the group.

Everyone fell silent, waiting for Casey or whoever was left of his team, to come home. Eventually, Grey took up chanting, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" confirming Casey's return. Several long minutes later, the shed's inhabitants heard grunting on the other side of the wall, and a peculiar rasp of something as it dragged along the ground. Had Casey killed another feral pig? She hoped not. She was tired of pork and would have preferred venison, except a deer would have been dressed differently in the field, and Casey wouldn't have drug it back to camp.

Wood snapped and cracked as whatever he'd brought with him was hauled into the woods. Lottie glanced at Jaesen, and Jaesen shrugged.

Jasen stood, and right as he was about to unlock the door, there was a rat-a-tat-tat of a knock. Jaesen returned the agreed-upon pattern, finished unlatching the door, and the person on the other side swung it open.

Lottie recoiled.

There was blood all over Casey's clothes, splattered on his face, and had run rivulets down his neck. He had a haunted expression—much like the one after his ordeal this past summer—and he grabbed her from the shed's depths. Casey wrapped his arms around her tight, crushing her to him. A second later, he released her shoulders to switch his focus to her lips. He attacked her mouth with his own, sliding his tongue in to tangle with hers. Her pulse spiked, and she shoved against his chest with both her hands.

"Stop!" Jaesen barked, adding his weight to Lottie's efforts.

Casey disengaged, and Lottie stumbled back into someone's arms. She glanced over her shoulder and found Tristan staring down at her. His face was battered and bruised, his lips swollen, and he had a black eye, but his embrace promised sanctuary.

Lottie clung to him.

When she looked at Casey over her shoulder, she found him staring at her with such an expression of hurt, that it burned in her chest.

What the hell happened to them out there?

"Give her a minute," Tristan growled.

Casey turned his haunted gaze to his friend and gave a brief nod.

Lottie shuddered. This man in the shed wasn't her Casey.

"Daddy?" Grey's tentative voice came from below her field of vision. "Up? Up?"

Casey visibly shuddered, and awareness seeped into his expression. "Hey, buddy," he said, stooping to pick up Grey. "You okay?"

"I er oo all et?" Grey murmured, patting Casey's face.

Lottie cringed as Grey's fingers smeared the blood on Casey's cheek. The goo on Grey's fingers caught Casey's attention, and he whipped out a scrap of fabric from his pocket. He wiped the gore off Grey's fingers as Casey said, "Let's go get you cleaned up, okay? You want a bath?"

Grey nodded. "'Ath!"

Lottie glanced at Tristan, silently asking if she should trust Casey with Grey. Casey didn't look stable at the moment, but Tristan nodded. "It will be okay. He's not going to hurt you or Grey."

She gave a tight nod. Tristan knew what happened out there, and if he had faith in Casey, then she would as well.

Tristan urged her outside, and as she cleared the bottleneck at the door, the others spilled out. Beyond the shed, she spied Brad and Jules. Aside from Brad's slightly bent glasses, they both appeared bruiseless and whole.

"Case?" Jaesen inquired. "Report?"

Casey's expression sharpened, and the last of his diffused focus faded away. When he spoke again, he was the Casey Lottie knew and loved. Casey set Grey on the ground.

"'Ath?"

"Bath," Casey confirmed, patting Grey on the top of the head and ruffling his hair. Addressing the assembled, he answered Jaesen's question. "Adan is dead."

A shocked intake of breath went through the group, and Katie muttered, "Dulce" while Lottie clasped Casey's hand in hers. "He is?" Katie asked.

Adan's death was good news.

Casey's free hand came up, and he cupped Lottie's cheek.

"Yes," he answered and then seemed to realize his lack of decorum. He backed away from Lottie, and when his gaze found the rest of the camp's inhabitants, he blushed.

With visible effort, he disengaged from Lottie and dropped into his usual all-business attitude.

"Tomorrow, Tristan and I will leave for the upper ridge. We will be off-premise over twenty-four hours. The following morning, Jules and Brad will head out. We should pass each other mid-day. It will be in this manner that we work toward our goal of stripping the houses of wood for our livestock pens."

Before he'd quite finished speaking, several women launched a volley of questions, all of them spoken over the next.

"What about Adan?" Zoe asked.

"Where'd you leave the body, is that what we heard you dragging?" Katie inquired.

"Should we be worried about the livestock at this moment?" Grace asked.

"Wouldn't it be better if I go instead?" Jaesen queried.

Casey held up his hands. "Tristan and I will go first for many reasons. One of which is to dispose of Adan's body where no one will find it"—Lottie watched as he caught and held everyone's gaze for a moment before moving on—"by anyone, especially the children, so until we leave, please stay on the usual paths."

"Is it here?" Ally asked a quiver to her voice.

Casey's blanched but nodded.

Ally clapped her hand over her mouth and ran toward the outhouse. It was mean of Lottie, but she couldn't keep her sigh of relief silent. At least this time, everyone would be spared the sound and smell of Ally's inability to cope with confrontation.

After Ally's timely exit, Casey dismissed the group with a nothing-else-to-see-here remark and turned to go about his business, but Lottie knew better.

He was lost. Hurt. Out of control.

No longer afraid he would attack her, Lottie stepped close and put her hand on his shoulder. "Case?" she whispered, unwilling to draw any more attention to him than necessary.

"Greysen was right here... Right here..." he murmured. "Where did he go?" Tilting his head back to address the sky, he groaned, "Oh, no."

Lottie felt the blood drain from her head. What! She looked left and right.

Casey took a few faltering steps into the woods. Lottie glanced at the inhabitants of the settlement. Most were adequately disbursed and hadn't noticed the direction Casey had gone. Lottie shifted her focus and slipped into the trees after him. She braced herself, knowing what she would find. Sure enough, there on the ground lay Adan. Half his head seemed missing, and she swallowed back bile.

She stepped up behind Casey. He held Grey in his arms and was staring down at the horrible scene. Lottie placed a hand at his lower back, and he shifted his attention to her. "Until this year, I never killed a soul," Casey whispered. Turning back to the scene of death in front of him, he added, "And now I've killed three."

She didn't know what to say. Lottie desperately wanted him to leave Adan, but he needed to process this in his own way, and she couldn't deny him. She ought to take Grey away from the disturbing sight, but her baby already saw the result of a point-blank gunshot wound to the head. It wasn't like he would get worse nightmares if he stayed, so, she held still, waiting.

"He was going to kidnap Katie," Casey murmured. "Force her into a life of sexual servitude... I couldn't let him do it."

Lottie refrained from responding. Memories flashed, threatening to pull her back to this time three years ago.

After long moments of silence that seemed to stretch for years, Casey shook himself and grabbed her hand in his. He squeezed it gently. "Let's go get that bath?"

"Yes, lets."

***

"You almost finished?" Tristan called from a safe distance away.

"Yep," Casey replied and shook a match from its protective pouch. He plucked one from the small stack and quickly counted the rest. Casey had eight more, and once they were gone, he had no way to replenish his stock.

He shoved the extras back into their container. "Ready."

Casey struck the match and lit his candle. His hands shook as he held the flame to the wick. Soon, the evidence of his cold-blooded murder would disappear.

Forever.

Once the candle was burning, Casey set it to the kindling and logs under Adan's body. It took longer than he'd like, but the flames eventually held. Shifting away from the body, Casey stood.

Now, for the others.

Before Casey and Tristan had left the settlement yesterday morning, Lottie had supplied him with all of the candle stubs from camp. She'd planned on melting them down to make new with the remainders but had agreed that using them for this task made more sense. As Casey moved from one candle to the next, he lit them until all were blazing.

Let's do this.

He stepped between the studs of the home to join Tristan on the lawn. Tristan grinned at him and hoisted the wooden cannon to his shoulder. The device was something both he and Brad had come up with and worked on tirelessly to have it ready for today.

"It loaded?" Casey asked.

Tristan chuckled. "Yep." He glanced at Casey. "Now?"

"Yep."

Tristan nodded, aimed, fired.

The cannonball—for lack of a better word—flew from the barrel, through the studs, and smacked into an inner wall, right in the middle of Casey's candle ring. The cannonball exploded on impact, shooting finely milled flour in all directions. They felt the resulting fireball from where they stood as the flames caught on all of the burnable materials inside.

It was glorious!

The flames multiplied, leaping out of the broken windows and into the early morning sky.

Tristan whooped at Casey's side. "Did you see that!" The corner of Casey's mouth tipped up in a wry smile. "Did you?" Tristan repeated, his hand smacking Casey in the chest near his shoulder.

"I saw it."

"Bru-ha!" Tristan exclaimed with glee. "Who knew flour would burn like that?"

Casey had, but Tristan's question must have been rhetorical, for he continued without waiting for Casey to reply. "I mean, I had my doubts, but... Damn! You were right. Boom!"

Of course, Casey had been right. An experiment back when he lived in the KC communal taught him how well a cloud of flour could burn—much to Communal Director Chouteau's dismay. Casey tried not to snicker. The effort of holding back his chortle made him gasp and snort.

The two men fell silent, watching as the blaze began to consume the roof. After a bit, Tristan turned to Casey and asked, "How long are we gonna stay?"

_'Til it's all gone._ But that wasn't practical. With no CPS nearby to put out the flames and no human inhabitants needing to protect their own, the house fire would rage unchecked until it spent itself of fuel. Casey wanted to stay only long enough to confirm the destruction of Adan's body, leaving no evidence. The fire wasn't quite developed enough to mask the innards of the dwelling, and Casey could make out the outline of Adan's body resting on a bed of logs.

The fire licked along the floor, drawing closer.

"Case?" Tristan prompted, facing him instead of the fire.

"I want to make sure the flames reach the pyre."

"Ah," Tristan replied and returned his focus to the burning house.

It won't be long now.

***

Lottie dipped her hands into the sudsy laundry water, remembering the last time she used the large tub. She'd helped Casey wash off the blood and grime from killing Adan. He'd been fragile. Needy. She hadn't known what to do. In the end, he'd made it easy for her. He guided her hand to exactly where he wanted it. The encounter had been intense and strictly one-sided, but she didn't hold that against him. She'd much rather hold him against her.

Ever-absent, God, her face felt warm. So did other areas much lower. She glanced at Nyah out of the corner of her eye, hoping her friend hadn't noticed.

Uh-oh.

Nyah was staring right at her. She lifted her hand and flicked water at Lottie. Lottie hid behind her arm to avoid it. "You're getting a bit flushed over there," Nyah chirped. "Need to take a break?"

Lottie bit her lip to hold back her smile and shook her head. "I'm fine." It was so good to see her friend more like her old, teasing self. Nyah's eyes were red-rimmed, but she smiled more now than she had in the past few weeks.

"I know that far-away look," Nyah said. "And it ain't about washin' no clothes." She paused, fished around in the water, and displayed what she found.

Casey's boxers.

"I'm bettin'," she said with an eyebrow waggle. "it's about what goes in those clothes." Nyah glanced over one shoulder then the other as if checking for bystanders, though no one was near enough to overhear. "I'm bettin' you're thinkin' about cock."

"Nyah!" Lottie squeaked and ducked her head.

"Casey's cock."

"Nyah!"

Nyah's face scrunched in a dismissive expression. "It's okay. I don't blame you." She dropped the garment back into the water and swished it around. "It's the hormones." And with that, Nyah returned to scrubbing as if she hadn't said anything at all.

Lottie glared at her friend good-naturedly for a moment before panning out across the clearing. Grey was running from one tent to another, weaving between them with King and Attila hot on his heels. The dogs yipped and bit at him in playful herding.

Abruptly the dogs stopped, noses pointed east toward the Arrowhead formation. As one, they took off, melting into the trees. Lottie jumped to her feet and ran to get Grey. Sweeping him up, she called out to Jaesen.

He stuck his head out of his tent. "Yeah?"

"Somethings wrong. Someone's coming," Lottie said, hurrying toward him.

Jaesen blinked at her. As comprehension dawned, he yanked his head back into his tent like a turtle spooked by a hunter. A rustle and shake of the canvas later, he emerged, shirt in hand and boots untied. "Direction?"

Grace stuck her head out of the tent as Jaesen exited.

"Toward the Arrowhead."

He nodded once, yanked on his shirt and knelt to tie his shoes. "Keep everyone here."

"Take them to the shed?"

Jaesen appeared to debate the merits of hiding and came to a decision. "Yes."

Standing, he helped Grace out of their tent, gave her a quick kiss, and then left to investigate.

Lottie stared after him for a moment, before shaking herself free of her paralysis.

"You take the south side. I'll get the north," Lottie ordered, divvying up the task of alerting the settlement's residents. "Meet me at the shed. I have to get Casey's spare gun."

"Let me take Grey."

"Okay," Lottie agreed, handing off the toddler. "I'll be right back," she said as she stepped up to Zoe and Tristan's tent. She scratched at Zoe's door and relayed her message.

"Yeah, I heard," Zoe replied. She already had Dexy in her arms and a backpack-turned-diaper bag over her shoulder. "I'll help Grace get Ally and Katie."

"Thanks."

Lottie didn't waste time on any additional small-talk and instead left the clearing for her and Casey's tent on the north side. It was placed halfway between the main camp and the burial grounds. Once there, she ducked inside, grabbed his spare gun and holster, and went back the way she came. At the shed, she knocked the settlement's 'friendlies' secret code before entering. Besides herself and the soldiers, no one else in the camp had a gun, but that didn't mean they were defenseless. If nothing else, the stench of Ally's sick would knock over any would-be attackers.

"News?" Grace barked.

Lottie shook her head and put a finger to her lips, urging silence. Grace frowned but otherwise complied. Ally, for her part, kept her stomach in line. Lottie gave the group a quick once over, confirming everyone who could be present, was, before palming the gun and readying it in case she needed to shoot.

After what felt like hours, they heard voices in the clearing. As the speakers drew closer, Lottie recognized them. Both Brad and Jules had joined Jaesen along with Mason.

Mason?

Lottie shot a look at Nyah, wondering if she heard the same thing as Lottie, and by the look on the other woman's face, she had. What was Mason doing here?

"Tristan and Casey aren't back yet," Jules said, his voice carrying from the clearing. "But we expect them before nightfall."

"You think he will help?"

"Sure," Jules replied, the other men of their camp reiterated his sentiment. "I don't see why not."

Knowing the danger to have passed, Lottie eased open the door and motioned to Grace. "Go up and around. Come back from the orchard," she advised. The ruse wouldn't fool anyone with critical thinking skills, but no reason to advertise their hiding spot.

"Katie, Ally," Lottie whispered. "You to come from the outhouse path." The two women acknowledge the command and left with the babies while Lottie debated another way to get Nyah and Zoe to the clearing.

After a bit, she figured they had the least reason to have been far away from camp. Lottie plucked a few things from the shelf and handed the dried herb bottles to Zoe. "Make a tea," she ordered.

Turning to Nyah, she gave her two mugs. "You and Zoe wanted a drink, right? And you came in here to help her carry the items back since her hands"—Lottie indicated Dexy in her arms—"are so obviously full."

Nyah saluted with a wink. "Aye, Aye, captain." Nyah bent down to look Grey in the eyes. He had his thumb in his mouth and an arm around Lottie's leg. "You want to come with Auntie Nyah?" Grey glanced up at Lottie. She nodded to him, permitting him to go with Nyah. He returned his focus to her and nodded.

"Good," Nyah announced and took his hand in hers. "We'll go together."

"And you?" Zoe asked, her voice soft and calm as always.

Lottie fished her sling out of her pocket. "I'll come from the woods, and if I'm lucky, I'll bring a few squirrel or rabbit with me when I do."

Zoe and Nyah left with Dexy and Grey. They laughed as if they had no care in the world.

After a sufficient amount of time passed, Lottie eased from the shed and slipped into the woods directly across from the shed's door. She grimaced as she crossed the spot where Casey had stashed Adan's body before yesterday when he'd moved it to the home they were destroying.

Lottie wondered if she'd ever feel comfortable with this spot in the woods again. After a shake of her head to dispel the memories, she continued, hanging a right when she reached the stack of lumber collected from the first deconstructed house and then looped up and around the training grounds.

As promised, Lottie did her best to hunt for small game as she plied her part of the plan. She bagged two rabbits and three squirrels before figuring she had enough meat. As Lottie entered the clearing from the east, she noticed Casey and Tristan were back. The whole crew sat around the fire, chatting and playing cards.

Lottie moved to join them.

Tossing her rabbits and squirrels next to the fire, she went and sat next to Casey.

"Brad, clubs eight," Casey said, holding up his card before setting it on his lap instead of a usual discard pile.

"Seriously, Case?" Jules groaned. "Are you even _trying_ to play?"

Lottie agreed that was a crap play as a Knave and even worse if he was on the Knight's side. Casey showed her his cards as he said, "You know I always get shit in this game." She flinched when she saw what he had available to play. His eight had been his best card of the bunch.

"Yeah, I forgot," Jules grumbled. "I hate being on your team." A few of the assembled chuckled, but the amusement died down as Nyah took her turn.

Now that he'd made his only move, Casey twisted to see Mason on Lottie's other side, and she turned the same way. "What happened again?"

"Our garden's roof can't support the weight of the windows," Mason's deep voice rumbled. "Wolf hopes Tristan can salvage the situation since his original idea is sound."

"I don't see why he can't try," Casey replied, accepting a replacement card from Nyah. "'Cause, if anyone can fix it, it'll be Tristan." Addressing Tristan on Mason's left, Casey asked, "You cool with helping?"

"'Course I am." He faced Mason. "Let me see if I got this right. You have a sprinkler system set up on the roof, right?" Mason nodded. "It's delicate and works a bit like an aqueduct. But instead of a trough on top, it has holes in the bottom."

"Yes."

Lottie glanced at Tristan and Mason. They'd covered more ground while she was gone than she would have anticipated.

"How do you know this?" Casey interrupted.

Or maybe not.

"Javier," Tristan replied. Without missing a beat, he continued, "So, you're lookin' to mount these windows to the existin' sprinkler system without crackin' the pipes or destroyin' the structure, correct."

"Yes."

"Hmm." Tristan shook his head. "Not gonna work. You'll need to take it down, build some supports, and then remount them to the new beams."

"Wolf tried that," Mason responded. "If we move the pipes, we won't be able to reattach them. A few are so brittle that they'll shatter."

"You do need those pipes," Casey asked, referring to his original trade goods.

Mason cut Casey a look. "I doubt those PVC pipes you had were food grade. We can't be dumping poison on our food."

Lottie nodded in agreement just as Zoe tapped Tristan on the shoulder. He turned to her in confusion.

"Your turn," Zoe explained.

"Uh," Tristan hedged.

No one on this side of the fire had been paying any attention to the game, Lottie figured Tristan didn't know what move to make, and in a strategic game like Knaves and Knights, not knowing was a guaranteed loss.

Zoe sighed. "Let me see your cards." When Tristan refused, she added, "Were you paying attention to the game?"

"No... But."

"Then let me see your cards."

"But. But," Tristan sputtered. "You're not on my team. You might cheat!"

Zoe rolled her eyes. "Would I do that to you?"

"Maybe?" Tristan replied, sulking, but showed her his hand anyway.

She pointed to one card and said, "Challenge Katie."

So he did.

Lottie smiled when he won the round and gave Zoe a thank you kiss. He turned back to Mason as Mason finished his move, and Tristan cleared his throat.

"Okay. You can't remove the pipes," Tristan paused in thought. "Can you build a secondary frame? Mount it on the outside of the supports?"

"Yes, but how to mount it. We don't have nails or screws."

"Ah," Tristan agreed, his tone indicated he gained way more insight in the statement than Lottie ever would. "Square pegs!" Tristan shot Casey a look of silent inquiry. He must have received the answer he needed, for Tristan refocused on Mason and asked, "When're you headin' back?"

"Tomorrow," Mason answered. "Next day at the latest."

Lottie smiled as Tristan nodded, and Zoe inched her hand into his. He patted her fingers with the back of the hand, which held his cards. "I shouldn't be gone too long." He directed his statement to Casey but seemed like he was reassuring Zoe.

"Stay 'til finished," Casey ordered. Mason inclined his head once. "Tell me what else do you know about their water system?" Casey asked, a smile in his voice.

Tristan grinned and launched into more details he should not have known.

# Chapter 19

Lottie tapped her foot. Where could Nyah be? She wasn't at her tent; she wasn't with her chicken at the coop; she wasn't at the garden or the orchard or the dock. She wasn't anywhere!

"Zoe?" Lottie called through the tent flap, hoping Zoe and Dexy weren't napping. She'd hate to wake them up, but this was becoming an emergency. What if Nyah had disappeared on purpose. Lottie had to find her. "Have you seen Nyah?"

"Not since she came back with Mason." There was a rustling sound, and a second later, the zipper to the tent's door rasped, and Zoe stuck her head out. "Did you check the graveyard?"

Lottie nodded. That had been the first place she'd looked.

Zoe shrugged and glanced over her shoulder. Lottie spied Dexy nestled in the blankets. She had interrupted Zoe and Dexy taking a nap. Lottie opened her mouth to apologize, but Zoe spoke first. "Try Arrowhead. She's been going up there a lot lately."

_Arrowhead?_ "Okay. Thanks."

Zoe gave her a tight smile and disappeared back into the gray depths of her dwelling. "Let me know if you find her," Zoe's muffled voice drifted through the nylon walls.

Lottie nodded, though Zoe couldn't see it, and turned her attention to the rock formation northeast of their camp. She squinted into dusk's shadows as if that would help her spy Nyah in the gloom. Lottie hoped Nyah was all right. It worried her to think her friend was hiding again.

Her concern carried her sore body up the hill, and at the top, Lottie paused to rub her back and then her protruding stomach. The weak contractions which started in earnest a week ago had not faded, and the effort to hide her discomfort from Casey was wearing on her nerves. It wasn't as if she thought he couldn't handle it. It was more of a they-aren't-severe-and-he-has-enough-to-think-about-so-why-bother-him situation. At least, that's what she told herself. She hoped they would go away soon.

Lottie's break over, she finished hiking toward the rock, which overlooked their home. At the base of the stone, Lottie found the woman she sought. "There you are!" Lottie said and joined her friend on the ground. "What are you doing up here?"

"Thinking."

"About what?" Lottie prompted when Nyah didn't volunteer anything further.

Giving Lottie a watery smile, Nyah said, "I'm going to go with Tristan and Mason to Wolf's camp."

"What?! Why?!"

Nyah took ahold of one of Lottie's hands and then faced the settlement again. When Lottie followed her gaze down, she spied Ally and Katie heading to the fire with Max and Cody. Zoe was already there with Dexy in her lap.

"I... I can't stay here."

"But—"

"—I'm sorry, Lottie. I know you're trying—everyone is trying—but there are too many painful memories"—Nyah pointed to the fire with her free hand as she spoke—"everywhere I look." As Lottie watched the assembled, Casey and Grey entered the clearing from the path, which went to her tent, and Lottie frowned. "I already talked to Mason," Nyah continued. "He said, Wolf would take me in. No problem."

The words begging Nyah not to leave were on the tip of her tongue, but they wouldn't fall. There was no way Lottie could force Nyah to stay. Not if it hurt her. "All right," she whispered, unable to disguise the fine tremor in her voice.

Nyah sighed. "I don't want to leave you, but it's... It's too much."

"I understand." Lottie struggled to breathe. The tightness in her chest reminded her of when Grey's donor had found her sneaking away from his men that first time and he'd dragged her back. She shuddered and forced the memory away.

"I'll come back if I can," Nyah whispered.

Lottie feared if Nyah left, it was for good. "Okay."

"Who knows? Maybe next time I see you, I will have another baby in my arms."

Lottie wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, and with her hand locked in Nyah's, she squeezed. She hoped with all her heart that Nyah would get her wishes granted.

Lottie wanted to see her friend again.

***

The cloudless sky blinded Lottie, and she blinked away the brightness and her tears. Nyah was gone. She left a few hours ago, and might never come back.

Lottie rubbed her chest. It hurt.

She needed a distraction.

Squatting, she asked, "Wanna go see Daddy, Grey?"

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Grey squealed, nodding vigorously.

"You have to be good. Stay far away while Daddy works. Can you do that? Can you keep from climbing on him?"

Grey nodded and popped his thumb in his mouth. "Why?" he asked around the digit, slurring the word.

"He's chopping wood for our animal pen."

"Animelsesh?"

Lottie smiled brightly, though she didn't feel like it. "Yes. Uncle Leo is sending us some animals."

"Unkelsesh 'E-o?"

"Mommy met Uncle Leo at the home where Grandma Grace and Auntie Zoe lived before they moved here."

Grey's nod was more solemn, but he appeared to understand what Lottie meant. "Sheee 'Addy, 'ow?"

Lottie stood and took Grey's free hand. "Yes, we can go see Daddy now."

"'Ood," Grey announced and led Lottie away from their tent. She decided to let Grey take control. She wanted to see if he could find Casey without her input.

As they walked, King joined them, huffing a soft woof in greeting. Attila was probably making her rounds, or she would have joined them.

"'Ing, 'Ing, 'Ing!" Grey greeted but kept marching toward the wood staging area. So far, Grey hadn't deviated from the correct path, and Lottie smiled in amusement. She had no idea how he did it, but he always seemed to know precisely where Casey was at any given moment.

Uncanny.

A few minutes later, they left the path for the woods and then arrived at the clearing where both Casey and Jaesen were hard at work splitting. They were shirtless and sweaty in the uncharacteristic heat of the day and laughing. When they spied her, they waved.

"Stay here," she commanded Grey.

"Ooo'a." He popped his thumb from his mouth and pointed. "'Errs, Daddy."

Smiling, Lottie said, "Yep. There's Daddy." Checking the ground around her, she found a comfortable spot and sat down. "Come sit with me, Grey, and we'll watch them work."

"Ooo'a."

After Grey settled beside her, Lottie leaned back on her elbows and watched as Casey raised the ax high above his shoulder. His arm muscles bulged, and his back muscles rippled with the movement. He'd always been a physically fit man, but living in the settlement honed him a step above the common soldier. He made her heart flutter—or was it his son stretching in her belly?—regardless, seeing him gave her goosebumps and helped her forget how much she would miss Nyah.

He glanced her way, caught her staring and grinned. Casey flexed his bicep, showing off, and Lottie felt her cheeks warm in a blush, sure he knew what she had been thinking. Casey returned his focus to the board in front of him, and let the ax blade fall in a controlled arc. The edge bit into the two by four, splitting it in two. Jaesen kicked the shorter piece out of the way and lined up the next board while Casey readied himself.

"What are those used for?" she called.

"The fence," he replied.

Lottie sighed. "I know that!" she yelled over the sound of the ax striking wood. "What I meant was, what part of the fence?"

"Ah," Casey said, pausing. With the ax head in the dirt, Casey rested his weight on the handle. Pointing at the stack of boards growing near their worksite, he said, "These are the uprights. We'll need two of 'em about every four feet."

Curious, she asked, "How big are you making it?" She hadn't been a part of the construction conversation. Lottie didn't remember why, but there had to be a reason.

"We figure"—he paused to chop a board in half—"the pen should be at least an acre. But without knowing what we're gonna get, we agreed on fencing in two."

He stopped again as he split another board. "If we do it in one big chunk, that's two-hundred and eight uprights per side. Eight-hundred and thirty-two for the whole project. Plus, we need the cross beams and the end posts."

Addressing Jaesen, he remarked, "You know, I'm not sure, even with those other four houses used, that we'll have enough wood for this."

Jaesen shrugged and set up another board. "We'll cut up the new travois, or we'll find more houses."

"I guess."

"You think it will hold the animals?" Lottie asked.

"Animelsesh?" Grey parroted.

Casey turned back to his task and readied his ax. "I don't know, but Tristan was in AHC a few years before joining ARA," he explained. "So, if he says it should work, I'll go with that." At the end of his sentence, he let the blade fall. It cut the wood in half. Casey wiped his face with his forearm while Jaesen moved the next 2x4 into position.

"How are you doing?" Casey asked.

And with that, her fading sadness roared back into her heart. "Fine," she choked out.

Jaesen murmured something to Casey. Casey replied by tossing his ax down and came over to sit next to her. Once situated, Grey climbed into his lap, and Casey wrapped an arm around him. "Owwwel 'et! 'Ath?"

Casey chuckled and shook his head.

Grey accepted Casey's answer without additional comment and snuggled into Casey's side. His thumb promptly returned to his mouth. Lottie tried to smile, but the effort felt brittle.

"Need to talk about it," Casey asked her.

Lottie sighed. "No. Just needed a distraction."

"Understood."

When Casey didn't add anything further, she knew it was his way of letting her tell him what she needed instead of trying to solve the problem for her. It was one of the things she loved about him.

He hadn't always reacted that way. Back when he first rescued her, and they were talking about getting Grace and Zoe out of Gates hospital, he would give her demands which he expected her to follow unquestioningly. Then one day, those orders stopped. Lottie suspected Noah had dressed him down, and that is what made him change, but she couldn't prove it. It didn't matter what caused the change, only that he no longer commanded her actions, and she appreciated it more than she could ever say.

"I don't know what I need."

Casey clasped her hand in his but held his silence. Her gaze drifted from their twined fingers to Jaesen shifting wood around.

After several minutes of relative quiet, Lottie said, "I'll be all right. You should get back to work."

"Can't," Casey murmured.

Without taking her eyes of Jaesen stacking the pile of shortened boards, she asked, "Your ankle?" He had been working hard, and she knew the injury bothered him.

"No," he said, chuckling and drawing her eye.

Grey's head had fallen back, and soft snores were escaping his opened mouth.

Lottie grinned. "Oh. I can take him."

"Give me a few more minutes."

"Sure."

***

After taking a sip from his canteen, Casey returned the container to his side and rubbed his hands together, hoping the brisk motion would help warm his fingers. It didn't work. He palmed his cane. The dragon carving Brad had added proved to be a comfortable grip even with his gloves on.

"You ready?" Jaesen asked.

"Yes," Casey replied, resuming his march toward the second house he and his team were dismantling. It was early in the morning, but he expected to encounter Brad and Jules at any moment.

"Want me to take point?" Jaesen asked through labored breaths.

A sharp twinge stabbed Casey in the chest, and he felt his face warm, causing him to frown. No, he didn't want Jaesen to lead. It was bad enough the man wouldn't let him drag the travois; it would be mortifying to let Jaesen pave the way for him. Just because the overnight cold snap sent his ankle into weather-related muscle spasms and is cane-side fingers felt like they would never be warm again, didn't mean he couldn't tramp down the underbrush or pushing aside branches to make Jaesen's task faster. "I got it."

"Okay." Jaesen's tone clearly said he thought Casey was a fool, but Jaesen wisely kept his mouth shut on the matter. "We should be on the ridge in ten and at the house in another hour."

Casey shot Jaesen a look over his shoulder. He knew how far away they were; he didn't need Jaesen to tell him. Jaesen shrugged.

Feeling his point made, Casey nodded but didn't react otherwise. Honestly, it took all his concentration not to whimper and limp with each step. His fingers tightened around the top of his cane. The sunny warmth of yesterday had spoiled him. He had overdone it during the fence preparation, and now he was paying the price. Not that his overexertion mattered to their current predicament. The settlement needed those animal pens. To get them, Casey had to work. He couldn't rely on his men for everything. It wouldn't be fair.

"How much longer do you think this deconstruction will take?"

Casey scratched his scalp under his hat, calculating the days available to work versus the travel days. "Over two weeks."

"That's what I figured."

Then, if Jaesen already suspected the answer, why'd he ask?

"How's Lottie holding up? You know, now that Nyah's gone," Jaesen's statement trailed off when Casey stopped abruptly and spun to face him. Jaesen calmly set the travois down and dropped the rope.

"Report," Casey barked. It wasn't like Jaesen to be so chatty, especially about subjects where he already knew the answer. It was pissing Casey off.

"What do you mean?"

Jaesen's falsely innocent tone had Casey grinding his teeth.

"Is there something you need to tell me?" Casey demanded. Something had to be going on, providing a reason for Jaesen's behavior.

"No." Jaesen tilted his head to the side in silent question.

Casey took a deep breath and blew it out slowly through his nose in an attempt to stall his anger. They did not need to engage in idle conversation. For one, it advertised their location, and two, he was in no mood for chit-chat, and three, it would add minutes to their already too long hike.

"This is a mission, Jaesen," Casey said, his words clipped. "We're to keep our eyes and ears open for danger. IRT is not on our six at the moment, but that doesn't mean we can let our guard down."

"I know that."

Casey said in exasperation, "Then why are you still talking?"

Jaesen folded his arms over his chest and gave Casey a 'are you that dense' glare.

"Well?" Casey prompted.

"You want to know?"

"Ever-absent God..." Casey let the curse die unfinished. "Yes, I want to know why you keep asking questions you already know the answers to."

Jaesen uncrossed one arm to hold up a finger—the middle one—and Casey snorted, amused despite his anger.

"First off, this may be a mission, but unless it's a tactical one, you have never required one-hundred percent silence and, I might add, could often be found speaking with your men at Fort Sutton as a way to bolster your team or for your own situational awareness."

Holding up a second finger and thereby giving Casey another hand signal 'fuck-you', Jaesen said, "Second, you needed a distraction from the pain in your foot. You're up there wheezing and muttering and moaning and groaning. You aren't as stoic as you think you are. And third," Jaesen added, holding up another finger and spinning his hand, so his palm faced Casey. "Whenever you feel weak or like a burden,"—Jaesen pointed to Casey's foot—"you push yourself past a safe limit. This,"—Jaesen indicated Casey, himself, and then the spot where they had stopped—"was to give you a much-needed break. One you refused to take unless pushed into it. We have plenty of work to do at the house, and if you wear yourself out now? Before we even get there? How the hell do you expect to get anything done?"

Jaesen grinned, flashing white teeth. "Besides, this break was purely selfish. I was tired of walking."

Casey grunted. "Fine. How long a break do you need?"

"I don't know," Jaesen said, smiling wickedly. "How sore's 'ur ankle?"

Grimacing, Casey shook his head. His ankle was throbbing with each pulse of his heart. "We'll stop for a half an hour," he said as his anger abated. Anything more prolonged, and Casey feared his muscles would lock up, and they'd have to camp on the ridge for the night.

"Sounds good," Jaesen agreed with a nod. "I'm'a'gonna go take a leak. Be right back."

Casey waved him away and sighed. Spying a log, he shuffled over to it and sat. Casey hated being idle.

"Stupid foot," he groused at the injury.

His boot felt tight, and if the sore spot on his heal was what Casey thought it was, then he had a blister too. Casey didn't dare take his shoe off, though. If he did, he feared he'd never get it back on.

Casey was grumbling to himself when Brad and Jules crested the ridge and spied him at its base.

"Hey-o, Case," Jules called. Casey waved.

"Takin' a break?" Jules inquired.

Casey waited for the two to draw closer before replying. When they stopped in front of him, he answered in the affirmative. Jules sighed and dropped the rope attached to his half of the second travois, and Brad lowered it to the ground with a grunt. Casey assessed their haul. It wasn't a lot, and he feared that once processed, their load would equate to no more than fifty or so uprights and maybe ten posts. And, that was if they were lucky.

"Leave any for us," Jaesen asked as he joined them.

Jules groaned, removed a glove, and slid his hand under his collar to rub his shoulder. "Plenty for you."

"We cleared the southeast room," Brad replied, stooping to untie the bundled tent.

Casey's eyebrow drifted up, and he glanced at the pile behind them. _Cleared the room?_ No way. There wasn't enough wood for that statement to be true.

"Yeah," Jules said, finishing up his massage and returning his glove to his bare hand. "One of the walls was rotted and unusable. We snagged what we could before packing up to leave."

"Understood," Casey replied, disappointed, yet feeling the need to remark on Jules's report.

Dropping the tent at Casey's feet, Brad said, "I analyzed the remaining structure. I don't believe we will encounter any other issues with this one. The rotted wall had a crack in the ceiling, which we didn't see before. It let water pour in between the drywall and the studs, but none of the other walls have the same problem."

"Good," Casey replied. He'd withhold judgment until they finished their task. With abandoned houses, you never quite knew what you would get until you cracked them open.

Pushing on his thighs, Casey struggled to stand. Pain in his ankle had him sucking in a breath, and to stay vertical, he forced the tip of his cane into the hard-packed earth. It didn't sink far, only enough to help stabilize him while he adjusted to being on his feet.

"Enjoy the rest of your time off tonight," Casey said. "You won't get more for a long time." His men laughed, acknowledging the thin humor in Casey's statement. It may have been early January, but that wouldn't keep March from drawing closer, and they had to be finished with the pens before the livestock arrived in April. Now, with Tristan gone and the worst of winter set to arrive at any moment, they wouldn't have a day to themselves for weeks to come.

"What do you want us to do?" Jules asked. "You know. When we get back?"

"We started splitting the boards two days ago," Jaesen answered for Casey.

A glance showed Jaesen securing the tent to their travois. He returned his focus to Jules and Brad.

"Continue splitting these"—Casey indicated the long 2x4s on their travois—"into uprights," he said, resuming control of the conversation.

"Brad." He waited for the other man's attention. When he had it, Casey added, "We need a way to bore some holes in the posts. Can you work on something? That house with the woodworking equipment had several tools. Hopefully, something will work for this task. A chisel or maybe a drill?"

"I'll find something," Brad replied.

"Good."

"Anything else?" Jules asked.

"Probably," Casey replied. "But I can't think of anything at the moment."

"Okay," Jules said. Turning to Brad, he asked, "Ready?"

Brad inclined his head once, and they both reached for the line attached to their travois. Once in their hands, they lifted, and the travois creaked as the load shifted. Jules released the line a moment to wave at Casey. "See you in a few days."

"Yeah. Sure." Casey glanced at Jaesen. "Ready?"

"You got it."

"Good," Casey replied and waited for Jaesen to pick up his lead line. Once in Jaesen's hand, Casey said, "Let's go." At least the last hour would be more comfortable. Jules and Brad had already formed a trail that would be easy to follow.

***

Pain shot through Lottie's lower abdomen, and she launched herself up and out of her covers. What had it been? Was she okay? The second searing pain had her simultaneously relieved and squeezing her legs together, hoping she wouldn't wet herself. It was only the baby kicking her in the bladder.

"Knock it off," she growled at the fetus who had switched from standing to turning somersaults in her tummy. The child stretched again, and Lottie squealed when her bladder nearly let go. She pressed her hands to her lower belly and lifted. Maybe that would keep the evil spawn from making Lottie piss her pants.

Not willing to push her luck, Lottie scooted to the flap and let herself out. In the time it took her to let go of her stomach and unzip the tent, the child in her womb had shifted enough to kick her in the groin—repeatedly—renewing Lottie's urgency.

She eyed the woods. The sky was dropping snow at a rate that threatened whiteout conditions. Lottie eyeballed the snow-covered path to the clearing. She did not want to walk all the way there. Then the devil incarnate reared again, stomping hard on Lottie's bladder. She'd never make it to the outhouse without peeing herself.

Woods it would have to be.

Shuffling from her tent to a spot a few feet away, she dropped her drawers and let herself relax. Relieved of one burden, Lottie stood. As she did up her pants, someone spoke, "And here I thought only the dogs made yellow snow."

Lottie squeaked and spun to find Grace staring at her. Lottie cleared her throat and smoothed her shirt over her protruding stomach. "I, uh, couldn't wait."

"No need to tell me twice," Grace said, waving away Lottie's explanation. "I remember how it was."

Lottie supposed she would. "Do you..." She cleared her throat. "Did you miss us? After they took us from you?" Lottie's eyes widened. She could not believe she asked that question.

Glancing into the trees to avoid eye contact, Grace said, "Casey has Grey in the clearing. He sent me to get you."

"Uh, okay," Lottie replied, recognizing her mother's deflection. "He say why?"

"No."

Lottie nodded. That sounded like Casey. Sometimes he was so like Noah that it was downright comical.

She glanced at the tent and shivered, wrapping her arms around her inadequately dressed body. Her bedding would be warm. She sighed. If Casey asked for her, she needed to go find out what he wanted. At least Grace didn't look concerned, so it probably wasn't something serious.

"I need to get dressed. I'll be there soon."

Grace nodded. "I'll tell him." She then turned on her heel and left Lottie behind.

"How could I be so stupid?" Lottie muttered once her mother was gone. She smacked herself lightly on the forehead. Her question—posed with no preamble—had been inappropriate at best and downright disrespectful at worst. It pained her to admit it, but her curiosity was real. Grace was such a hard woman to know, and Lottie wondered how she felt in a settlement where the women were able to keep their children instead of giving them up to the communals. That sense of having your loss flaunted at you was the very reason Nyah left.

Great. Now Lottie felt sad about Nyah's leaving as well.

Lottie sighed.

With chattering teeth, she ducked into her shelter to dress for the day. After exiting the dwelling, she took a few minutes to knock snow off the top canopy of the tent. It fell in thick clumps. There had to be at least five inches on the ground already. At this rate, Casey would need to set up another team to take turns keeping the snow off the tents and the walkways clear. The last time it snowed this hard, he had most of the men available to help. This time?

She groaned. With Jules and Brad offsite along with Tristan, Javier, and Noah, Casey and Jaesen were the only ones here, taxing both men to their limits, trying to keep everything running. She needed to help. Lottie rubbed her stomach and received a kick as a reward.

What could she do? Cooking was a no brainer. It wouldn't push her body as other physical labor would, and she could, most likely, help with keeping the tents clear, but there was no way she could do any type of shoveling. Not with the big brute tap-dancing away on her empty bladder. Lottie wondered if she could convince a few of the women to help.

Walking away from her shelter ended up being an exercise in her fortitude. Visibility felt non-existent, and Lottie stumbled down the path toward the main camp. When she entered the clearing, she spied Casey. A task made quicker with Jules and Brad's tent offsite. She shuffled toward him, her feet slipping in the snow. She hoped what he needed was urgent. She was going to end up hurting herself, trying to get to him.

"You needed me?" she asked as she drew near.

"I always need you," he replied, peering up at her. His brows drew down. "You okay?"

Lottie blew a tuft of hair from her eyes. "I was, 'til Grace came to get me. What did you need?"

He patted the seat next to him with his free hand, the other squeezed around Grey, eliciting a squawk from the toddler.

"She must've misunderstood. I didn't send for you."

Easing herself down with a groan, Lottie looked at him. "I asked if she'd seen you and to make sure you were all right. I'm sorry she had you come out here."

Now that she was out and about, it didn't matter. Lottie dismissed his statement with a quick wave of her hand. "It's okay. I wasn't asleep. Junior was demanding a bathroom break." He shot her a quick look from the corner of his eye. She sighed. "He stomped on my bladder. I was awake, anyway."

A small nod was her only indication he heard and understood her.

"So, what's the plan?" Lottie asked, sliding back into her thoughts about the snowy landscape. "How are we going to keep this place running."

"You're going to rest," Grace replied as she grabbed a seat with them. "Katie's on broom duty—keeping our tents clear—and Jaesen's shoveling."

Was Katie out and about? That news was good to hear. Lottie worried about her psyche after her girls passed away, though she didn't seem as depressed as Nyah had been, it was something Lottie felt compelled to watch.

Thinking about the twin's death brought Lottie to Adan's very timely demise, which in turn lead Lottie to think about Jules and Brad out in this storm.

"You think they're all right?" she asked, giving voice to her thoughts.

Casey grunted.

Lottie wasn't quite sure how she knew his grunt was a question, but she did. Elaborating, she said, "Jules and Brad. They're out in this. You think they're okay?"

Casey grunted again and poked at the fire.

This time Lottie felt sure his response was affirmative. "You think they'll head home tomorrow?" What she wanted to know was if Casey was planning to leave her right after the storm.

"If the snow lets up, yes."

Lottie bit back a sigh. She didn't want him to go, but she understood why he had too. Standing, Lottie peeked into the pot to see what kind of stew he was making. This time she couldn't hold back her groan.

Pork.

She was so sick of pork.

"Want me to make bread?" Maybe a few rolls would make the dish more palatable.

"You up for that?" he asked.

_Not really._ Lottie rubbed her belly on the side where he couldn't see it. "Sure. I can make some biscuits."

He nodded, shifting his weight on the stump, pushing his injured foot toward the fire. Lottie wondered if she should offer to rub his ankle but then decided against it. If it hurt as bad as his body language said it did, he wouldn't appreciate the touch.

Smacking her hands against her thighs, Lottie pushed to her feet.

"I'll go get what I need," she said. As she spoke, a ghost of a smile graced Casey's lips, and he tapped them with his finger.

Lottie grinned. A kiss she could do.

Leaning forward, she dropped one on him before heading away to get her sourdough culture out of the perpetually warmed cobb oven.

Casey's pensive mood had dampened the bounce to her step.

***

With a flick of her wrist, Lottie had the dense green, and white blanket unfurled and spread on the ground. "Sit," she ordered Grey, who happily complied.

"Bawll."

"Ball. Ball starts with B."

"EEE!"

Lottie smiled indulgently. "That's right, B."

Shifting her weight, Lottie carefully lowered her bulk to the blanket next to Grey. As she settled, her gaze was drawn to Jules and Brad working on the fence. Their powerful arm muscles flexed with each swing as they labored. Watching the men wield the ax had become her new favorite activity. With her protruding stomach, it wasn't like she could do much else besides sit and enjoy.

The only way the show could have been better was if Casey had been the one swinging the ax. Unfortunately, he was at work at the fifth house to be dismantled and wouldn't be home until tomorrow. She grinned and bit her lip. Lottie would have to make do.

The men made steady progress. Their pattern of travel and work made sure they had a steady supply of lumber. Neither of the two teams seemed to make significant headway on the project, but she knew that assumption to be false. One group would clear a substantial amount of boards, and then the next day, the other team would unload a fresh batch. After close to ten weeks, it felt like it would never end.

"Mommy?" Grey interrupted her musing. "Mommy, 'gree."

"All right," Lottie said, standing.

Grey had to be bored.

He put his hands in the air and called, "Up. Up."

Lottie bent and gathered him in her arms. When she straightened, her belly tightened alarmingly. Hot fluid streamed down her thighs. Her eyes widened, and her heart leapt to a thundering pace. Another contraction forced more fluid from her body, and she yelped.

_No. No. No!_ She couldn't be going into labor. Casey wasn't here.

She squeaked again.

"Mommy?" Grey called, but she barely heard him.

_Casey?_ She needed Casey! Where was Casey? He had to be here. She couldn't do this without him.

Eyes, full of concern, took up her field of vision. They were so close she jerked back.

"Breathe, Chica."

She gasped, shaking her head. Her belly. _Ow. Ow. Ow!_ Ever-absent, God, what happened? Why did she hurt? Why was she wet? She shivered.

"Chica?"

Lottie could hardly focus on the face in front of her, demanding her attention. All she knew is it did not belong to Casey. Casey had hazel irises that snapped with authority, but these eyes were a soft brown, sparkling with happiness and care, framed by dark brown hair, not sandy brown.

Where was Casey!

"Chica!"

Brown fingers snapped in front of her eyes.

"You're all right. This is normal. It's not blood. See?"

_Not blood?_ Lottie stared at Jules.

"Your water broke," Jules said, then over his shoulder, he ordered, "Grab Grey. We need to get her back to her tent."

A fresh contraction had her doubling over, and she gripped Jules's arm. When it passed, she reassured him with an "I'm all right" and straightened.

He smiled. "Seems like we're always in this position."

It took a moment, but then she remembered he'd been the one to find her in the river at Fort Sutton when she went into labor the last time. She returned his smile, though hers was tight with pain.

"Seems like," she agreed. Where was Grey? She wasn't holding him, and he wasn't attached to her thigh. Was he playing?

"Relax. Brad has him."

"Okay," she said.

"Can you walk?"

Lottie nodded. The pains were more intense than she remembered them being, but she wasn't incapable of movement.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go."

Jules spent the next several minutes helping her along the path. They frequently stopped for her to rest and breath through her contractions. Eventually, they gained the clearing. Brad hustled away. When he rejoined them, the two men scooped her up and carried her the rest of the way to her tent.

Grace and Zoe met them there.

"We've got it," Grace barked.

Jules and Brad set her down.

As the two men eased away, Zoe and Grace descended, stripping off her sodden clothes and ushering her inside where she found her family bedrolls pushed to the side, and old bedding laid in its place. Lottie fisted Grace's shirt in her hand. "Send for Casey."

Zoe pried Lottie from Grace's lapel. "Lay back. Relax. We'll take care of you."

Lottie nodded. There wasn't much she could do but let nature take its course. Her hands wrapped protectively around her abdomen. In a few more hours, she'd get to meet her next son.

***

Jaesen worked on a beam high above Casey's head. When it gave way, Casey snagged it and dragged it over to their pile. He dropped the board on the growing stack and looked around.

Something felt wrong.

He rubbed his neck as he studied the woods.

Nothing moved, not even the squirrels. Casey checked the sky. Sometimes the critters fell silent if a storm was brewing.

The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight.

Huh.

The next board crashed into the dirt behind him, and Casey ambled off to retrieve it while Jaesen moved along the exposed second story floor joists to the next stud and began hammering on it.

The skin on the back of Casey's neck twitched, and goosebumps raised the hair on his arms. He checked the yard around the house again, his hand hovering over the security snap on his thigh holster.

With itchy hands, Casey opened his mouth to ask Jaesen if he felt the same but at the last second decided against it. He was spooked. Nightmares had plagued his sleep, and he'd awoken with a sense of doom. The feeling hadn't dissipated, but nothing in his environment hinted as to why.

Shifting his focus, Casey plucked the freshly liberated board from the cold earth, looped it over his arm, and dragged it away. As it dropped onto the stack, Casey paused and gave into his compunction to survey his surroundings again, even though he'd done it only seconds ago. What the hell was that feeling? Every hair on his body stood at attention. Maybe he should take a perimeter check anyway.

"Jaesen?" Casey called, not bothering to be quiet. He knew from experience the destruction sounds were heard from almost two kilometers away. Anyone near enough to listen to his voice would have been well aware of their location long before he spoke.

"Yeah?" Jaesen acknowledged, pausing in his work.

"I'm going to do a quick patrol."

"Understood," Jaesen replied, resuming his task.

Casey turned, and before he could make headway on his decision to check the area out, he heard pounding footsteps. He braced himself. Either it was Brad or Jules coming to get him due to an emergency, or it was an enemy. Casey wouldn't hesitate if it were the latter, and the former made his blood freeze in his veins. His men were too capable. If one of them were here, things had to be bad at home.

A moment later, Brad arrived with a breathless, "Case, Lottie's in labor. You need to—"

Casey didn't hear the rest of Brad's statement. He was already turning to get his bag. Shouldering it, Casey was off at a fast limp. Without the need to drag a travois, he could get back to the settlement in three hours.

It wasn't until Casey had been on the road for at least an hour before he remembered leaving Brad and Jaesen without further instructions. _Fuck it_ , Casey thought and shook his head. Brad would fill Jaesen in on the details, and they could finish today's tasks without his guidance.

Two hours later, Casey stumbled to a stop at the bathroom's cistern. He was filthy with sweat, mud, and decayed drywall dust from the deconstruction effort, and he couldn't see Lottie without attempting to wash up. Casey dropped his bag at his feet and rolled up his sleeves. Flipping the spout, he filled his palms with water and splashed his face and arms.

A moment later, a dark, curly-haired, green-eyed, bullet launched itself from Ally's tent and barreled his way, screaming, "Daddy!" at the top of his lungs.

"Greysen," Casey greeted, swinging the toddler up into his arms.

"Mommy, sick!" Grey announced. "Mommy, sick!"

"That's why I'm here," he said, reassuring the youngster. When he looked up, he spied Katie leaving her tent.

"Sorry," she said, her tone anything but apologetic. "He got away from me."

"Thanks for watching him."

Katie held out her hands. "Want me to take him back?"

Casey glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his tent. Greysen probably shouldn't see Lottie giving birth, but when he went to hand him over to Katie, Greysen latched on and would not let go. Surrendering, Casey shook his head and grabbed his things. "I'll take him with."

"Dulce," Katie replied and disappeared back into her tent. Casey shook his head for a different reason. Katie was odd.

Shifting Greysen in his arms, he made his way to his tent. As he drew near, he heard several voices. The most prominent was Lottie. In the ebb and flow of her cries, Casey could hear Jules's tenor as he comforted her. Besides them, Casey could detect Zoe's soft words of encouragement, and Graces harshly barked orders, but it was one word in particular which had Casey's blood pounding in his ears, and made his steps falter.

"Push! Lottie."

_Ever-Absent, God._ He'd almost missed the birth of their son.

Without pausing to announce his presence, he ducked into the tent.

"Casey!" Lottie screamed when she saw him. Her voice cracked and ended in a breathless moan.

Casey handed Greysen to the first set of hands he saw, uncaring who took the toddler.

"Is she okay?" Casey demanded of Grace, who sat between Lottie's legs.

"Transition," Grace bit out in answer.

Oh, man. Casey remembered that part of Greysen's birth, and he flipping hated it then and expected to hate it now. "Everything else okay, though?"

"Yes," Grace replied. "Everything is progressing as expected."

As Grace recapped prior events, Lottie moaned, "You made it." Swinging his attention back to her, he said, "Yes," and kissed her on her sweaty forehead. "I made it."

An uptick in panting warned everyone Lottie was contracting again. Casey gripped her hand, kissed it, and murmured words of encouragement as Lottie bared down with a groan.

"Good," Grace said. "One more like it, and the head should be free."

"One more," Casey repeated. Fear, excitement, and wonder vied for prominence in his emotional soup. His second son was almost here!

"You want to see the head?" Grace asked him.

Casey blinked at her. Did he? Oh! He shook his head. No, he didn't. He'd watched one birth from that vantage point, and it had been enough for him. Casey was more than happy to let someone else do that honor.

"Here we go again," Grace announced just as Lottie grunted. Her whole body curling in on itself.

"Breath, Bean," he urged, watching as her face turned red as she strained. Her breath whooshed out of her as her contraction ended.

"The head is out," Grace informed them. "The next should get the rest of him."

Lottie nodded and gripped Casey's fingers tight in her hand.

"Glad. You're. Here," Lottie said through panted breaths.

He dropped another kiss on her forehead. "I came as fast as I could," he murmured. He wished he'd been able to run.

Stupid ankle.

She nodded again and gritted her teeth. "One more," she whispered. "I can do one more."

Casey watched as the muscles in her abdomen bunched and rippled. He rubbed her hands and set his forehead against hers. "You can do this," he chanted.

Her breathing picked up into harsh gasps. Abruptly she stopped. Every muscle in her body went rigid as she pushed.

A wail rent the air.

"A daughter!" Grace yelled and glanced at Casey. Her eyes were wide. "You have a daughter."

Casey's vision grayed around the edges. A daughter?

"Let me see," Lottie begged, waving her hands in a 'come hither' motion for Grace to give her the baby. "Let me see!"

Grace handed the squirming, wet, gooey infant to Lottie. Casey couldn't help but stare at the undeniable proof of the baby's gender.

He had a daughter!

#  Chapter 20

Lottie looked up into Casey's eyes and saw the same sense of wonder she felt.

A daughter! They had a daughter.

Though she'd entertained the idea of wanting a girl, she hadn't given it much thought. For one thing, it wasn't like either Casey or herself were actively undergoing treatments, nor was there any reason to believe that in a world where over three-quarters of all infants born were male that she would have a girl. Really, what were the odds?

"What will you call her?" Zoe prompted.

_Call her?_

She hadn't thought of a girl's name. After a glance at Zoe, she looked to Casey. Did he have a name picked out? He gazed back at her blankly. Nope, he didn't have a name ready either.

"I don't know," Casey answered Zoe's question, holding his hands out to Lottie. "Can I hold her?" he asked.

"Just a minute," Grace interrupted. "I need to clean her up. Tie off the cord. You know, new baby things."

Reluctantly, Lottie handed her newborn to Grace. She hated denying Casey his wish to hold their child and gave him an apologetic look. He smiled, and after a quick peck on her lips, he turned his attention to Grace. Lottie did the same.

The baby was clean and no longer attached to Lottie via the umbilical cord, and after swaddling the infant, Grace carefully handed her over. "She's beautiful," Grace said, her voice gravelly, possibly with unshed tears.

Once back in Lottie's arms, she offered her breast to the infant with Casey hovering at her shoulder. His gigantic finger brushed the baby's pale brow. "She's so beautiful," he murmured, awe clear in his tone. Lottie nodded. A pesky lump in her throat prevented her from speaking.

"Greysen, come here," he called, and Lottie sought out her son since she hadn't realized he was in the tent with them. When Grey came over, Casey picked him up and set Grey on his lap. "See," Casey said, pointing. "That's your new sister, Hope."

Hope?

"'Ohp."

_Hope._ Lottie liked the sound of it.

"She's tiny," Casey continued. "Since you're older and wiser, she'll need you to be the big, strong, brother." Grey nodded, his thumb finding his mouth. "You'll need to take care of her. Protect her. Can you do that for me, Greysen?"

"'Ess," Grey replied, his tone solemn. "'Eetekt, 'Ohp."

"Good," Casey said, hugging Grey close and then ruffling his hair. "You want to touch her? She's very soft."

Lottie smiled, shifting Hope to the other breast so Grey and Casey wouldn't accidentally poke Hope in the eye. And as she watched, Grey's small fingers, tight against Casey's, entered her field of vision. They stroked Hope's arm, and she flailed in response. They stroked her again, and Hope let go of Lottie's nipple and mewled.

When it was clear his daughter Hope wouldn't continue nursing, Casey asked, "Switch?"

Lottie grinned, and after the baby shuffle, they successfully traded children. Hugging Grey close, she watched as Casey cuddled his new daughter. His fingers traced the edges of Hope's face and down her arm to her palm. He wiggled his finger into her grip and smiled.

"As heartwarming as this is," Grace said, interrupting the moment. "I need to take care of a few things. You good?"

"Yes," Lottie and Casey replied in unison, and Lottie giggled.

They were perfect.

Grace harrumphed before extracting herself from the tent. Someone else followed. And then another. When Lottie looked up again, the tent was clear of everyone except Casey and their two children.

"She's beautiful, Bean."

"Yes," Lottie whispered, turning back to face him. "She is."

***

Casey sat at the edge of their bedroll, rubbing his aching foot. He'd pushed himself hard earlier to get back to the settlement in time to help Lottie give birth. He regretted not arriving sooner, but thankfully, he had made it before Hope had been born.

A snort from Lottie's direction had him looking up. As Casey's attention shifted from his foot to her bundled form, a huge grin stretched his lips.

He had a daughter.

He would never, ever, get tired of saying that to himself.

After a moment of watching his two favorite women, he finished massaging his injury.

Fuck it all! It ached.

He would always be tired of saying that to himself.

A soft mewl drifted toward him from the bedding.

Oops! Hope was awake.

Casey moved quickly to retrieve the newborn before Lottie woke. If it was something simple—like a dirty diaper or some cuddles—he could take care of it. Lottie needed her rest.

He scooped up the infant and cradled the tiny bundle to his chest. Hope was so small. Larger than Sophia and Olivia had been at their birth, but not by much.

"You, Dexy, and Cody are going to have Max and Greysen wrapped around your little fingers, aren't you?" Casey asked, but the thought stopped him cold. As it stood, once the children were of age, and if the girls found pairings with the boys currently at camp, then Greysen would have to choose between Dexy or Cody, and Hope only had Max. Okay, technically, that wasn't true. The relation between Cody and Max wasn't by blood, and neither was Greysen and Hope. Casey frowned. Having them raised as siblings, made their potential relationship disturbingly incestuous. The lack of viable pairings put the worldwide crisis in such stark, unavoidable, terms.

Human extinction was imminent, wasn't it?

He shook the dire thoughts aside.

Refocusing on Hope, he checked for the usual complaints that would wake an infant and found a soiled diaper. After a quick change, he hugged her close. Casey's unfocused gaze took in Greysen sound asleep on his pallet. Life for his family would continue to be hard, but he'd do his damnedest to make sure they had a good one.

"She hungry?" Lottie's soft voice drifted to him from the bedding.

Casey brushed his gigantic thumb across Hope's soft cheek. Her little mouth chased the digit. "Yep," he said and handed Hope to Lottie. After a quick adjustment, Lottie had Hope latched to her breast. The smile of contentment on Lottie's face made Casey's chest burn.

They were so beautiful.

And they were his.

***

Casey blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. It wasn't working. There were two copies of Jaesen sitting on the log beside him. Casey rubbed his eyes. The lack of sleep made them felt gritty, and his head felt heavy. Had Jaesen asked him a question?

"You sure you're ready to leave?" Jaesen asked. His breath left him in a puff of steam and soft chortle.

So he had asked Casey a question.

Casey nodded, his mouth dropped open in a gigantic yawn. So sleepy! He needed coffee. Tristan's strong-ass coffee, to be exact. Why didn't he already have a cup in his hand? He glared at his empty hand and then to the fire. An upsettingly extended amount of time later, the answer for his missing mug came to him. Tristan was at Wolf's settlement. He wasn't here to brew the coffee. How could Casey have forgotten such an important fact?

He groaned. He knew how.

Funny, who would have thought only four nights of little to no sleep would do that to a man, and it wasn't all Hope's fault, either. Regretfully, he could only blame the newborn for two of the four sleepless nights. His silly nightmares the night before Lottie's labor claimed one of them, and his damn foot went to the other. It had ached something fierce the night Hope was born.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Jaesen repeated

"Yeah," Casey grunted, and Jaesen snorted.

"Really? 'Cause we've been sitting here for close to fifteen minutes, and you haven't moved an inch," Jaesen said.

_We have? Damn._

He yawned again. "We can go," he reiterated.

As Casey stood, King sat up, thumping his tail and whined. Casey rubbed the dog behind its ears. The move earned him a lick on the wrist. Ever since Hope's birth, the dog had taken to following Casey around, so it wasn't a surprise to find King underfoot even if Casey hadn't known the dog was there until a second ago.

"You have the travois ready?" Casey asked.

"Sure do."

"Okay," Casey mumbled, shuffling away from the fire's warmth. He made it as far as the shed before remembering his cane resting against the log where he'd been sitting. Casey went back for the device.

As Casey came closer, he noticed King's attention was targeting the woods. Sleep left Casey in an instant, and he popped his gun from his holster.

"Take me to it," he ordered softly to King.

The dog appeared to understand what Casey had said, for he stood and trotted toward the east path. Could Tristan be on his way back? After a two month absence, it was possible. Yet, knowing Tristan's arrival was a possibility didn't relieve Casey enough for him to put away his gun. By the time he reached the tree line, Jaesen was at his side and on alert.

"What do you want me to do?"

"You head north, up to the ridge, and see if you can get behind whatever is coming our way," Casey said. "I'll stay on the path and intercept whoever it is."

"You got it, Sir," Jaesen acknowledged and disappeared into the trees.

Casey slinked his way forward, sticking close to cover, and only moving when the way proved clear. When he heard voices, he ducked behind a tree to study the newcomers' approach.

The speakers were subdued, not unexpected for the time of day, but still a concern. Were they attempting to sneak up on the settlement? After a minute or two of silence, the settlement's guests spoke again, only this time they were near enough for Casey to identify their voices.

"I didn't think I would miss this place," Nyah said.

Casey holstered his gun. If Nyah was back, then so was Tristan.

"You think Casey will let me stay," Mason asked.

Mason's voice was a surprise, and so was his request. Didn't he have obligations to Wolf?

"I don't see why not—" Tristan replied.

"Well, if he doesn't, then maybe Noah will take us in for a bit," Nyah said, cutting him off.

"—It's not like we're at war with Wolf or anythin'," Tristan finished.

So very true. Casey might have phrased it differently, but the sentiment was the same.

"And Noah does want the settlement to be a sanctuary for families," Nyah added.

Family? Was Nyah pregnant again?

"You think Casey is in the settlement?" Mason asked.

"Dunno," Tristan replied. "Depends on the rotation schedule he set."

"Well, we'll know soon enough," Nyah remarked. "Since we're almost there." After a pause, she asked, "You think Lottie had her baby yet?"

Casey stepped out from behind the tree, startling Nyah into an 'eep' and making Tristan grin. "Hey-o, pup," Tristan greeted him with a smack to the shoulder. "We were just talkin' about you."

"I know."

Casey turned to Mason. His gaze swept up and down the thin, black man. "You lose your razor?" he asked, remarking on Mason's new beard, and then mentally kicked himself. They weren't on the Army's grounds, and even if they were, Mason wasn't one of his soldiers Casey could command. Before Mason could respond, Casey waved his hand in dismissal. "What are your intentions?"

Mason clasped Nyah's hand in his. "Nyah and I are official. Wolf gave his blessing."

Casey gave a curt nod. That was all he needed to hear. "Welcome home," he said and turned to Nyah. "Lottie had a little girl three days ago."—Nyah grinned—"We named her Hope. I'm sure Lottie would love to see you. She's missed you."

Nyah stood on tiptoes to kiss Mason on the cheek. "See you at the settlement," she said, and he smiled. After her goodbye, she left the three men on the path.

"How did it go?" Casey asked as he turned toward home.

"Good," Tristan replied as he and Mason fell into step behind Casey. "There was a raid on Wolf's men the first week we were there, but the ARA didn't do too much damage. We repaired the outbuildin's. A few were hurt, but not too badly."

"Good. I'm glad no one was hurt and that you could fix the damage."

"It took me longer than I'd have liked to come up with a plan for their greenhouse, but aside from one busted pipe during construction, it assembled smoothly. Oh, hey there, Jaesen," Tristan said, and Casey glanced over and spotted Jaesen joining them. "By the time we left," Tristan resumed. "the glass had survived two snowstorms, an ice storm, and a thunderstorm." Tristan shot Casey a grin. "Held up fine."

"Expected no less," Casey replied. Shifting his focus to Mason, Casey asked, "And you decided to come here, because?"

"Nyah missed it, and I didn't have a strong preference," Mason responded with a shrug.

Casey ran a hand through his hair. "Well, it's good to have you. We could use the extra hands."

"Yeah," Tristan jumped in. "Been meanin' to ask, how's the pen comin'?"

Casey blew out a breath. "We're doing fine on collecting supplies, but haven't started on construction."

"Wha'da'ya need me to do?"

Too many things. Now that Hope was here, Casey hated to leave Lottie, but he wasn't the most equipped individual for building the fence. The lack of Tristan's guidance was the primary reason Casey'd kept anyone from working on fence assembly and instead focused them on deconstruction.

"Can you start building the pen. I think we have enough uprights, posts, and rails to finish off at least one side."

"Yep. But, your foot? Are you sure you don't want me to go deconstruct?"

Tempting. Pulling the damn travois was tedious, not to mention, climbing along exposed floor joists and knocking boards lose severely tested Casey's balance, but Tristan's skills were better applied here and not out in the field.

"Na, I got it," Casey affirmed.

"How about I go?" Mason offered. Casey glanced at him. The thought was appealing, but at the same time, Casey didn't like the idea of shirking his duties. Mason continued, "You got a new baby, right?"

"Yes."

"Well," Mason said. "I don't know what that's like—personally, never had a kid—but I saw plenty of new moms at Wolf's. They look like zombies." Mason grinned. "You look half-dead yourself. So, why don't you let me handle the mindless task—whatever it is—and you help out your pretty woman with that new baby of yours."

Casey didn't require any more convincing. "Thanks," he said, and the four of them relaxed into easy conversation as they finished their trek back to the clearing.

***

Lottie rolled to her side and stretched her arms above her head. She so did not want to get up, but the whimpering infant at her side had other ideas.

Rolling to her hip, she noted Casey's side of the bed was empty. She hated this fence project. Casey was gone all the time.

Lottie sighed.

They needed the pen, and she needed to get over it.

Pushing up to her elbow, she glanced at Hope, who's persistent crying indicated her need for breakfast. "Shh," Lottie murmured, picking Hope up and situating her so that the infant could nurse. "You'll wake your brother." Happy, slurping noises drifted up to Lottie, and she smiled. She wouldn't change a thing.

"Lottie?"

Lottie's head whipped up, and her gaze darted to the side of the tent from where the person calling her name originated.

"Nyah?"

Nyah's chuckle floated on the air and to Lottie's ear. It was the second-best sound she'd heard all day! "Can I come in? You decent? I know you aren't gettin' it on with Casey since he caught up with us on the way in."

"Nyah!"

Her friends chortle morphed into a full belly laugh. "Yes?"

"Come in! Come in!" Lottie cried. "I never thought I'd see you again!"

While Lottie was expressing her excitement, Nyah let herself into the tent. Their eyes locked a moment before Nyah's gaze dropped to Hope at her breast. Nyah's expression softened, making Lottie's chest ache. Oh, how it must hurt her friend to see Hope's tiny face. Lottie averted her eyes. She was afraid that the next time she looked at Nyah, she would see that horrible vacant expression her friend had worn for weeks. Or worse, resentment.

"Honestly? I didn't know if I would be back," Nyah said. "But then, I got to Wolf's, and that first week the damn ARA raided them. My heart 'bout exploded in fear. Dan, Dillan, and Amos were all injured in the scuffle, but not too badly."

Lottie lifted her gaze to catch Nyah, staring at Hope. "Tristan helped where he could with rebuilding, and so did I... But, I felt pretty useless." Nyah lifted her chin enough to look Lottie in the eye.

Nyah asked, "Did you know they live completely underground?"

Lottie nodded. Casey had told her about it.

"You did, huh," Nyah remarked. "Well, anyway. After three weeks of being buried alive, I longed to see the sun for more than five minutes at a time." She grinned at Lottie. "Who would have thought I liked the great outdoors that much? But I guess after a lifetime of being stuck inside—first with the fucking communals, then the Fort St. Louis hospital, and finally, fucking Gates—I couldn't stomach hiding underground anymore. And then there's Mason—"

"—Mason?"

"Yeah," Nyah said. "Oh, you don't know! He and I are a thing now."

"That's great!" Lottie was ecstatic for Nyah.

"I thought so, too. Anyway," Nyah continued. "M didn't have a preference on where he lives, and Wolf didn't mind if M left their camp, so when T was ready to go, we packed up and left with him." Nyah paused, cracked her knuckles, then added, "We ran into a bit of trouble with the ARA on our way out, too, but T and M outmaneuvered them. The rest of the trip was easy-peasy, and here we are."

While Nyah had been speaking, Hope finished eating. Settling Hope over her shoulder, Lottie burped her. Once Lottie was positive, Hope didn't need anything else, she offered Hope to Nyah, and Nyah took the baby with practiced ease.

"'Gree, Mommy," Grey said as he crawled into Lottie's lap.

Lottie and Nyah snickered.

Typical, all Grey cared about was his hungry belly.

"Then let's go get some food," Lottie said.

***

"Grey!" Lottie yelled, making the youngster pause in his tracks to look at her. She pointed her trowel in the direction of the clearing's edge. "Get off the garden right now!"

Nyah chuckled. "He doesn't understand."

Lottie groaned, turning to her friend. "I know that! But he needs to stop stomping all over our field."

She wished Casey had taken him this morning. Unfortunately, Casey couldn't. He and Tristan were working on the pasture fence and would be too focused on the manual labor to watch Grey with any sort of real diligence. Lottie had been the better choice since Hope would limit Lottie's activities and provide plenty of breaks required for entertaining a toddler.

"Good luck with that," Nyah murmured as she brushed the hair from her eyes and left a streak of mud across her forehead. "Boys stomp."

"Not all of them," Lottie murmured, thinking of how quiet Casey tended to be despite his limp. She'd lost track of all the times he'd managed to sneak up on her. And she thought of herself as stealthy. Casey took stealth to the next level.

"He'll stop when things turn green," Grace said.

"Or he'll start weeding for us," Katie added, giving air quotes around the word weeding.

Lottie groaned. Grey's version of weeding the garden would not be conducive to growing food. "Not helping, Katie," Lottie grumbled, then spied Grey picking up clods of soil and throwing them. "Grey! Stop that!"

Her son 'eeped' and landed hard on his rear, kicking up clumps of mud mixed with snow as he fell.

"Damnit," Lottie growled, gaining her feet and stalking toward the damage. "Stay away from the garden, Grey."

Grey nodded, tears welling at her reprimand, but Lottie knew he wouldn't remember her admonishment in five minutes. She adjusted Hope in her sling, preparing... For what? She wasn't sure. To comfort Grey, perhaps, when a voice behind her had her whipping around to find the speaker.

"Child, why don't you give him some seeds and a place to plant his garden?"

Noah! The undisputed king of stealth, stood at the south edge of the garden with an unfamiliar dog resting at his feet. Its tongue lolled from its mouth and gave the impression it had been running for hours even though Noah didn't look even remotely winded.

Noah glanced at the bundle across Lottie's chest, and a rare smile ghosted across his lips. A second later, it was gone.

"Hand Grey some rocks and your trowel," Noah continued, and after a hand signal at his side, he stepped forward. "He'll be happy to farm all day."

Lottie gave a jerky nod. "Is that how you did it? Kept him from getting in the way? I mean, when you had him last winter."

"If memory serves, he was quite the little farmer." Noah moved toward her and came to a stop less than a foot away and gently pushed aside the fabric on Lottie's sling. "You are up and about," he murmured, his voice soft enough Lottie didn't think anyone else had heard him. "Doing well? Delivery go smoothly?"

"Yes."

His dark brown eyes looked into hers a moment before his gaze dropped back to Hope nestled deep within the cloth and fast asleep. "What did you name your child?"

"Hope," Lottie replied. "Casey named her Hope."

That ghost of a smile came back but quickly died as Noah took a step back. "Quite fitting," he announced and turned in Grey's direction. "Grey? Come here, lad."

"'Ampa," Grey responded, drawing Lottie's attention to a spot not more than five feet behind her. Grey was much closer than she'd anticipated.

Crouching, Noah handed Grey Lottie's trowel. When had he taken it from her? "Here is your shovel," he said. "And here are your seeds."—When had he collected rocks?—"Go over there"—Noah pointed to the northern edge of the clearing—"and get to work planting them."

Grey glanced at the small pile of stones in his hand and the shovel in the other. After a twitch of his head, which Lottie assumed was a nod, Grey strolled off in the direction Noah had indicated and got to work flinging dirt in every direction.

"That should keep him busy for a few minutes," Noah said.

Dropping his arm her shoulder, Noah guided her to the side of the field where Katie, Grace, and Nyah were loitering. When they came to a stop, he dropped his arm and whistled. The dog at the edge of the clearing lurched to its feet and bounded over.

"Where can I find Casey? We need to leave today."

"Today?"

Noah nodded once.

"But..." She didn't want Casey to go. Lottie's babies needed him. Hell, she needed him. But the rescue couldn't proceed without him, and she knew her feelings were selfish. "Can't you leave tomorrow?" she finished weakly. If they delayed, then at least she could have one more night with him. Ever-absent, God. What if he didn't come back? He did have the IRT after him, so who knew what would happen?

"No," Noah replied. "His injury will slow us down, and time is of the essence. Private Smith has already delivered."

"Jackie had her girl?" Nyah asked.

"Yes, Rowan," Noah answered. "Where is he, child?" he repeated.

Lottie sputtered a moment, trying to find her voice. She said, "The pasture. West of here by twenty minutes."

"Understood." Noah touched her shoulder with his palm. "If you wish to say goodbye to him, you must come with me now. You will not have another chance until he returns."

Lottie looked to Grey, playing quietly. She hated to move him. He was behaving so well, not to mention, bringing Grey would slow them down.

"We'll watch him," Grace offered. "'til you get back."

"No," Lottie said, shifting Hope's sling to a more comfortable place. "If Casey is leaving today, then Grey has the right to say goodbye to his dad." She smiled ruefully at Grace and groaned. "He was playing so well..."

Grace shrugged. "He will again."

"We'll finish up here while you're gone," Nyah remarked, but Lottie was already moving to Grey's side. "We'll meet you back at the fire."

"Thanks," Lottie cast over her shoulder.

Hunkering next to Grey, she said, "I need to go find Daddy. Wanna come with?"

Grey threw the gardening shovel down and jumped to his feet. "Daddy!" Lottie clasped Grey's hand in hers and looked to Noah while Grey stamped his feet and chanted, "Daddy!" at her side.

Noah acknowledged her readiness by gliding passed her and into the trees. "We'll go this way," he said. "It's more direct."

Lottie swallowed. Getting to Casey faster wasn't quite what she wanted, but she understood Noah's haste. They now had less than eight weeks to finalize each rescue plan and put them into motion, but now that it was time to act, she didn't feel like they had enough time to succeed.

***

The stiff March breeze swirled around Casey, lifting the fine hairs on his arms and giving him goosebumps as if the wind's caress were a lover's lips dropping feather-light kisses everywhere it touched. It sent shivers down his spine and his thoughts skittering into all sorts of erotic directions. He wondered when Lottie could have sex again.

Fingers snapped in front of his eyes. "Where'd you go, pup?" Tristan asked. His eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth. "I sure hope those daydreams don't involve one of my good chickens." Casey scowled, and Tristan snorted. "We can't afford you choking any more of them."

Casey's scowl morphed into a glower. "One time... One fuckin' time—"

"—No. No. No!" Tristan waved his hands in front of his chest. "Too many details. Trousers around your ankles and that pale, hairy ass, exposed to the world. Shinin' like a full moon on a hot summer night. Gives me nightmares." Tristan shuddered.

"Asshole," Casey muttered.

"You know it," Tristan agreed.

Turning, Tristan draped his arms over the newly constructed fence rail and clasped his gloved hands as he stared out into the woods. "Are you done fantasizing about my feathered friends enough to get back to work, yet? Or do you need a few more minutes?"

"Fuck you, T," Casey said and punched Tristan in the shoulder, unsettling his friend from his comfortable perch. Casey then grabbed Tristan's sledgehammer from where it rested against the post next to him.

"I'm good," Casey said. "Let's get a few more feet done before we take a break."

"You got it, pup."

Rolling his eyes, Casey moved to stand at the next post's location and waited for Tristan to get into position. Once they set the upright in place, Casey lifted and swung the hammer down to pound the board into the ground. Two swings later, the post was deeply embedded, and they moved to the next spot. They worked in this way for several minutes, before stopping and backtracking far enough to start weaving the rails into place.

They were finishing up the last of the completed sections when a high, thin voice yelled, "Daddy!" from the trees.

Tristan grinned. "Sounds like Momma's back."

"Yep," Casey replied.

But why was Bean here? Maybe the ladies had finished planting early, giving Lottie time to make a hot lunch for the men. His stomach growled at the thought. Casey set the sledgehammer down and moved to intercept the little green-eyed-bullet who was sure to appear any second.

"Daddy!" came the excited wail.

Yep. It wouldn't be long now.

Greysen's appearance was proceeded by the sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs, which provided Casey with enough input to anticipate the toddler's trajectory. Casey was already moving in the correct direction when Greysen burst from the trees at a full two-year old's sprint—which meant he wasn't going very fast, but his legs and feet were moving at triple the normal rate.

"Woah, there kiddo," Casey said as he scooped Greysen up and swung him in a circle. Settling Greysen on his hip, Casey sought Lottie. Her form drifted from trunk to trunk distorted by branches. Her hands were waving as if she spoke to someone.

Casey squinted. Since he couldn't see who she was talking to, he knew her companion wasn't one of the women. Casey tucked Greysen closer, letting his free hand drift to his gun. He didn't think anyone threatened them, but he wanted to be ready just in case., but when Lottie reached him, he relaxed. Noah's presence answered all of his questions.

"It's time?" he asked.

Noah lowered his chin minutely.

Casey turned to speak to Tristan but found his friend on his six.

"I should go with," Tristan said before Casey could give any instructions. "Be an extra set of eyes for you both."

"No," Casey replied, his gaze taking in the unfinished fence behind Tristan. "I need you here, more."

"But—"

"No," Casey said, cutting Tristan off. He already knew what Tristan had to say, and although he agreed in principle, Casey needed him here. "You're the best one to finish this job. I can't trust it to anyone else." Tristan's lips thinned, but he gave a minute nod. Casey clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll be back soon with a good plan and solid recon."

Tristan's grim look softened into a tense smile. "You better."

Shifting his grip on Greysen, Casey pulled Lottie into his other arm for a one-handed embrace. "I'll be back soon," he murmured for her ears only.

"I know," Lottie whispered back.

When he released her, she put her hands out for Greysen, but Greysen tucked his chin into Casey's neck. Hugging Greysen close, Casey kissed him on the forehead and then handed him over to Lottie, which, of course, made Greysen cry.

Casey chucked him under the chin and said, "Remember. I'm counting on you to take care of your mom and sister."

Man, Casey hated to leave them.

"'Eetekt, 'Ohp," Greysen said with a sniffle.

"That's right. Protect Hope."

Casey looked over to Noah. "I need to grab my bag and a change of clothes, but then I'm ready."

Noah gave him that small nod again and waited for Casey to take the lead. After a quick kiss goodbye and a wave, the two of them were off.

***

"Well," Tristan said. "That sucks."

Lottie snorted. What an understatement.

"You headin' back to camp?" Tristan asked.

Lottie shifted to set Grey down and then adjusted Hope's sling. "I guess so."

"Wanna take a break and eat lunch with me?"

That sounded nice. Lottie nodded. Sadness pressed down on her, and she feared she'd cry if she were on her own for too long.

Stupid hormones.

"You'll have to eat Casey's share," Tristan said with a snicker. "He's gonna be pissed when he realizes he left it."

She shrugged. "He can grab something at the settlement."

"Aint that the truth." Tristan paused. "It's jerky and a bit of yesterday's bread."

"Fine by me," she replied.

A thud of something substantial falling over caught her attention. Grey knelt and poked at the sledgehammer the men must have been using to build the fence. She opened her mouth to reprimand Grey for touching it when Tristan interrupted her, "Let him have his fun. He can't hurt it."—Tristan held up a finger, stopping her complaint before she could voice it—"He can't hurt himself either."

Instead of arguing, Lottie shrugged again and followed Tristan toward the small pack, which must have held their supplies. He grabbed two canteens, handed her one, and took the cap off the other. After a swig, Tristan dropped it and rooted around in the bag for something else. When he stood again, he had a small oilcloth packet that he then opened. Taking out a jerky sandwich, Tristan handed it to her. Her stomach growled loudly. She hadn't realized she was even hungry. Her mouth flooded with saliva, and she took a huge bite. The bread was flaky and crumbled around her lips. While she chewed, Tristan retrieved his sandwich and shoved it in his mouth. After he swallowed, he said, "I made hardboiled eggs. Want one?"

She groaned. A hardboiled egg sounded divine. "Yes."

Tristan thumbed over his shoulder in Grey's direction. "Think he wants one? I have four."

Lottie glanced at Grey, playing with the sledgehammer. "Nah," she said. "Set one aside, but let's leave him alone."

"Gotcha."

They were both silent for the few minutes it took to eat lunch. Once finished, Lottie dusted her hands on her pants and pulled Hope from her sling. Hope had been slumbering long enough, and Lottie's breasts ached from all the milk filling them.

"Can I hold her for a second before she gets her milkshake?"

"Sure," Lottie answered and handed the snoozing Hope to Tristan. Tristan gazed at the small bundle with such a joyous expression.

"You going to try to have a baby with Zoe?" Lottie asked.

Tristan's smile faded, and Lottie's heart skipped a beat.

"I don't know. It seems to me, Dexy's all we can handle right now," he said.

After a long pause where the only noise was Grey's whoops and squeals as he played, Tristan added, "You know, if Noah and Javier are successful, you'll have two new babies in the camp that need feedin' and their nursin' mothers far from where they are."

Lottie stopped chewing. The egg in her mouth lost its delicious flavor, and she struggled to swallow it. Tristan glanced at her. "Any idea who'll feed them once they are here?"

She shook her head. She hadn't thought of that.

"Ally's not an option. She's already strugglin' to feed Max and Cody. Zoe don't wanna do it, though, she will if no one else steps up," Tristan said, his gaze drifting to Grey across the field.

Tristan glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before returning his attention to Grey. "Grace can't. She's too old. So that leaves, Katie, Nyah, and yourself, but you got Hope, so that leaves Katie and Nyah, but I wouldn't give Katie a baby unless there were no other options."

Lottie looked at her partially eaten egg and set it aside, no longer hungry. "Why not?"

"'Cause she don't want one." He pointed at the egg, and she shook her head. He picked it up and popped it in his mouth. He chewed with a hum on his lips. After he swallowed, he said, "I don't have proof, but I think she killed Sophia and Olivia, so, if you want those infants from Gates to thrive, don't give her one to raise."

"Okay," Lottie said, drawing out the vowels. What the hell do you say to something like that?

"You think you can take on another baby?"

She glanced at Hope in his arms. _No._ But she didn't have a choice, now did she? Lottie would have to do it. She groaned. What would Casey say? It didn't matter. He didn't have a choice, either.

"I'll make it work," Lottie vowed.

Ever-absent, God, she hated being blindsided. Had Casey thought of this?

Probably.

"Think Nyah can?" Tristan asked.

She blinked at him. _Oh, shit!_ "I... I don't know." _...Not after Hunter's death._

Tristan bounced Hope in his arms and finally succeeded in waking her up. "Then, I suggest you ask her. Without her help, one of those babies is gonna die."

Lottie's stomach roiled.

What had she done?

# Chapter 21

"Here," Noah said, as he knelt at the side of the road, riffling through his pack. The dog, Theia, at his side, nosing the sack.

Casey glanced up and then down the abandoned street. They'd stopped somewhere north of Fort St. Louis.

Nonchalantly, Noah stood and tossed him a leather-wrapped bundle that Casey caught.

"Put those on," Noah ordered.

Casey unrolled the leather to find a green, plaid shirt and leather pants. "What are these for?" he asked, as he shook the wrinkles out, catching the faintest scent of mint. The shirt and pants must have been Noah's.

"You're on leave."

_On leave?_ "That doesn't explain these?" Casey said, holding the clothing up and giving them a small shake. "If I'm on leave, wouldn't I be wearing my fatigues?"

"As Staff Sergeant Huxley, perhaps. But that is not who you are at the moment."

Casey swallowed and gave a jerky nod. If he wasn't himself, then who was he? His skin prickled with awareness, and Casey would have been willing to bet his life that someone was watching them.

"What if someone recognizes me?" It was Lottie's biggest fear given a voice, and truth be told, it was one of Casey's as well, though not a strong enough one to keep him from doing his reconnaissance.

"Won't be an issue," Noah replied with a nod to the clothes and moved away from Casey. Noah stroked Theia's head, and turned, giving Casey his back. "Now get dressed, son. We are on a time constraint. We need to be there before dusk."

Dusk?

Casey wasn't sure how far away they were from Fort St. Louis, but surely it wasn't far away to make getting there by Noah's deadline an impracticality.

"Get. Dressed."

Casey shook himself free of his mental paralysis and tossed the clothes over his shoulder to keep them from getting dirty while he toed off his boots and simultaneously undid his belt. Freeing both, he stepped out of his shoes and dropped his cargos. Snagging the leather pants off his shoulder, Casey yanked them on before shoving his feet into his boots.

"Where are we going?" Casey asked as he secured the pants at his waist. The supple leather molded to his thighs with a surprising amount of ease. He crouched and then stood, testing out his mobility.

"A RAC secure location."

What did Noah's safe-house look like? Casey pictured a quaint one-room dwelling on the outskirts of town, far from the hustle and bustle of regular CPS patrols. No. That wouldn't be right, Casey amended. Noah would want to hide in plain sight.

Maybe his home away from home was located on the parade grounds, right near where Casey spied Noah last summer as Casey moved from the ARA building to his holding cell.

Yes, Casey decided. That had to be where they were going.

With numb fingers and stiff movements, Casey finished dressing and bent to tie his boots. He had to wipe his sweaty palms on his leathers a few times to keep the laces from becoming too slick to hold.

"You worry too much," Noah remarked from several feet away, and Casey glanced his direction. Noah faced south, away from Casey. His head tilted to the side as if he listened to something in the underbrush near the road. Theia, at his knee, mimicked him. Casey stilled, straining to hear what Noah or the dog had heard.

"No one will recognize you," Noah finished.

"How can you be so sure? They ordered my manhunt."

Noah snorted. "Policy only. The ones who remember—and care—about your escape from Fort Twenty-four are the men you killed and the IRT tasked with finding you. No one else gives two shits." Noah glanced at him over his shoulder. "Unless you run into First Lieutenant Green, you have nothing to worry about." Noah returned his attention to the tree line. After a minor pause, where Casey realized he hadn't quite finished dressing in Noah's castoffs, he returned to the task.

"Finished?" Noah asked.

Casey tugged the shirt in place. "Yes."

"Excellent. Follow me."

As if he had any choice.

Casey swallowed back his complaint and a strong surge of nausea. Men on leave didn't get nervous—Not unless it was their first time to a State-run or one of the bars—but even then, their nerves were with excitement. He should know. He'd seen enough men on leave heading off toward the entertainment district to be aware of the draw alcohol and sex had on some. At the time, Casey hadn't understood the appeal. Now that he'd experienced sex first hand? Yeah, he sympathized with the soldiers' haste.

With a signal, Theia disappeared into the scrub as Noah stepped off the road and into the underbrush. Casey followed only to pop out on the other side of the trees almost immediately. The street before them angled south, and distantly, there were several dilapidated homes.

They walked on. Ancient suburbia gave way to former Urbania as the old sprawling homes grew more frequent, smaller in size, and closer together until they were practically on top of each other. In no time at all, Casey and Noah stood on a bridge over an old superhighway. The road beneath was massive and extremely familiar.

"270?" Casey asked though he didn't need the clarification.

"Yes." Noah stepped down from the crumbling cement median. "Five more kilometers—give or take"—Noah shrugged.—"and we will be there."

Casey glanced at the setting sun and then to the east where the Fort lay. They should make it in time.

"When we get close," Noah continued. "You will need to secure your cane on your back. It is distinctive—"

"—But my limp isn't?" Casey interrupted.

"No. It isn't."

Casey snorted. He didn't believe that for a second.

"Daniel," Noah said. "Neal. Langley. Hanson."

With each name Noah uttered, Casey's irritation grew. He felt sure Noah mocked him. Was he supposed to get the reference?

"The connection?" Casey growled.

"Each one injured themselves doing drills, training, patrol, or missions. Each. One."

"So?" Casey ground out while also trying to rein in his anger.

Noah waited for a beat, then three, before answering, "They were all put on leave."

Casey sighed. "And?"

"Privates on leave with injuries," Noah said. "wouldn't call attention to themselves."

"Wouldn't call attention to themselves," Casey echoed.

"Exactly," Noah finished.

Casey sighed again. He hated it when Noah was right _and_ thought of something he hadn't. "Without the cane, I'll be invisible?"

"In effect, yes."

"Great."

"Come on," Noah said, picking up their pace. "I have things to do once we get there."

"Yeah, yeah," Casey muttered but followed anyway.

An hour and twenty minutes later, Noah came to a stop in front of _Uncle Sam's_. Casey's head tilted back to take in the full storefront façade. _Welcome to Uncle Sam's, where all the women are guaranteed to be clean and beautiful._ Casey's eyelids widened, and his gaze sought Noah, who was walking up the stairs toward the front door with Theia at his side.

"Your hideout is in a State-run!?"

"The room is rented here, yes."

"I can't go in there!"

Noah stopped, and he turned to pin Casey with a glare. "And why not?"

"There are State-workers in there!" Casey whisper-growled.

"Yes," Noah replied and moved to go inside.

"Lottie'll kill me."

Noah pivoted on his heel while simultaneously commanding Theia to stay and came back down the steps to stop in front of Casey. "Do you plan to avail yourself of their services?"

Casey shook his head vehemently.

"Well, unless you indicate you wish to purchase one of them for the hour, they will leave you alone."

Noah shifted, giving Casey his six, and climbed the stairs once more. "Besides, these women have the highest security clearance in the state. They won't tell a soul we are here, so you are as safe as I can make you." He gave Casey a grin over his shoulder. "That is, of course, as long as you don't wander around the first floor during normal business hours. These women tend to cater to some of the highest-ranked soldiers at Base." Noah didn't say anything more, and instead, opened the door and stepped inside.

Casey glanced up and down the street. There were a few patrols out and about, and a small number of men headed his way. Needing to stay hidden, he moved quickly, bounding up the steps and slipping inside.

The front room was like walking into a Fourth of July celebration sans the hundred-degree heat. USA flags hung from every corner and covered all the windows as curtains. It looked gaudy as hell, and Casey instantly hated it.

Around the room were strategically placed hay bales and uncomfortable-looking stools. As Casey's gaze swept the room, he encountered different women lounging in varying stages of undress. Each woman his eyes found gave him a come-hither smile, and Casey shuffled to the side to avoid them. His maneuvers brought him too close to a stool, and he kicked it, sending it scraping across the floor where it caught on an uneven floorboard and fell with a clatter.

His cheeks burned.

"Marcus!" a woman from the hallway called.

_Marcus?_

"Who have you brought us?" she said.

"Cynthia, my dear," Noah answered the greeting. He clasped her shoulders and dropped air-kisses next to each one of her cheeks. "Just a friend."

Cynthia pulled back. "A friend? For you?" she asked with a wink.

Noah chuckled and shook his head. "Not that kind of friend."

Casting a look over Noah's shoulder, her gaze met Casey's. Her expression screamed debauchery, and a part of Casey's anatomy rose to the occasion. His blush grew hotter.

The woman—Cynthia—asked, "One of my kind of friends, then?"

Casey squirmed. They were _not_ discussing—right in front of him!—whether or not he would hire Cynthia for an hour. What kind of 'friends' did Noah bring here anyway?! Casey's thoughts swirled around orgies involving every woman in the place and Noah at the center. Casey shook his head, trying to dispel the images. If he were to believe Javier, then those fantasies weren't accurate. Any orgies featuring Noah would have a predominantly male cast.

Noah checked Casey's reaction. His eyebrow raised in question, and Casey shook his head again.

Addressing Cynthia, Noah said, "No, not one of your friends either."

Casey swallowed hard.

"Pity," Cynthia said. "He's cute and has that virgin air about him."

A deep chuckle rumbled from Noah, and Casey felt his blush spread from his cheeks to his neck and ears. He felt like a fried, green tomato: hot and squishy.

"We will be here a week. If anyone comes looking, you know what to do."

Cynthia returned her focus to Noah. "You got it."

"We'll be in my room," Noah announced. "Please send up refreshments?"

Cynthia replied in the affirmative.

"Come, Benny," Noah ordered. "We have work to do."

When Casey didn't follow Noah down the hall, Cynthia glanced at him, her head tilting to the side in silent inquiry. Casey started. He must be Benny. Hesitantly Casey followed after Noah and earned a smile from Cynthia as Casey passed. Once out of the freaky Fourth of July themed room, Casey's shoulders dropped from around his ears, and he rolled his arms in their sockets.

"Benny?" he asked Noah's back.

"Would you prefer Brennerman? Or what about Bren?"

"Why, aliases?"

"Would you rather walk around as Casey and run the risk of someone putting one and one together to get two?"

Casey sighed. Give Casey a battlefield, and he could strategize with the best of them. Unfortunately, Noah was proving that, without a doubt, Casey's brand of military tactics severely lacked in the espionage category.

"Bren is better than Benny."

Noah inclined his head once acknowledging Casey's choice and stopped in front of a non-descript door. He pushed it open to reveal stairs. Noah swept his arm to the side, gallantly offering Casey the point position. "My room is on the third floor. The second door on the right."

"Got it." Following Noah's directions led Casey to a room at the end of the hall, where he stopped and waited for Noah to unlock the door. Once open, Noah again offered Casey the option to go in first. Doing so, Casey stepped into a large, one-room apartment with a small kitchenette to his left at the far end of the room with a small island counter between the kitchen proper and the full—or was it a queen-sized—bed pressed against the wall. Directly in front of the entry door was a wall with a desk against it. On the top, he spied a small—rather new looking—communication device. "You have an idle comm?"

Noah stepped into the room and moved toward the bed. As he dropped his bag down, he answered, "Yes."

"And they let you keep it?"

Casey wasn't surprised when Noah didn't respond. Casey hadn't expected him too.

"Make yourself at home," Noah offered. "There should be some food in the cabinets. The bathroom is over there." Noah pointed to the door behind the desk. "I have an errand to run."

"Where are you going?" Casey asked, closing the door. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be left alone in a State-run. Noah's eyebrow raised in question, but again, he did not answer. Casey sighed. "Fine. I'll stay right here then."

Noah nodded once and returned his attention to his bag. Casey didn't see what Noah retrieved from its depths, and he wasn't sure he cared. After palming whatever it was, Noah left the room with Theia in tow and locked the door behind him.

"Right," Casey muttered. "Tu casa es mi casa. Eh, amigo?"

Casey walked to the kitchen island and set his bag on top. The apartment was small, no surprises there, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to explore. He drifted around the counter and checked a few of the cabinets. There were a few cans of green beans, but nothing else. "Food. Right," he said, drawing out the last word.

Moving from there, Casey glanced at the comm device and sighed. He missed not having an active account. No, what he missed was not being a Staff Sergeant and all the responsibilities the title required.

Next, Casey looked inside the bathroom. It held a standard commode, sink, and a shower. After using the facilities, he turned the faucet on and played with the temperature. As he washed his hands, he realized there was hot water. Casey couldn't remember the last time he had a hot shower. Did he get one the previous summer when incarcerated? He shook his head no. All those showers had been cold and supervised by Private Brown or the warden.

Casey stripped out of his clothes so fast he felt sure they smoked from friction burn, and stepped into the shower stall, tweaked the faucet, and let the cold water sluice over him. Within moments it was hot, and he groaned.

Bliss.

An inordinately long time later, he cut the water and stepped out. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he dried off and wrapped it around his hips. Casey pulled the door open and stopped short. Noah sat on the edge of his bed, working on some sort of contraption, and Theia woofed softly.

"Enjoy yourself?" Noah inquired without looking up.

"Yes," Casey replied. His hand gripped the towel's knot so it wouldn't slip as he moved passed Noah to get to his bag

"Good," Noah replied. "There is chili on the counter."

Casey sniffed. Now that Noah'd mentioned it, he could smell the spices, meat, and sauce.

"Take as much as you want. I already ate."

"Thanks," Casey murmured as he finished making his way to his bag.

"There's sun-brewed tea."

Casey grunted in agitation as he yanked out his change of clothes and stepped back into the bathroom to change. Once dressed, he grabbed some food and walked over to Noah.

"What are you making?" Casey asked as he shoveled a large spoonful of chili into his mouth.

"Your cot."

"Cot?" he asked around the food in his mouth.

Noah glanced up from his task and then back to it. "Yes. I assumed you did not wish to sleep on the floor. If I was mistaken, don't let me hold you back."

"No. No," Casey said, waving his spoon. "A cot's great. I wasn't 'specting it's all."

Noah snorted.

While Casey ate, Noah worked, and by the time Casey finished with his dinner, Noah finished as well. Setting the cot against the wall with the entry door, Noah said, "We will be meeting with Sergeant Fordmyer and Specialist Brice tomorrow. Surgeon Armstrong should make an appearance sometime this week, and I expect to do a few RAC tasks in between meetings."

"Okay."

"You"—Noah stressed the word—"will take some time scouting the area. But first, let's take a look at our objectives, shall we?"

"Objectives?" Casey asked.

Noah gave him a pointed stare.

Catching on, Casey said, "Right. Our objectives." After a pause, where he contemplated why, if they were in such a secure location, did they need to speak in code, Casey asked, "But I thought you said the women here had the highest security clearance. Wouldn't that mean we're free to talk however we need?"

"They are." After a beat, Noah added, "Plausible deniability."

"Ah."

"Ah, indeed."

"Okay... So? Our objectives?" Casey prompted when Noah had made no further effort to speak.

Noah shifted and pulled the chair out from under the desk. He tapped the power button on the comm device as he sat. A handful of minutes later, the boot screen appeared. Casey averted his eyes when Noah typed in his username and password.

"You can look again," Noah said softly, warmly.

Leaning forward, Casey propped one hand on Noah's chair and the other on the desk and directed his attention to the screen.

"First up, Gates," Noah said while the screen updated with an interface Casey'd never seen before. Navigating through several different menus, Noah came to a stop on a standard looking search field. He typed in "Judith Rufensen." They waited for the page to load. Once loaded, they read a comprehensive medical report which showed Judith (Judy) Rufensen had delivered a baby girl nine days ago. Noah clicked on the record with the infant's name.

Emilia's file launched. Close to the bottom of her record was her commune listing. They planned to ship her off to Iowa. Before Noah could close out the document, Casey noted Emilia'd been born the day after Casey and Noah had left the settlement. That meant they had seven more weeks to go before the two little girls were off to their permanent communal homes.

Noah closed out of Emilia's result and pulled up the other infant: Rowan.

"They had not updated her communal home placement as of last week," Noah explained while they waited for Rowan's record to load. When it did, they both checked the line indicating her future home. Ohio. Casey didn't envy Javier or Noah. They would have to split their attention between the two opposite directions.

Noah Xed out of that system and launched one Casey recognized. After it loaded, Noah punched in a name.

The file loaded.

_Constance (Stanzy) Harper Ulrich GREEN_ , Casey read.

The image of a young woman with brown eyes hidden by glasses and framed by long brown hair stared back at them. Casey skimmed her record.

"Shaw Park," Casey said, reading aloud.

Noah clicked a few fields and began typing.

"What are you doing?" Casey asked.

"Changing her deployment."

"You can do that?" Casey asked as he read over Noah's shoulder.

"Yes."

"To Forest Park?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"More avenues for hiding and escaping detection."

_Okay. Sure._

One of the reasons for the establishment of Fort St. Louis in the old town of Clayton was for the two parks. Shaw Park was a relatively large tract of land bracketing a skyscraper center with the other side of the city as a university-turned-science-research-facility-and-hospital and Forest Park an old World's Fair fairground. Neither park ended up being perfect for St. Louis's food initiative, but Shaw Park had proven itself easier to maintain. Fewer hills. Fewer trees. Fewer everything. And most of the gardening effort centered around this smaller tract of land.

"When will her deployment take effect?"

"Within forty-eight hours," Noah replied. "You have her face memorized?"

"I may need a refresher later, but let's check out the next name," Casey said.

Noah indicated he heard by clearing Stanzy's record and loading the next one. After a tedious wait, Karsyn Baily Murry's history loaded. Another young lady with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes stared back at them. "She looks a lot like Stanzy," Casey remarked as he scrolled down to her genetic markers. "Same color eyes. Hair."

"She _is_ related," Noah answered, pointing to the evidence right as Casey found it on the form.

Mother: Lisa Saranson Orrell

_Father: First Lieutenant Perimeter Control Enforcement Timothy Kade Hershel_

Statistically plausible but unreal. "What about the others?"

"No connection." As if to prove his point, Noah killed Karsyn's listing and launched a new search.

"Wait," Casey interjected. "Where will she be stationed?"

"Preschool wing."

Casey's shoulders slumped. How the hell would he get into the school, barracks, and a communal to get her and the two younger ones out.

"Surgeon Armstrong will extract Karsyn, Trisha, and Lucina," Noah replied as if hearing Casey's thoughts. "You only need to focus on Stanzy. She's been field trained and close to the end of her Basic training. She's the one who will challenge you the most."

Casey nodded. Depending on how diligent Stanzy had been during her training, she would know how to fight back or at least ought to attempt it. His mind quickly cataloged several scenarios and counters to them, but he would have to think of every potential outcome. At least this was a battle. He expected little trouble navigating its complexities.

When he returned his focus to the screen, Casey saw a skinny black girl, not quite eight years old, sporting lots of tight curls, and bright, dark brown, almond-shaped eyes. She had a gap-toothed smile and looked adorable.

"This is Trisha, Trish Raynerson Waldemar. The last of the priority green objectives." Noah paused. "She is known to be reclusive and is allergic to asparagus."

_No problem there_ , Casey thought.

Reclusive was good. She'd probably withdraw into herself and not cause any issues during their escape. As for the allergy? Not something Casey worried about either, seeing as they didn't grow any asparagus in their garden back home.

"What about the last one," Casey inquired.

"Ah, Lucina." Noah began the process of pulling her record. After it displayed on the screen, Casey leaned forward to get a better look.

Lucina (Lucy) Gunther Gladwin WHITE

Mother: Sariad Lee Schneider

Father: Master Sergeant Regimental Textiles and Clothiers Lanny Clovis Collins

Aliments: Chronic stomach pains. No applicable diagnosis

No Applicable diagnosis? What the hell did that even mean? Dragging his attention from the vague medical issue, Casey made a conscious effort to look at the little girl's face. A blonde girl with pale blue eyes and glasses smiled for the camera. Her front teeth were slightly crooked, and Casey suspected she sucked her thumb since Greysen's teeth were bent similarly.

Noah closed the form.

Straightening, Casey backed away from the comm device and sat on his cot.

Knowing how the other girls looked helped, he thought as Casey took off his shoes, but really, he needed to concentrate on Stanzy. The first trick would be to isolate her, but how would he accomplish the task?

"What are my restrictions? You mentioned recon, but at the same time indicated I needed to stay inside."

Spinning in his chair, Noah turned to face him. "No, I said to avoid the first floor. Use the fire-escape or leave during off-hours." After a beat, Noah added, "I do ask that you are here for Sergeant Fordmyer and Specialist Brice tomorrow, and, if at all possible, that you be here to meet Surgeon Armstrong. The three are integral to our success."

"Yeah? How so?" Casey was only half listening.

He identified that two individuals were outside their room and walking the hall. One wore boots and the other some sort of shoe with a super soft sole, or they were barefoot since the only indicator of that individual's passage was the give in the floor and a slight scuff of their heel as they placed each foot. A door opened and closed down the hall. Something thudded against the wall, rattling the door to Noah's room.

"Sergeant of"—Casey redirected his attention from the activity to Noah when he began speaking—"Civilian Protection Services Fordmyer and Specialist Humo-logical Analysis and Conservation—"

"—His discipline?" Casey interrupted as Noah said the soldier's last name.

"Dentistry."

"Hell yeah," Casey muttered, welcoming the news. The settlement needed a dentist. Casey _needed_ a dentist.

Casey waved his hand, urging Noah to continue.

Noah cleared his throat. "Specialist Brice will be joining you at the settlement, in addition to being available should you end up needing his services on your upcoming mission."

Casey nodded and shifted to lay down. He pillowed the back of his head on his crossed arms and stared at the ceiling. "And Surgeon Armstrong?"

When Noah didn't respond right away, Casey turned to look at him.

"You will see," Noah replied with a soft smile, and Casey wondered if perhaps, Surgeon Armstrong was a former lover.

After that, the conversation lapsed into an awkward silence, which grew until Noah grunted and stood. Casey yawned. It was a shame the more relaxed comradery of their trip appeared to have dissolved, but maybe it would come back once they left. He didn't think they'd ever be friends, but this reinstated 'between strangers' act, didn't suit them either.

"I'm going to turn in," Noah remarked. "Need the restroom before I take a shower?"

Casey dismissed the question with a shake of his head. His body tingled unpleasantly, and he knew he was overtired. Casey hoped sleep would claim him quickly.

As he lay there listening to the sounds of activity in Uncle Sam's, the water kicked on drowning out the rhythmic thumping coming from the ceiling above and the wall opposite. Casey rolled over and shifted his elbows to cover his ears and act as a pillow.

It was going to be a long night.

Casey awoke to sunlight streaming in through both windows opposite his cot and the smell of hot coffee. He groaned, wiping his face with his right hand, and sat up. Between the sounds of sex, Noah's soft snoring, Theia's shifting, the constant footsteps up and down the hall, and the general malaise he usually felt when spending the night in a new place, Casey'd hardly slept at all.

His gaze drifted to Noah's bed. It was empty and primly made.

Pushing to his feet, Casey limped over to the bathroom. His socked feet offered little stability, and he grimaced as his ankle rolled more than once. Finished with his early morning needs, Casey zombie shuffled to the carafe on the counter. He sniffed it as he lifted it and tried not to moan at the heady aroma. He filled a mug and took his first sip, rolling it around in his mouth, savoring the flavor as it exploded on his tongue.

After another sip, he maneuvered his way over to the windows, taking care not to spill a single drop. Once there, Casey nursed his beverage and watched the street below. It was late, maybe an hour or two past dawn, yet the road in front of Uncle Sam's wasn't full of soldiers, and Casey wondered why. It wasn't as if the establishment was too far from the fort. He could see the buildings looming four blocks away.

"So much for parade grounds," Casey muttered.

"Parade grounds?" Noah asked from a few feet away.

Casey took a sip of his coffee, hoping the action disguised the jerk his hand had made at hearing Noah right behind him.

"Yes," Casey answered. "On the way in, I imagined you lived on the parade grounds when you were in St. Louis."

"Ah," Noah replied. "At ease, Theia," Noah commanded, bringing a smile to Casey's lips.

Casey blew on his brew and watched Noah's reflection in the window as he plunked a bag on the counter. Noah reached in and pulled out a brown wrapped package and then a smaller canvas bag. "Steak and eggs?" Noah asked.

Saliva pooled in Casey's mouth. After swallowing, he repeated, "Steak?" A loud rumble from his stomach echoed Casey's words.

Noah chuckled under his breath and began cooking the meal. Over bangs of pots and pans, Noah said, "I heard from Sergeant Fordmyer. He will be here in an hour."

"Okay."

"Specialist Brice cannot come 'til this evening, after his shift."

"He's active duty?" Casey said, surprised, turning to face Noah. He'd expected a situation more like what Brad had before joining them at the settlement.

"They both are."

"And they're coming to the settlement?"

Noah glanced at Casey over his shoulder before returning his attention to the frying pan. "Yes."

Casey was not pleased. He seemed to be collecting a disturbing number of AWOL soldiers. A pressure grew in his chest that he massaged it with his fingers.

"This bothers you?" Noah asked.

"I just," Casey trailed off and began moving toward the kitchen.

"Didn't expect so many active enlisted to share my ideas and wish to forward the cause?"

"Yeah... That," Casey said, pulling out a stool and sitting at the island.

Noah snorted. "I have a few more contacts who will abandon their posts should I need them to, but as of right now, I do not feel it prudent for them to do so."

"Good," Casey muttered, setting his mug down. He spun it in a lazy circle. Around. And around, went the handle.

A dark brown hand entered his field of vision and halted the mug's progress mid-spin. Casey slowly lifted his chin until his gaze met Noah's.

"Why _does_ this bother you?"

Casey sighed and dropped his gaze to the cup. He grasped the handle and pulled it toward him, dislodging Noah's hand. "They're throwing away their careers for this. For me. For Lottie. It—It feels wrong."

"Son," Noah said, his voice soft. "They're not throwing away their careers for you or Lottie directly. They're making a stand against unfair laws. Against oppression and segregation. Not unlike our struggles of old. Once, we fought for race equality, but with the advent of the Fife-Star law, the people had a new focus. True government oppression. A sentiment echoed by every other government in the world. By 2099, our country's overt hatred of people of color was practically a thing of the past. Instead, we feared annihilation. Feared our nation turned military state. Feared things no one expected we would ever face. A feat no one of the twenty-first-century could ever have predicted. Those citizens lived in a world full of violence. So full of hate. Hate against women. Hate against men. Hate against color or sexual orientation. Hate so extreme," Noah trailed off.

Clearing his throat, he continued. "The children of that generation and the next one after strove for change. Change of the environment. Change of the top one percent. Change of the very hatred and bigotry running rampant in all walks of life. From their blood, their tears, their sacrifice, the USA emerged as a better place. A place people were proud of again." Noah paused and turned back to the stove.

"A great nation no longer built on the labor of others but on the labor of itself." Noah sighed, his shoulders curling inward. "An achievement unparalleled. An achievement destroyed as the population dropped to fifty percent of its all-time high. An achievement that we threw away as we scrambled to save ourselves from our extinction. First, with The Great Female Conscription Compromise and then with The Dynasty Act."

Noah scraped a spatula across the pan and dropped the contents on a plate before giving it to Casey. "So you see," Noah said, once again meeting Casey's eyes. "They aren't doing this for _you_. They're doing this for themselves."

_But._ "Tristan... Jules..."

Noah's tight grin did not reassure Casey. Spinning back around, Noah said, "They are doing it for you, I will give you that. You are their friend. Their trusted confidant. Their leader. It is good that they are at your side." Noah tossed Theia a tidbit from the pan, which she snapped up before it hit the floor. "Don't begrudge them their willingness to help you. Accept it for what it is, treat them with dignity, and acknowledge in your heart this truth: They chose to join you. You did not force them to make that choice. You did not require it of them. You. Are. Not. Leading. Them. To. Ruin."

Casey dropped his eyes to the table and spun his mug. Noah clasped Casey's chin, forcing Casey's gaze back to him.

"Understood?"

Casey had no words.

When Casey didn't reply, Noah asked, "Son?"

On a sigh, Casey nodded, agreeing, and Noah released him. Casey knew what Noah said was true. Noah hadn't been the only one to lay it out for him in such blatant terms, but logic didn't always align with his heart. If it had, he never would have been here, sitting in Noah's kitchen, eating steak and eggs, and planning on kidnapping six children.

Cringeworthy.

Noah returned to his cooking. "Good," he said as he cracked an egg and added it to the pan. "Now eat up. We have a lot to do today."

"Yes, sir," Casey mumbled, and though he tried to fight it, a smile of gratitude and pleasure at Noah's acceptance, colored his tone.

Their breakfast lay decimated before them when there was a knock at the door. Theia's head lifted from her paws and eyed the door.

"That will be Cynthia," Noah remarked.

"Not Sergeant Fordmyer?"

"No," Noah said as he stood and made his way to the door. "The knock wasn't decisive enough." Unlocking it, Noah pulled it open.

"Cynthia, my dear," Noah said, leaning in to do that weird air-kiss-cheeks thing. "What brings you by so early in the morning?"

Cynthia chuckled and winked at Casey over Noah's shoulder. "A Sergeant Fordmyer is waiting for you in the lounge."

"Ah," Noah replied, his tone indicated he hadn't expected a visitor though Casey knew this to be false. "Send him up, would you, dear?"

"You got it, lover boy."

Noah closed the door as she left. He shook his head and waited for Fordmyer to arrive. Before Casey could decide whether or not he wanted to know why Noah looked so chagrined, there was a pounding on the door. Cynthia's knock had been firm, no-nonsense, but this new one rattled the door on its hinges.

As Casey stood, Noah swung it wide, catching the man at the door mid-downswing. The excessive force now made sense. Sergeant Fordmyer was a formidable man. Casey estimated he stood close to six and a half feet tall and had more muscle—at least a hundred pounds of it—more than either of them and quite possibly more than even with Noah and Casey's weight combined.

"Sergeant Fordmyer," Noah greeted.

The newcomer pinned Noah with a glare. "So it's _Sergeant Fordmyer_ now? What happened to Leslie?"

"Leslie," Noah said, his tone defensive and slightly contrite. Not sure what to make of the whole exchange, Casey's attention pinged back and forth between the two men.

Sergeant Fordmyer huffed and strode toward Casey, hand out, ready for a shake. "So, you're my new boss?"

Casey's neck craned back to take in the full mass of the man looming over him. Ever-absent, God, Fordmyer was big. Fordmyer's brown hand engulfed Casey's smaller one, and Fordmyer gave his arm a pump. Releasing Casey, Fordmyer said, "Noah, here, tells me you got a wife and kid at home, that right?"

Casey glanced at Noah, gauging his reaction to Fordmyer's pronouncement. Noah nodded, then said, "I'll leave you two to get acquainted."

Addressing, Fordmyer, Noah added, "Remember, the walls can hear."

"Got it," Fordmyer replied and returned his focus to Casey.

There was silence as each man took the other's measure. Casey noted the defined features, closely cropped hair, and intelligent brown eyes of the man before him.

Finally, Casey spoke, "Yes, Bean—"

"—That her real name?" Fordmyer interrupted, his former booming tone now gone.

Casey shook his head. He didn't know exactly why, but he felt the need to keep Lottie's name to himself a little longer. "—Bean birthed my son a little over two years ago, and gave me a daughter earlier this month."

"A girl?" Fordmyer repeated. "Hot damn. Noah said the women at your camp came from some super-secret hideout upstate—wouldn't say where—guess the treatments they gave 'em there, are working. Know if they cured the crisis?"

"No."

"No, you don't know, or no, they didn't succeed."

"Both."

"Damn." Fordmyer shook his head. "Go on."

Casey paused. It felt odd to confide in a man he just met. Switching the topic of conversation to something more comfortable, if not more contentious, Casey said, "Noah has told me you support his cause. His mission to reunite families. Has he made you aware that I have been given a bad-conduct discharge for my suspected involvement in harboring a Conscription Compromise dodger and the sheltering of an entire camp made up of AWOL soldiers?"

"Yep," Fordmyer replied, without a single note of hesitation. "Well, didn't know about the BDC, but it doesn't matter," Fordmyer continued as he moved toward the counter. He poured himself some coffee. Fordmyer held it up, silently offering Casey some.

"Doesn't bother me a bit," Fordmyer said.

Casey shook his head.

Fordmyer continued, "He also said you might need some help with an upcoming mission." He spread his arms wide. Coffee sloshed out of Fordmyer's mug in one hand, and, in the other, the carafe swung at the end of his fingers. "Command me, boss. What do you need?"

As Casey contemplated his next move, Noah returned. Motioning Theia forward, he entered the room and went directly to the bathroom. A second later, the sound of water running from a faucet drifted out.

"Odd time to take a shower, dunt'ya'think, Noah?" Fordmyer said, aiming his words in the direction of the bathroom.

Casey swung around in time to see Noah exit the facilities, leaving the water running. Casey's eyebrow lifted with his curiosity. He assumed Noah left the water running for additional plausible deniability.

"There are no patrons on the premises, and our neighbors are sleeping, but just in case," Noah explained. "It's best to have some form of white noise for this discussion." It had been as Casey suspected. Yet, the tang of bitter envy lay coyly on the back of his tongue.

Of course, Noah would answer Fordmyer's question, but not Casey's.

Never Casey's.

Casey directed another question to Fordmyer, "Which part of the CPS are you tasked with?"

"I have a platoon of MPs stationed at the northeastern border north of the Forest Park food initiative."

_Military Police, good._ Casey worried Fordmyer's tasks were with the fire brigade and, consequently, would not have information Casey could use.

"Define northeast," Casey requested, quickly slipping into command mode.

Fordmyer scratched his clean-shaven chin. "Our west border runs along old Skinker, hits Forest Park, rides up Lindell, catches the east boarder at Kingshighway and marches north 'til ya hit Dr. King drive."

Interesting. Fordmyer policed an area roughly six square kilometers in size.

"What can you tell me about the patrols? Any weaknesses other than distance from the epicenter?" Everyone knew the patrols were thicker near the gardens than the outlying areas. Nobody but drifters lived past the natural boundaries. The Army had enough enlisted men. They didn't need to go after the unaffiliated.

Fordmyer stared at Casey for a long moment, and Casey wondered what the man was thinking. He was silent so long, Casey feared he wouldn't answer.

"If I were trying to get in and out unseen, I'd focus my efforts east of Kingshighway. You won't encounter another patrol east of Grand, and they're sporadic between the two."

"Why?" Casey asked. He had a few assumptions, but it was always better to have the source spell it out for you, just in case.

"The river."

Casey thought as much, glad to see his assessment ran true. No one lived or worked east of Kingshighway, too many crumbling buildings plus the Mississippi river flooded regularly. That section of the old downtown district was the perfect way to get lost. No one would expect kidnappers to go that way. They'd be boxing themselves in, limiting their options to north or south. Casey could use that to his advantage, and by the time the Brass realized that east was a viable option? He'd be long gone.

"You think you can get me some supplies and tuck them away in an unexplored corner?" Casey asked, giving voice to the direction of his thoughts.

"What'er you thinking?" Fordmyer asked.

"This," Casey said, as he launched into a list of all the things he thought he might need come this June. "And then when they think they know our plans, they'll learn we didn't go north to Illinois at all. They'll be following that trail for weeks before they realize we went south."

"It does seem solid," Fordmyer said.

Casey glanced at Noah, wondering what he thought. A ghost of a smile graced Noah's lips. Casey assumed that meant Noah liked that idea.

"If you give me some lead time, tell me when this is all gonna go down, I can move my men from your proposed trajectory," Fordmyer offered. "Won't help you with the patrols at the garden or the ones not under my command, but it will limit your exposure."

"Sounds good," Casey said, patting Fordmyer on the shoulder. "I won't know the zero-hour 'til we come back, but I'll make sure to get the message to you. I'm sure Noah, here"—Casey looked past Fordmyer to confirm with Noah. Casey received a nod—"will know how to contact you. I think that's all for now. If I need anything else, I'll let you know."

Fordmyer stood and held out his hand. Casey joined him, and they shook again as Fordmyer said, "You got it boss" and left.

Casey stood there, staring at the door for a beat before returning his attention to Noah. "That was enlightening." After another moment, Casey asked, "You think it'll work?"

"As good as anything I came up with," Noah replied.

Glancing at a clock on the wall, Noah stood. "I have an errand to run. I should be back around fifteen-hundred. I expect Specialist Brice at twenty-hundred."

Casey had some time then.

"There's a spare key, here"—Noah opened a cabinet, and rattled something metal inside, which Casey assumed was the key—"if you choose to leave." It was worded as a suggestion but delivered as a command.

"Thanks," Casey replied, dryly, refusing to take the bait.

Noah inclined his head once, whistled for Theia, and then left the apartment.

Casey took his cold coffee and strolled over to the window. He was in time to spy Fordmyer leave through the front doors. The big man moved halfway down the street and then stopped. A few moments later, Noah exited and joined Fordmyer under the tree where Fordmyer waited.

The two men exchanged a few words, and, to Casey, it looked heated and strangely intimate.

Casey shook his head and left the window.

He didn't want to know.

# Chapter 22

Casey couldn't remember the last time he'd been to Forest Park. During Basic training? Probably. The location felt familiar enough. He supposed he could have toured it when Casey first arrived in Fort St. Louis from Fort Kansas City. Regardless, it had changed some, and Casey was glad he decided to visit it first before trying to collect intel on Stanzy.

The most significant difference between Casey's memory and the grounds had been the number of trees in the park. He remembered there being more trees then terraced ledges where different types of food would be grown. It was early in the planting season, and nothing appeared to have sprouted yet unless you counted the clumps of men working the fields as plants.

He stepped away from the curb and drifted south along the edge. Seeing as he wore leathers and not fatigues, Casey didn't think he could wander onto the grounds uncontested, so Casey had to settle for what he could glean with covert observation. Hell, Casey couldn't even use binoculars.

He chuckled. "No, sir,"—mentally saluting the imaginary officer tasked with confronting him—"I am not here to spy on you, sir. Binoculars, sir?"—Casey pictured the perplexed look he'd have to conjure at detecting the equipment in his hand—"How did these get here? I have no idea how they came to be in my possession."

Still snickering to himself, he turned the corner and headed east. All the while, Casey noted the utility buildings, outhouses, sightline obfuscations, and where the patrol soldiers tended to congregate.

Once finished with his leisurely reconnaissance stroll, Casey decided there wasn't a lot he could work with on the grounds themselves. There were side buildings and a few places to hide in the surrounding area, but nothing stood out. He'd have to come back and observe Stanzy at work. Maybe then he'd know what to do.

Glancing at the sky, he estimated the time to be about fourteen-hundred. If he left now, he'd get back to Noah's in about an hour, which would leave him three hours of downtime to kill. He shook his head. Casey's boredom would know no bounds if he left himself idle that long. No, Casey needed to expand his walk to the north of the park. Maybe if he kept himself busy, inspiration would strike.

With a jaunty, whistled tune, he was off.

***

After removing his flannel shirt, Casey shucked his borrowed leathers, folded everything and set them on the floor under his bed, and then climbed into the cot. With Noah out on another errand, Theia had deemed Casey an acceptable substitute and had hopped onto the bed after Casey settled. She rested her snout on his hip, and Casey stroked her head and scratched behind her ears. It had been a long day, first with meeting Fordmyer and then his all-day recon.

While Casey was thinking about them, he mentally scrolled through all of Fordmyer's men he'd seen patrolling the area. After each remembered face, he attempted to convert it to memory.

That task done, his thoughts moved on to Brice, and Casey frowned with distaste.

Brice was an asshole. One of those super sweet, saccharine individuals, who were guaranteed to be talking ill about others behind their back no matter what was said to the individual's face. Brice hadn't done or said anything overt, but Casey remembered the meeting with the same level of distaste one would have after eating a bruised candied apple: coyly sweet with a bitter, mushy after taste.

He scraped his tongue across his teeth as if that would help dispel the memory. Casey figured the only reason Noah'd recruited the slimy fellow was for his dentistry. At least Casey would get his sore tooth fixed before he went home. His dental appointment was in two days. Early. At the start of Brice's shift. Unfortunately, other than dentistry, the man didn't seem to have any redeeming qualities.

With a final pat to Theia's head, Casey let his eyes close and body relax. Maybe tonight, the sounds of sex wouldn't keep him awake.

***

Casey awoke to a firm knock on Noah's door. He tossed his arm over his eyes to block the sun and waited for Noah to answer it.

A second knock sounded, firmer than the first, and Casey lifted his head, checking for Noah.

Noah's bed was empty, and the bathroom was unoccupied.

Theia was missing as well.

All facts led to one conclusion. Noah wasn't here.

"He took the dog, too," Casey mumbled to himself.

The knock sounded a third time.

"Just a minute," he called out and ran a hand over his face as he sat up. "I need to put some pants on," Casey muttered, pawing at the floor, searching for the article of clothing.

Once presentable, Casey unlocked the door and opened it.

A black woman, not much taller than five feet and excessively thin, with gray hair and dressed in full fatigues was on the other side of the door. Casey knew immediately she wasn't a state-worker. With his eyebrow cocked in question, and he asked, "Can I help you?"

Serious dark brown eyes appraised him. "Staff Sergeant Huxley?" she inquired.

Casey glanced up and down the hallway looking for eavesdroppers. Seeing none, he replied, "Yes."

The woman thrust out her hand to shake. "Surgeon Armstrong at your service."

Casey blinked once, twice.

Surgeon Armstrong? _Noah's_ Surgeon Armstrong? A female surgeon? _Unreal._

Rechecking the hall for observers, Casey confirmed no one was about and held the door wide while motioning Surgeon Armstrong inside. "Noah's not here."

She shrugged. "I know."

"Do we need to wait for him?"

Surgeon Armstrong dismissed Casey's concern with a casual flick of the wrist and slightly upturned lip. On anyone else, it would have been a sneer, but on Surgeon Armstrong, it came off as cavalier.

"He'll be along shortly." She moved into the kitchen and began checking cabinets. She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Coffee?"

Casey shook his head and yawned. He hadn't been awake before her arrival, so he hadn't brewed any, and the magical coffee gnome—who was Noah—hadn't left any on the counter for them to discover, either.

She straightened. "Tea?"

Casey shook his head again.

"Hot water?"

Again, he answered in the negative with a head movement. He scratched his belly and realized he was shirtless. Casey grabbed his undershirt from where he'd stashed it and hastily put it on.

Surgeon Armstrong sighed, crossing her arms and leaned against the counter, one leg crossing the other. "That's the worst part of this shift," she said. "The damn early mornings and nothing hot or caffeinated to drink."

After a beat, she motioned to the kitchen island and said, "Don't just stand there gaping at me. Sit. Sit."

Surgeon Armstrong returned to her arms crossed stance and followed him with her eyes, shifting her body to keep him in front of her even though the island separated them.

Casey sat, and he glanced at the clock on the wall.

Six-hundred.

He'd overslept.

"Why _are_ you here so early?" Casey asked.

"It's the end of their shifts."

His gaze left the clock to find Surgeon Armstrong staring at him. "I'm sorry, what?" He popped his jaw in a vain attempt to clear his ears. Nothing seemed to be making sense right now.

"The women stationed here."

He blinked slowly, not comprehending her point.

Surgeon Armstrong chuckled. "The women stationed here? For most of them, it's the end of their shift."

"What's that got to do with anything?" His inability to grasp what she meant bordered on embarrassing.

She tapped her fingers on her forearm, where her hand rested at her elbow. "They may no longer be a part of the cure effort, but that doesn't mean the government's responsibilities to them have ended. They need routine care—vaccines, medicines, you get the idea—"

"Uh-huh."

"—and the government needs to study them for possible gene mutations which would either inhibit or enhance the crisis-recovery effort."

Casey chewed on the inside of his cheek. "And the end of their shifts affects this how?"

"They're all in one place."

"Okay."

She sighed and shook her head. "And I thought I wasn't a morning person," Armstrong muttered quietly, and Casey frowned. "I'll try again," she said under her breath. Louder, she continued, "It's easier for me to get my samples from them when all the women finish working for the night. It's more efficient to catch them before they clock out than to try to keep track of who I saw when and whether or not the ones I still need to see are busy with a patron."

"Ah," Casey murmured. He felt his cheeks redden as he caught on to what she meant. But now that his brain was functioning, his mind was overloaded with questions. Giving voice to one of them, he asked, "And do you get either of those scenarios a lot?"

Surgeon Armstrong snorted. "Which one?"

"The gene mutations?"

Shaking her head, Surgeon Armstrong replied, "No. But if we do log a change, usually it's a negative one."

"Ever get a positive change?"

"Sure."

"Like what?" Casey asked, warming to the topic and the forthright surgeon now that he felt she wasn't mocking him.

"Oh," she said, loosening her arms and resting her hands on the counter in front of Casey. "Hmm, how can I explain this..." She tapped her finger on the surface for several beats, then began, "About two years ago my team isolated a genetic mutation which, if applied to a male mouse via a virus, would alter the damaged X chromosome in sperm. In effect, we were able to unfold the folded X." Casey tilted his head to the side, listening. "We tried giving the females in our test group the same virus, but they had adverse effects."

"Adverse effects?"

"They all died."

Casey gulped.

Surgeon Armstrong nodded. "That was the last time I heard about that particular effort, but I have reason to believe the work continued after they pulled me from the study."

"Oh?"

"That, of course," she said, "was about the time I petitioned for a reassignment." Her finger drumming grew more insistent. "Noah had learned of a super-secret facility in upstate Missouri."— _Gates?_ —"We both thought it an excellent place for me to go. One, I'd get to work on truly cutting edge technology, and two, we hoped to learn more about how to save the women sent there. With my credentials, I was supposed to be a shoo-in. Noah thought so. I thought so."

She pushed off the counter and rested her elbows on the one behind her. "It wasn't to be." She grimaced. "I was bumped from the roster. Removed from my team. And relegated to fieldwork—no research."

"That," Casey trailed off.

"Sucks?"

"Yeah," he agreed.

She shrugged. "Can't do anything about it now."

_Gates?_ Casey thought again. Was this Noah's contact from two years ago? The one Lottie replaced?

"But if our studies were correct," Surgeon Armstrong continued, "If we applied the fix my team had found to our men, our problem might be solved."

"How?"

"Well, like it fixed our male mouse."

Casey nodded, hoping she would elaborate.

She sighed and said, "The virus spreads from one mouse to another, targeting only the males. Fixing the broken pieces as it goes. No more folded X."

The way she laid it out brought another memory to the forefront of Casey's mind. Two new infant girls were born at Gates. Did that mean the research Surgeon Armstrong had helped develop had worked? And if it did, did the virus spread like a typical illness?

It made him wonder. _Hope._ Was his daughter a byproduct of this fix? This virus? Had he been exposed? Javier had been near the soldiers coming out of Gates. Could he have gotten this virus and then brought it back to the settlement?

Casey refocused on Surgeon Armstrong as she continued, "Regretfully, I don't have any proof that the Army uses my team's findings."

"But if they were?"

"Then, much like the original virus, the affected individuals would never know they carried the cure."

_Fascinating._ "Do we know what caused the crisis in the first place? How it came to be?"

Surgeon Armstrong laughed, and Casey frowned. He didn't think his question was that funny. "I mean," Casey said, defensively. He knew what the schools had taught. He'd been present during those units of study. "I know what the history books say. Bad water. Bad air. Culminated in an adverse allergic reaction—"

"Immunoangenitosis," Surgeon Armstrong supplied.

"—yeah, that—which caused female bodies to identify their fetuses as contaminants and then ultimately abort them."

"In a nutshell? Yes. That is what the education system teaches." Surgeon Armstrong shifted again, straightening. "The truth of it is a bit more disturbing. Countries have gone to war over the true cause of the crisis."

She let go of the counter to talk with her hands, and Casey's heart began to pound. There was something else. Some state secret Surgeon Armstrong was about to impart. Why else would she grow so agitated?

"Picture this," she said. "You're one month into your first full year as President, and one of your aides hands you a dissertation from the leading minds of your time. This document shows that environmental factors even older than you—identified and traced back to the early 2000s and prior—are the cause of the hypersensitivity—the histo-immunology over-reaction—to both pregnancy and sperm."

Casey shifted in his seat, remembering one of his history texts stating something similar.

"Chemicals dumped into the air, water, and ground from the industrial revolution are the reason women can't carry to term. These chemicals—all deemed necessary in their time—have made women's bodies allergic to their fetuses. How do you feel?" Surgeon Armstrong asked.

She lifted an eyebrow but didn't wait for Casey to respond. "And then you read further. Buried a hundred and fifty pages into this boring document is this fact Southwest Asia and India _intentionally_ and _deliberately_ created a virus in their labs—"

"—What?" Casey asked, interrupting. There was no way he had heard her correctly.

"—using the common—" Surgeon Armstrong paused as his interjection registered and then nodded. Backtracking a bit, she said, "—Asia and India deliberately created the crisis using the common and highly adaptable influenza strain as a transferring agent. They made a highly aggressive mutation, inserted it into a popular protein drink. Marketed it as a pro-biotic, though it was a virus, not a bacterium, and sold it for a tidy profit."

"You're serious? A protein drink?" Casey clarified.

"Yes."

She let her head fall forward, and she shook it side to side. "So unbelievably stupid," she whispered to herself.

Lifting her gaze from the floor, she made eye contact with Casey. "In those countries, women were considered useless. Less than useless, actually. Purely receptacles for their men's lust. And those men? If they wanted the resulting children at all, it would only be proper for them to father sons. Anything less was 'unmasculine'."

Growling, she repeated. "They only wanted to father sons!"

Surgeon Armstrong snorted. "So, so, stupid." She sighed. "Without girls, how else did they expect to procreate?"

After a pause, Surgeon Armstrong continued, "Someone in their infinite genius created this—this—virus to change men's ability to make X chromosomes, and even more alarming, it targets and kills seventy-five percent of the sperm a man produces. Couple this with the new female sensitivity to sperm and their own fertilized eggs, and you have a miscarriage crisis on your hands."

Dropping his gaze away from Surgeon Armstrong's intensity, Casey found a dried water ring on the counter. He buffed it out with his finger.

"Everything might have turned out okay," she said, drawing his attention. "The world might have bounced back. Hell, the US might not have been affected at all, but then this virus did what all viruses are supposed to do. It adapted, morphed, and spread. No one identified the threat fast enough. You'd have thought after the pandemics in the early 21st century, the WHO and CDC would have been faster at identifying this sort of thing. Of course, if it had stayed in Asia and India, we might not be where we are today."

Casey held his breath as Surgeon Armstrong glanced at the door, she let her fingers tap against the counter, filling the blank space of her silence as she gathered her thoughts.

Addressing the door, she said, "Regretfully, some of this protein drink made its way to other countries. Inaccurate shipments. Accidental packaging. Deliberate sabotage. The result is that several batches of the engineered product were never supposed to leave Asia or India's borders at all. Unfortunately, they were shipped overseas to other countries. Seattle has the distinction of being the first city to receive this tainted drink. One shipment of this drink—that's six-thousand cases at least—arrived in Seattle and was then sold to any United States citizen interested in it."

_Unbelievable. A protein drink_.

Surgeon Armstrong's attention shifted back to Casey from where she stared at the door. "One-hundred forty-four thousand bottles were sold in the US. One-hundred forty-four thousand was all it took to get us to where we are today."

Casey's knees felt weak, and he knew his fingers shook. He palmed his knees under the island overhang.

_A protein drink ruined the entire world._

Surgeon Armstrong took a deep breath, and Casey mimicked her, needing to fill his tight lungs.

Once he found his voice, Casey asked, "How long would it take for the cure to spread?"

"Too long," Surgeon Armstrong answered. "We no longer have the cross-border travel required to infect others via person to person contact so that transmission vector wouldn't work. Not to mention, our inability to manufacture vaccines."

She left the counter and began rummaging in the cabinets a second time, pulling out pans as she went. She moved to the fridge and retrieved something wrapped in brown paper. Surgeon Armstrong peeked inside. "Bacon." Calling over her shoulder, she asked, "Eggs?"

"In the door," Casey replied. His thoughts swirled around everything she'd told him. It was a lot to take in.

"Ah," she murmured. "Found them." Surgeon Armstrong began prepping breakfast. She was actively frying the eggs before Casey even thought to question her presumption about cooking Noah's food. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter. It was the one universal truth about Noah's contacts. They seemed to have no trouble making themselves at home.

She put two eggs and some bacon on a plate and handed it to Casey. She then set a plate with eggs and bacon next to Casey and then made a plate for herself. She took a bite of eggs, chewed, swallowed, then asked, "Noah said you are here for recon and that I am to help. What have you learned so far?"

Recognizing her question for what it was: a blatant attempt to change the subject, Casey opened his mouth to respond. But before he could, the door creaked open, and the clack of canine toenails on tile followed. A moment later, a raspy tongue licked Casey's hand. He rubbed Theia on the head once she finished tasting him.

"That Specialist Brice is an ass," Noah remarked, answering Surgeon Armstrong's question from before he entered, and Casey snorted. At least they agreed on that.

"Don't know him," Surgeon Armstrong replied.

"Unfortunately, you will," Noah said. "Unless you don't wish to come with us."

"You know I will," she barked. "I have little choice. My career is over. I can do more good outside of the system than within."

Noah stepped around Casey to sit next to him and picked up the fork. "There is always a choice."

Surgeon Armstrong sighed. "Not in this."

"That is your defeatism talking."

Surgeon Armstrong rolled her eyes, and Casey choked on his egg when he tried not to laugh.

"Well, my defeatism thinks you're deliberately obtuse." Redirecting her attention back to Casey, she prompted him to continue. "You learned?"

Taking up the thread of conversation, Casey asked, "What has Noah told you?"

"Assume nothing, and go from there."

Noah huffed, and Casey snorted. It sounded as if Surgeon Armstrong had a few too many doses of Noah's usual modus operandi.

"We have targeted four girls for extraction," Casey began. "My wife knows the mothers." Surgeon Armstrong's eyebrow lifted at the word wife, but Casey chose not to elaborate. "The eldest girl is within four months of her enlistment. The other three are younger."

"Ages?"

"As of today: sixteen, seven, and four," Casey answered.

Surgeon Armstrong tapped her lip with her index finger. "I might have someone who can help."

"Do I know them?" Noah inquired.

"No," Surgeon Armstrong answered, took a bite of breakfast, chewed, then swallowed. "Carla is a reclamation who managed to avoid placement at a State-run." As an aside, Surgeon Armstrong said, "Proved more valuable as a communal home director's aide than a prostitute." Returning to her main topic, Surgeon Armstrong added, "She has expressed interest in getting out of the system. I know she would be willing to help if it means she has a safe-haven."

On the surface, Surgeon Armstrong's statement appeared straight-forward, but Casey thought he detected a question. "I'm more than willing to provide Carla with a home, should she choose to stay with us. And if not, I know of another place she can find refuge." And if Wolf was unwilling? Well, Casey'd force Wolf to take her if he had to.

"I'll let her know."

"Good," Casey agreed. "As for the girls, Karsyn is assigned to the preschool unit. Trish,"—Casey said, using the girl's nickname listed on her file—"appears stable and devoid of easily exploitable behaviors. Lucy, the youngest, seems to have a reoccurring ailment. Stomach problems. You think that would be useful?"

Surgeon Armstrong was silent for a long while. Her expression was troubled. "I think I know Lucy." Turning to Noah, she asked, "Can you have either Karsyn reassigned to Lot forty-two, building B, room ten-ten, or have Lucy moved to Karsyn's building?"

Without replying, Noah stood and walked to his comm device and sat. Casey glanced skyward. At least Noah'd proven Casey wasn't the only one to get his questions ignored. When he returned his gaze to Surgeon Armstrong, he found the woman smiling behind her hand. He grinned in return.

"Make sure I know which day we are to act," Surgeon Armstrong continued, "I will guarantee Lucy has an episode, and with Karsyn available as a supplement to the standard supervisor, we can task her with escorting the child to the medical wing. I will intercept them."

"Done," Noah announced.

"Can you alter Carla's deployment?"

"To?" Noah asked as a way of confirmation.

"Move her to Trish's wing," Surgeon Armstrong replied. "I will have Carla bring her out."

"Excellent," Casey said. Now all he had to worry about was collecting them at the right time and bringing them to a secure location. A location he didn't know quite yet but hoped to find it before the week was out.

***

As soon as Surgeon Armstrong left, Casey was at the sink washing plates desperate to tidy the place even though it wasn't dirty. "Why didn't you tell me Surgeon Armstrong was a woman?"

Noah murmured something non-committal that Casey didn't quite catch.

"I felt like an idiot," Casey added over the sound of running water. "when she showed up this morning. You could have at least warned me."

"Shouldn't have mattered."

"It did," Casey grumbled, sloshing the hot water around. If he'd known, then he wouldn't have been so flabbergasted. It hadn't made him look good. "How did she get that job anyway?"

"Hmm?"

Casey shut off the water and glanced at Noah over his shoulder. Noah sat at his desk, head braced against one fist, staring at his comm screen. Casey shook his hands free of water. "What are you reading?"

"Hmm?"

Grabbing the towel, Casey dried his hands as he walked over to Noah. "What is it? Trouble?"

Noah shook his head. "Reading up on Carla."

"You don't know who she is?" Tossing the towel on the table, Casey leaned over Noah's shoulder to get a closer look.

"No," Noah answered. "Armstrong's never mentioned her before."

"Huh," Casey grunted as he looked at the file on Noah's screen.

Carla Bradley Alois appeared to be a typical Caucasian female, with age lines around her eyes and mouth, brown hair and brown eyes. Her enlistment photo looked stark as if she stood in front of a white cinderblock wall with harsh indoor lighting. There were dark shadows under her eyes, mostly due to the light, but perhaps some fatigue as well, and the way her hair was pushed flat, he figured she was leaning against the wall. Casey studied the picture while a static Carla stared back at him. Something about her face seemed familiar. He felt sure he'd met the woman before even if her name didn't sound familiar. His examination ended when Noah scrolled down, and Casey's attention refocused on the text now in front of him.

He did the math quickly and determined her reclamation happened in early spring almost nine years ago. She had two sons while enlisted: seven and five, living in South Carolina and Texas, respectively. Her station was at Communal Home Five, the third floor, but Casey didn't know if that was her new address or the one from before Surgeon Armstrong's reassignment request. Lastly, he saw she was married to Lieutenant Colonel of Anatomical Agility and Enhancement Burton Martie Kerr. She had an inflated salary stipend, probably due to her marriage to a colonel, and she lived off-campus.

Why would she want to leave all that behind?

Casey patted Noah on the shoulder, grabbed the towel where he'd left it, and returned to the dirty dishes. As he did so, his thoughts drifted back to Surgeon Armstrong and what she had revealed.

A virus destroyed the world, and a virus might fix it.

It was mindboggling.

"Noah," he called, hoping he would get an answer to his question this time. "How did Surgeon Armstrong get hired as a researcher? It thought all those positions went to men."

"Usually they do," Noah answered.

Casey noticed Noah shift from the corner of his eye and knew Noah now faced him.

"She served her time in the facility, worked in a State-run for the next ten years, and then managed to catch the attention of a surgeon who frequented her establishment. He had Armstrong aptitude tested. When she proved more than capable, the Army transitioned her out of the State-run. Armstrong took up her posting with the FAR."

Noah stood, and Theia's head bobbed up to check whether or not Noah needed her. Noah motioned for her to stay and then came over to Casey.

"She's lucky that once she was in FAR that they don't demote or she would have been back here a couple of years ago," Noah said.

Casey paused in his washing. "Was she the in"—Casey added air quotes to the word 'in' and ended up splashing his face with soapy water. He sputtered and wiped his cheek with his forearm before continuing.—"to Gates two years ago? The one Lottie replaced?"

"Three years ago, and yes," Noah answered. "But she was already disqualified by the time we were planning our mission."

Noah grabbed one of the cleaned plates from the rack and began to dry it. "We'd been counting on her getting in." Noah gave him one of his rare smiles. "In the end, it was a good thing we didn't rely on her for the extraction of Private Townsend and Private Woodson. It wouldn't have worked."

"Because you didn't know where it was or for some other reason?"

"That," Noah answered. "And losing her to the position at Gates would have been detrimental to the cause. I see that now."

"Oh?" Casey prompted, pulling the stopper on the sink and let the water drain.

"Knowing of the cure effort would be nice, but it won't help get the families out of Fort St. Louis nor keep them healthy once they are gone." Noah put the dry plate away and grabbed the next one. "With the right tools, she might be able to act as a medic at the settlement even though that isn't her specialty."

"Is that what you are doing while away? Getting her supplied?"

"That," Noah replied. "And other things."

Noah finished with the current plate and, after putting it away, began drying the last one. "Have you made progress in yours?"

"Some," Casey answered as he dried the pan Surgeon Armstrong had used to cook the eggs. "I found a few abandoned buildings north of Forest Park, which may serve our needs, but I want to explore them in more depth today."

"Might I suggest the old hospital east of the park?"

Pausing, Casey glanced at Noah.

"There are supply overages stored inside. If you can get Surgeon Armstrong to commit to what tools she needs and set them aside, I will make sure she gets them once your mission is complete."

Casey nodded and returned to drying. He hoped to avoid any issues on his half of the mission. If there was one thing Casey knew about tactical maneuvers, it was this: expect the unexpected, and having the old hospital as a way station, might prove beneficial.

***

Lottie's hair whipped in the breeze, stinging her face and blinding her at the same time. She hugged Hope tight to her chest with one arm and had Grey's hand in her fist. The storm front was growing. She'd expected it. No early spring day could be as lovely as this one and not end in some sort of torrential downpour.

She tugged Grey along as they hustled toward the clearing from the garden. Lottie hoped the small shoots peeking above ground survived today no matter what nature threw at them.

A bright flash of lightning followed by a loud crash of thunder had Hope crying and Grey screaming, "Mommy!" over and over again. She tightened her grip on his hand and glanced up at the sky. Green-black clouds, the color of an old bruise not yet faded, roiled above her.

The storm would be nasty, and she worried about the integrity of their tents. The nylon would be no match to heavy hail. Regretfully, the settlement didn't have many other options, and not for the first time, Lottie longed to have an underground sanctuary for everyone. If they survived this storm, then she'd push for a root cellar at the very least.

Lottie sighed and urged Grey to run faster. Everyone would have to hide in the shed again. It wasn't sturdy either, a stiff breeze could knock it down, but it would have to do. She hoped everyone would fit inside. It would be tight. They had several more people living with them today than when Casey built it. Of course, it helped that Jules and Brad were out at one of the deconstruction sites. Two fewer bodies to cram into the small space.

She hoped they would be okay. They were due back in a few hours, but maybe they'd see the storm and take cover where ever they were.

As she hustled along, Lottie tried to remember where everyone was today. Was there anyone she'd need to help?

Probably.

She looked to the sky again and stopped short.

There would be no time to go around and round anyone else up. The rain was visible above the tree line and slamming toward Lottie. Was that rotation?

The sensation of vertigo had her swaying in place.

It was rotation! Not on the ground, not even a cone yet, but it twirled.

A tornado.

"Shit!"

She had to move. Now!

Scooping Grey up, she ran along the path. Her three-week-post-delivery body protested each pounding step, and warm fluid leaked from between her legs. Lottie hoped she wasn't hemorrhaging. Bleeding to death with a tornado growing behind her would be a horrible way to die. She shook her head and faltered. Lottie didn't have time to worry about it now. The three of them needed to get to safety. But where? They lived in tents in the woods!

Before she'd run half the remaining distance from the garden to the settlement, the rain caught up with her, and she lost all ability to see. Stumbling along the path, toddler, and infant in her arms, she struggled to find her way home.

Tucking Hope close, it was all she could do to keep the rain from drowning her little girl. Grey's hot fingers pressed into her shoulder as he burrowed his face into her neck. Her hair flopped into her eyes, obscuring her vision further. Lottie tried to flip it out of the way and only succeeded in giving herself a kink in the neck.

"Dammit," she growled, tripped, and nearly went down.

"Here," Tristan said, appearing beside her as if by magic. "Let me take him."

Lottie gladly handed over Grey, pushed her hair from her eyes, and adjusted Hope in her arms before hustling after Tristan. "Is everyone secure?" she asked. She thought she saw him nod. The thunder and pouring rain muffled any verbal reply.

The trees groaned and popped. Leaves with torn edges fell from the branches along with pea-sized hail. It felt like being pelted with rocks. Lottie huddled next to a tree, hunched over Hope, desperate to protect her newborn from the storm.

When the hail stopped abruptly, Lottie stretched her jaw, equalizing the fluid in her ears, and prayed the throbbing she felt deep within her head wasn't what she thought. Tristan grabbed her arm. "Jimmy or ack it!"

"What?"

"Jimmy four packet!"

"What?!" she yelled again. Tristan wasn't making any sense.

He leaned close. "Give me your jacket!" Tristan screamed next to her ear.

Oh! Her jacket. She twitched her free shoulder, shimmying out of one sleeve before transferring Hope to the other arm, where she then shook the garment off her body.

Catching it before it fell to the ground, she held it out to Tristan. Tristan set Grey on his feet and took the offered garment from her. While Tristan tied the sleeves of both of their jackets together, Grey wrapped his tiny arms around her thighs.

"Want Daddy!" he wailed.

So did she.

"Sorry!" Tristan yelled and kicked off his shoes and dropped his cargos.

What the hell?

Her concern about Tristan's sanity faded as the groaning of the trees morphed into a roar, which made all attempts of levity flee. Her heart raced as the giant old trees around them bent sideways, cracking as they moved, and she squealed when the earth shook with what could only have been a large branch or tree colliding with the ground nearby.

Grey's screams grew louder.

Tristan's cold fingers startled a yelp from her when they closed over her forearm. "Get down!" he ordered as he pressed her back into the trunk. He positioned Grey between them before joining her on the ground. He then looped clothing contraption he'd built around them and the tree trunk and tied it off.

Lottie swallowed hard, her heart beating fiercely. She wanted to deny the reason behind his actions, but she could hear his 'reason' drawing closer.

The rotation had grown.

"I'm not one to believe in God," Tristan yelled near her ear. "But if you do, you better start praying. I'm not sure we're going to make it through this!"

She nodded.

Impulsively, Lottie leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Her darting kiss was quick, but it felt right. If they were about to die, then Tristan deserved her gratitude for all he'd done to save her. Both now and in their past.

And with the wind howling, two crying children, and branches crashing to the ground near them, it wasn't as if she could say it.

The surprise in his eyes wore off, leaving understanding behind, and Tristan wrapped her and her children in his arms, anchoring them to the clothing tied around the tree.

Lottie hoped it would be enough.

***

Casey pulled his plaid shirt straight, made sure the tie of his leathers were secure, and then stepped away from the protective overhang where he hid out of sight, observing. He needed to get closer to Stanzy, who was talking to a tall redheaded soldier.

Stepping into range, Casey heard her say, "Do you," before she trailed off as both she and the redhead paused in their conversation to watch him pass. He ignored them and turned the corner where he stopped abruptly and waited to see if they would continue their conversation.

After a long time, she did. "I need more. I'm almost out," she stated, and Casey knew two things. One, she was doing something illegal, and two, both of them had poor situational awareness.

He could use both facts to his advantage.

"Sure, I have more," the redhead said. "But it'll cost you."

Stanzy sighed. "How much?"

Several payment options came to Casey's mind, and he wondered what redhead would choose. "Fifty bucks—"

"Fifty?!"

"—and—"

"And?!"

"—A bag of roasted coffee beans."

Without hesitation, Stanzy growled, "I can't get those. Pick something else."

Redhead sighed. "Fine. Can you get unroasted?" When Stanzy fell silent for several beats, the redhead goaded, "You work in a fucking garden!"

"Yes," Stanzy snapped. "I can get you some effing unroasted beans."

"Good. Get me a bag of those. No make it two—"

"—Hey!" Stanzy said over redheaded, "—and I'll hook you up."

"Two effing bags," she muttered. "How the hell do you think I can come up with that?"

"Take it or leave it," the redhead stated.

"Ugh! Fine! You'll get your two bags," Stanzy snarled

"And my fifty bucks."

"And your effing fifty bucks!"

"Excellent," redhead stated.

"When can you get it for me?" Stanzy inquired.

Red thought about it a moment. "Week. Usual spot over by the water tank?"

Stanzy groaned. "No. They redeployed me."

"Where?"

"The big park."

Red whistled.

"Tell me about it," Stanzy groused. "It was bad enough in the other field, but now I have to walk an hour to get to work and back and do my training."

"Poor baby," Red singsonged.

"Knock it off, Kyle."

Kyle snickered. "But seriously, where'd you want to meet?"

"Can you get to the supply shed at the northeast corner?" Stanzy asked.

Casey listened to her fidget as Kyle thought for a moment. Eventually, he made an affirmative noise.

Stanzy jumped back into the conversation as soon as he'd agreed. "Good, we'll meet there. End of my shift?"

"Yeah," Kyle replied. "Should be good."

"Great," Stanzy said, her tone already more upbeat than when Casey'd first began eavesdropping.

A rustle of fabric announced one of the player's movements, and a moment later, Casey watched as Stanzy left the trade and continued toward Forest Park. Casey waited a bit to give Kyle time to leave the scene before Casey chanced, moving from his hiding spot. As Kyle's footsteps receded, Casey left his post to follow Stanzy, and he wondered what she bought.

A block from the garden, Stanzy stopped and fished something out of her pocket. Casey identified it as the same sort of storage tin Javier used for his hand-rolled cigarettes. Casey's suspicion was confirmed a second later when Stanzy took out a small white tube and lit it. She fell back against the brick building and sighed, letting the blue cloud of smoke curl upward and disappear as it dissipated.

A smoker. Huh.

Hoping she wouldn't notice him, his plaid shirt was distinctive, Casey pivoted and walked back the way he came. Getting to the corner of the building, he turned and looped around the block to be near Stanzy without her realizing he followed. Casey gambled on the fact her cigarette would keep her stationary for the duration of his side trip and that the smoke would drown out the smell of mint, which lingered on his clothes.

When he reached the edge of the building where he'd left her, he caught the scent of burning tobacco. _Good_. She hadn't moved.

"Fifty bucks," she grumbled. "Where am the hell am I going to get fifty bucks?"

Inspiration struck, and after a minor internal debate where Casey argued about whether or not he could follow through, he slipped around the edge of the building and leaned against the wall next to Stanzy.

She 'eeped', but before she could slither way, Casey said, "I can get you more smokes for a quarter of his price."

That stopped her cold, and Casey bit back his smile. _Booyah._

"You can?"

"Yep," he said, infusing his tone with confidence. Noah would come through even if Casey couldn't, he was sure of it. "Twenty-five only."

"How can you sell it so cheap? Is it diluted?"

"Huh," he hedged. They were talking about tobacco, right?

"One guy tried to cut my tobacco with dried up basil," Stanzy volunteered, seeming to believe his inarticulate reply had been a question. "I work in an effing garden. I know what basil looks like, even if it's dried, crumbled, and added to a pouch with other leaves in it."

Casey chuckled. "No, it's not diluted," he said, stressing the word. "Consider it an introductory price. If I deliver and you pay on time, you can ditch Kyle, and I'll be your supplier." He had no idea how he'd be able to follow through on this promise, but maybe if Casey could build a solid report before her kidnapping, he'd be able to take her unawares come June.

"How about this," he offered when she'd been silent for too long. "I'll get you a sample. This week." He picked an arbitrary date from thin air. "Two days from now. And if you like the arrangement and the product, I'll get you more for a quarter of Kyle's asking price."

Stanzy was quiet for a bit longer, possibly debating the merits of his deal. Ultimately, she extended her hand for him to shake. "You got it. In two days, northeast corner of the park, at the shed. You bring a sample, and I'll bring some good-faith cash."

"Sounds good," Casey replied, and they shook on the agreement before parting ways.

Casey waited a few moments before he followed at a discreet distance.

Now all he had to do was secure some tobacco for the trade.

# Chapter 23

A loud crack, high above their heads, had Lottie squeak in alarm. It quickly morphed to a full scream when the trunk of her tree shuddered against her back. Something substantial, high in the canopy, had collided with it.

Tucking her head to his chest, Tristan hunched over her and the children, bringing his knees up and his elbows down to protect them. Whatever hit their tree ricocheted off and slamming into the tree next to them with a loud clatter. The free-falling item then slid down the neighboring tree trunk, sheering limbs as it went, before landing beside them with earth rattling boom and a puff of freed leaves.

It had been a tree.

A full-sized tree.

One of the stately oaks she always walked passed.

And now it was down. A torn branch touched Tristan's leg, rustling as it settled. That was when she realized Tristan wasn't awake. His weight pressed against her as his limbs listed to the side.

"Tristan!" she yelled over the fury of the storm and the vocalized fear from her children. "Tristan!" He did not respond. _No. No. No!_ "Tristan?!"

Her arms weren't long enough to reach around both children and Tristan to feel what was wrong, so she angled upward to touch his face. He was warm, and she felt a puff of air from his mouth. Yes! He was breathing. She cupped his cheek, and he whimpered.

"Tristan?"

His head rolled to the side on her upper back, and she cradled it as best she could while pinned under his weight.

After what felt like years, but in truth had to have been mere seconds, he groaned and twitched. His eyelids fluttered as he awoke.

"Tristan?"

"Yeah," he groan-whispered.

_Thank the ever-absent God!_ "Are you all right?"

"Is the storm over?"

"No," she replied.

He grunted. One arm tightened around Lottie, but the other, the one closest to the felled tree, stayed loose, resting on his knee. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted his fingers hung lax around their makeshift anchor.

"Are Hope and Grey okay?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied. Couldn't Tristan hear them crying?

"Goo—" he trailed off, and his body went limp again.

Her heartbeat leapt in response.

"Tristan?" He didn't even twitch at her call. "Tristan!"

The storm had to end. Lottie had to help him.

Rolling her head to the side, Lottie peeked at the sky. The storm raged, but the sky looked lighter, so maybe the worst of it was passed. All she needed was to endure the wait and hope whatever ailed Tristan wasn't serious. The fact he kept blacking out did not bode well for a minor injury.

Like all things, the storm did eventually slacken enough for Lottie to feel comfortable attempting to unwind her, Grey, and Hope's bodies from their rope-clothing anchor. Easing Grey out from under Tristan's uninjured side, she said, "Sit," which he did, and she set Hope in his lap. "Keep still," she warned.

"'Eetekt, 'Ohp?"

"Yes, Grey," Lottie confirmed while she attempted to wiggle out from under Tristan, first one arm and then the other. "Protect Hope."

Her movements, no matter how careful, woke Tristan, and he groaned. A sounded so infused with pain, that it set her heart to thudding and made it difficult to breathe. "Shh," she urged.

As she torqued her way out, she looked across his back to the fallen tree. A branch, which lay snug against him, had torn a hole through his shirt and sliced up his back, shoulders, and left arm. Blood seeped from the wounds, and the skin around the abrasions shown dark purple in the fading light of the storm.

Lottie couldn't see bone, but that didn't mean much. He could still have broken something.

Ever-absent, God, she hoped not.

Lottie set to work untying the anchor from the tree so she could tend to Tristan's wounds. "Don't be broken," she chanted as she worked. If he did have a broken bone, they wouldn't be able to do anything about it. They didn't have tools for anything other than minor injuries. Hell, she didn't think anyone here even knew how to _stabilize_ a broken bone, let alone set or cast it. "Please, don't be broken."

"Notch 'oken," Tristan slurred.

"Don't move," Lottie admonished as he shifted his weight.

"Kids okay?" he asked, his voice hitching on the word okay.

"Yes, Tristan. They're fine. We are all fine."

"Goo—" he began before dissolving into a litany of ows.

Finally, Tristan was free of both the anchor and tree, and his injured arm hung limp at his side. His teeth clanked together hard, and Lottie heard him bite back a scream.

"Please, don't be broken," she whispered, remembering that Tristan hadn't screamed when she cut him. Lottie didn't think a bruise would be enough to make Tristan cry out.

Breathing heavily, Tristan pulled his knees closer to his chest, looped his uninjured arm around them, and rested his forehead against hers. "Not broken," he reiterated.

"I need to see it, though," Lottie murmured to him. If only to prove to herself, he was all right.

He nodded.

Lottie liberated her knife from her side sheath and sliced his shirt. She took a good long look at his injury. He had gouges, scrapes, slices and cuts, and light abrasions all down his back, shoulder, and arm. Some of the worst were deep furrows where the branch had gouged through his skin. They looked deep enough to need stitches. The injury was already swelling, which might be why he wasn't bleeding profusely. His back was a mess and needed a thorough washing.

"Can you stand?"

Tristan nodded and struggled to get his feet under him. Lottie offered her shoulder, and he consented to her aid. Once standing, he swayed on his feet. Lottie guided him a few feet away and helped him lean against a tree.

"You good here?" she inquired.

He sucked in sharply but nodded. "Yes."

"Good," she replied. "Wait here."

Quickly, Lottie retrieved their mess of clothes and worked at untying the knots.

"Lottie?" Tristan whispered. "Momma?"

She looked up and immediately dropped the garments in favor of grabbing his arm as he threatened to topple over. He hissed in pain as she stabilized him. "Leave the pants," he whispered.

"But you're in your underwear."

He tried to smile, but it fell flat. "Don't care. Need bed. Can't..."

"Stand there anymore?"

"Yes," he said, his voice giving out on the 's' and giving his word a slight hissing sound.

"Okay," she whispered.

Wadding up the clothes, she returned to Grey sitting on the ground.

"'Eetekt 'Ohp, Mommy!"

"Yes, sweetie," Lottie said. "You did a good job of protecting Hope. Can you help me some more?"

Nodding, Grey popped his thumb into his mouth.

Lottie picked up Hope from Grey's lap and offered him her hand. He took it, and she helped him gain his feet.

"Can you hold Uncle Tristan's pants and our jackets? Carry them back to camp?"

Grey nodded again and held out one arm for the items.

"You need both arms."

Grey sighed around his thumb but complied. Taking the wadded up jacket and pants, Grey began the trek home. Lottie stepped up to Tristan, offered her free shoulder, which he took graciously, and then followed after her little boy as he trailed one of Tristan's pants legs in the mud behind him.

***

By the end of Stanzy's shift, Casey was sure of two more things: she didn't like to work, and it was going to storm.

The latter was easy to deduce. The dark clouds rolling in from the west appeared heavy with rain. He watched as lightning arced between the clouds, flashing white-hot before the rolling thunder. He estimated the storm was about thirty minutes away. If he left now, he might make it back to Noah's before it hit.

The former had been a bit more challenging to detect. Stanzy played a good game. She made sure to bustle back and forth and periodically crouched as if she were doing something in the dirt, but after studying her movements for the whole day, Casey could say with nearly a hundred percent certainty that it was all a show.

Worrisome, unless she proved to be a decent shot or had some other hidden talent, he doubted she'd be much use at the settlement. They didn't have the workforce or surplus to support slackers. Casey sighed. He'd have to figure something out when the time came. Everyone had to work to earn their keep, including him.

As he watched, Stanzy's field mates assembled, and Casey snapped back to attention. They could be getting ready to go home, or they could be prepping to go somewhere else as they had a few hours ago. He wanted to get closer. Regretfully, he couldn't—no viable cover.

A handful of minutes later, Stanzy's team rounded up their tools and dumped them into the shed before taking off toward their homes. Most of them moved at a good clip, possibly to avoid the coming rain, but there were a few stragglers in addition to Stanzy, who stayed behind. For what felt like the first time that day, Casey watched as Stanzy and a fellow soldier worked to cover the field with some sort of opaque gray netting.

They rolled it out and tacked it down to the furrows they'd dug—well, the others had dug—earlier. When they finished one line, they worked on a second. In close to fifteen minutes, everyone who'd stayed behind had finished placing the gray netting over their work. Stanzy and the others, all except one, grabbed their belongings and left. The last locked up the shed before he too walked away.

Casey turned, followed Stanzy.

In the time it took Stanzy to walk to her barracks, she had smoked two cigarettes and took a side trip around the block for no apparent purpose but to delay returning home, but finally, the rain or fatigue drove her inside, and Casey went back to Noah's.

The rain had drenched Casey by the time he walked up the fire escape. Stepping inside, he spied bare legs hooked around a naked ass, and he quickly averted his eyes. There were six rooms per floor and four floors. Surely the couple could have found at least one unoccupied place for their tryst.

Shivering, Casey tried to hurry past the grunting pair, but the constant flexing of the bare buttocks was distracting, and his eyes kept drifting back to the humping soldier despite Casey's best effort to ignore them. Thankfully, he didn't get a good look at the groaning, heavily breathing man, but the woman's eyes shocked him almost to stillness.

She looked dead.

Gone.

As in, no one home.

But she wasn't dead.

Her hands held on to the soldier's neck. Her knuckles white from the effort, and her body made the right motions, the right sounds to indicate active participation.

It was all a show.

Casey twisted, eyeballing the scene as he continued to head toward Noah's door.

Slowly the woman's gaze gained focus.

Pain. Longing. Hatred.

Shame.

That got him the worst—the shame in her expression.

A solitary tear fell from the corner of her eye as it once again turned glassy and vacant. The physical reaction was something Casey'd read about but only seen in Lottie. It was a PTSD reaction by a soldier to block the horror of combat.

The ramifications staggered him. He'd known— _known!_ —some woman didn't want to work in the State-runs, but knowing wasn't quite the same as seeing it firsthand. That deadened reaction. That woman—that female soldier—was fighting a battle. A battle to live at the State-run. A battle to complete her duty. A battle to be willingly used.

Casey had never thought of the State-runs quite like that before.

A battle.

Most soldiers he knew only played at war, but here was a woman who lived it every day.

Every. Fucking. Day.

Casey thought he might throw up.

"You want to join?" the soldier asked breathlessly, not slowing in the slightest. "She's not very good, but two against one might help liven her up."

Casey put his hands in the air in denial and backed away. He fumbled for the door to Noah's room, twisted the knob, and fell inside.

He slammed the door behind him. His back pressed against its surface as he tried to slow his breathing.

That woman hadn't reacted to the soldier's words—not a twitch—not a livening of her features—nothing. How many times had she heard something similar? How many times had someone shared her without her consent? The soldier in the hall cared nothing for her, evidenced by his complete lack of regard for her feelings, privacy, or desire to being passed around.

"What did you learn?"

Casey moved his head to the side, searching for the voice. His shoulders relaxed when he spied Noah sitting at the kitchen island.

"That this can't go on. How can you sit there"—Casey pointed to Noah—"with that,"—Casey pointed to the wall where the rhythmic sounds of the soldier getting his jollies continued—"going on."

Noah cocked his head. Understanding lighting his eyes. "I endure, much as she does," he answered. "But unlike Nicky, I can do something about it. You can do something about it."

Casey thought he knew what Noah had been trying to tell him these past few years. Casey thought he understood this rebellion Noah'd planned, but everything Casey thought he'd known had been child's play. This woman—Nicky—was a reason Noah fought to save Lottie and Greysen. This woman—Nicky. Her name was Nicky—was a reason why Noah was willing to steal six little girls from their fates at Gates or the facilities. This woman— _Nicky! Ever-absent, God Dammit!_ —was who Noah worked so hard to rescue. Casey had thought he had been on board. Casey had thought he had been willing to fight.

Casey had been wrong.

But not anymore.

Not anymore.

Noah's expression changed from understanding to one of warmth and acceptance. "Welcome to the movement, son."

For the first time, Casey didn't mind being Noah's son. He felt neither anger nor the disquieting sense of need that Casey had usually felt at the term. This time the saw the word it for what it was: an endearment.

"You never meant 'son' as an insult did you," Casey said, it wasn't quite a question, but he eagerly awaited Noah's response. "Did you?"

"No," Noah replied. "You may not be mine by blood, but you are my son."

Casey wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. It would appear he had a father.

***

Lottie and Tristan hobbled their way into the clearing past the tanning station and butcher block to find the settlement in complete disarray. The storm had flattened Katie and Ally's tent, Nyah's shelter was damaged, possibly beyond repair, and there was debris all over the place. Overturned buckets tossed fifty feet away, the moorings from the two remaining tents were loose and dangled uselessly. The fire was out, and lastly, there was a giant tree sandwiched between the outhouse and the shed.

Not to mention, it was eerily quiet. Way too quiet. Was everyone okay?

"Hello?" she called.

A baby's cry sounded from the shed, and a chorus of adult voices joined in. The muffled words didn't make sense, but Lottie knew it had to be something like: get us out.

"Hold on!" she yelled. "I'm coming!"

She couldn't put Tristan in his tent. She couldn't put most of the people in her camp in their tents. Thank the ever-absent God the storm happened early. They had time to figure something out.

"Just a little farther," she urged Tristan and guided him to the extinguished fire. She helped him to sit. He rearranged his boxers but otherwise didn't move. Lottie took the clothes from Grey and had him sit next to Tristan.

Covering Tristan's lap with his jacket, she asked, "I know you are hurting, but do you think you can hold Hope while I help them out of the shed?"

Tristan turned pain-glazed eyes her way, but he nodded. "I'll take her."

"Thank you," she whispered, surprising herself again when she acted on impulse, pecking Tristan on the lips.

"Two kisses in one day," he murmured. "What will Case think?"

She swallowed hard. Lottie had no idea what Casey would think. For that matter, what would Zoe think! Lottie didn't want Tristan. Not in that way, at least. But, he'd saved her life at a high cost to himself. The kiss had felt right. Natural. But now Lottie wasn't so sure.

Shoving the thought deep inside to be examined later, Lottie straightened and left the three of them by the pit to explore her options for getting everyone else out of the shed.

It didn't look too good.

The tree had missed the shed by inches, Lottie noted as she circled it. Everyone inside had been lucky. Another three inches to the left, and Lottie would have lost everyone.

"Are you okay in there?" Lottie called.

"We can't get out," Mason's voice sounded above the others.

"I know!" Lottie answered. "There's a tree blocking the door. I'm trying to find a way around it. Hold tight, okay?"

She heard someone—sounded like Grace—mutter, "as if we have a choice," but Lottie couldn't worry about that now.

After circling the shed twice, she determined the only way she could get them out is if they broke down the east wall. She stepped up to the north wall and addressed everyone inside. "Mason?"

"Yeah?"

"Who all's in there with you?"

Lottie sighed in relief to learn everyone except Brad and Jules were safe inside. "Mason? Jaesen?"

In unison, they acknowledged her.

"I need you to kick out the east wall. A maple tree is blocking the exit, and is too big for me to move it." What an understatement, she thought. The mature tree was almost as big as the oak that had injured Tristan, and not only did it block the shed's exit, it flattened the outhouse.

"Can you do that?" Lottie asked.

There were grunts, groans, and shuffling sounds from within the shed before the two men spoke again. This time their voices were at the west wall. A moment later, the boards rattled as the two men attempted to kick their way out. After a few steady thumps, it became painfully obvious they didn't have the leverage to get out on their own. Their efforts dwindled to a halt, and when the tears of the infants inside subsided, Jaesen said, "Not enough room to succeed."

Lottie nodded, even though they couldn't see her. She'd come to the same determination. Lottie needed a different way to free them, but what could she do?

"Let me see what I can find," she said and moved off to investigate her options.

She tried digging under the boards at the base of the building to give herself enough room to move, but the boards were flush with the floor. Lottie then tried digging her fingers into the cracks between the planks, but the space wasn't big enough for her fingers.

What she needed was a crowbar.

What Lottie had was nothing.

She was going to have to cut a hole using an ax.

Shuddering at the thought, she turned to go ask Tristan where he left it, but a "Chica!" call from the edge of the clearing made her steps falter.

"Jules?" When she spied him and Brad, she yelled, "Jules!" Hopefully, between the three of them, they'd be able to get through the shed wall to rescue everyone inside.

"Chica!" Jules said again when he drew closer. He dropped his bag and lifted her to spin her around. "When we saw the storm damage, we were worried." He looked over her shoulder and around the camp. "Where is everyone else?"

She thumbed the location over her shoulder. "The shed." Lottie indicated Tristan and her kids by the fire. "We were caught in it. Tristan's hurt."

"Hurt?" Brad inquired, his raspy voice more pronounced than usual.

"Yes," she answered. "A tree limb gouged him as he protected me and the kids."

"I'll go take a look."

Lottie took a deep breath. The tension she hadn't realized she harbored, flowed from her as she exhaled. Addressing Jules, she asked, "Can you help me get them out?"

Jules nodded and made his way over to the shed, his gaze quickly sweeping the area. "Where's the ax?"

"Dunno," she replied. "Tristan might have left it at the pasture when he came to get me."

Again, Jules nodded. "Be right back," he said and took off at a run.

"Don't you want to ask Tristan first?" she muttered to his retreating back. Lottie shook her head and said to the group who had to have heard the exchange. "Jules is getting the ax. We'll get you out of there soon."

An eternity later, Jules popped from the tree line with the ax in his hand. Without waiting for her input, he attacked the tree blocking the door. The sound set the babies to crying, and frazzled sounding mothers tried to comfort them.

Just as Lottie was wondering if she should offer to help chop wood, Brad took over. Between the two men, they made short work of the trunk blocking the door, and in under an hour, they were able to clear enough debris to open the door. People spilled out like fluff from milkweed.

Lottie snagged Zoe's sleeve as the woman exited the shed and pulled her aside. "Tristan's hurt."

Zoe's expression morphed from concern to annoyance to resignation and then back to concern. It was an unusual mix, and Lottie wondered about the reason behind it.

"Okay," Zoe said, and after adjusting Dexy in her arms, she moved to go to Tristan's side, but Lottie stopped her.

Forcing her lungs to expand, Lottie braced herself for Zoe's reaction. "I kissed Tristan." She paused, then added, "Twice."

Zoe's eyebrow twitched but otherwise didn't say anything.

Lottie rushed on, "It wasn't romantic. It was a thank you. He saved my life."

Zoe patted Lottie on the arm. "I have no claim on him."

"Wha-What?" Lottie stammered. The two of them shared a tent. They both took care of Dexy. Tristan had even warned Lottie about Zoe's inability to take care of another infant once the girls from Gates arrived, so he must look out for her.

No claim?

Sighing, Zoe glanced at Tristan by the fire. "We haven't been 'together-together' in weeks, and not even then. He helps with Dexy, but otherwise, he'd rather be somewhere else."

Lottie's mouth fell open in surprise. Weren't they together? "What? Why?"

"Oh, Lottie," Zoe said, sadness clear in her voice. "Sometimes, the fairytale romance dies." After a beat, she said, "It's been too many years, and we drifted apart."

"But... But..." Lottie didn't know how to continue. "We rescued you so you could be together."

"And I thank you for that. It wasn't—isn't—your fault—or ours—that we are no longer compatible. It just is. Hell, it probably always was. We were young and stupid, and our relationship was forbidden."

Zoe glanced over at Tristan again. Lottie felt sure she noted a wistfulness to Zoe's features. "Our connection could have been nothing more than that."

Refocusing on Lottie, Zoe said, "I'll take care of him." Her tone was resigned.

"No!" Lottie barked harshly. Softening her voice, she said, "I'll do it. You take care of yourself and Dexy."

Palpable relief flowed from Zoe. "Thanks."

"Yeah."

"I'll do whatever else you need."

"Okay," Lottie said. "Can you work on new sleeping arrangements? We don't have enough tents anymore."

"Sure," Zoe said, and after a tense moment where she waited for Lottie knew not what, Zoe moved off to do as Lottie asked.

Squaring her shoulders, Lottie grabbed the first aid kit and went to tend Tristan's wounds.

***

Much of the day had come and gone by the time the settlement completed the emergency maneuvers. People had new temporary homes, all the easy to move debris was cleared out, and the central fire relit. Lottie had even taken time to settle Tristan—with his forty-odd stitches—in her tent. He was resting fitfully on the pallet with Hope and Grey napping near him.

It had been a relief to find her and Casey's shelter intact. Lottie sighed. They had so much to do.

Settling on a log next to the fire, she began the discussion of their next steps with all assembled. "I don't see any other solution. We need a safe place when it storms."

"The safest would be underground," Brad said as he hovered behind a toddling Max.

"It needs to be big enough to house us," Nyah remarked.

"House all of us," Jaesen said, stressing the word all.

Lottie nodded. "If we're going to build a cellar, we need to be able to hold everyone and our food and some emergency rations."

"We'll need a bathroom down there," Katie added.

"Storage, bathroom, place for all of us to sit... What else," Lottie asked, agreeing with Katie.

"What about sleeping arrangements?" Zoe asked from her spot across the fire from Lottie. "If a storm happens at night, or we have to stay there longer than a few minutes, we'll need something." When no one said anything, she tacked on, "If not for the adults, then the kids at least."

A light rumble of agreement passed through the group.

"If we're going to grow," Jules said, drawing Lottie's eye. He swept the group with his gaze. "We need to have it big enough to hold more than our totals."

Jules glanced at Lottie. "At a minimum, we're looking at an underground room big enough to hold thirty people." He looked to his hands in his lap, and Lottie followed his gaze to where he toyed with a jagged edge of his pants. Another thing to sew, she thought in dismay.

"Wolf's lodge held forty-five and spanned more area than our clearing," Brad added. "You're looking at a multi-year project."

Lottie wrapped her arms around her middle. "Well, we have to do something. It's not safe." Adrenaline scorched her system. It happened every time she thought of being caught out in the storm with Tristan. "We can't survive in the shed," she remarked bitterly.

"I'm not saying we don't do it," Brad clarified. "I'm only saying it will take a long time to complete."

"Our other option is to try to move," Jules spoke up. "Find an abandoned town. Fix it up. Those houses would have basements."

"Maybe we can find an old apartment building," Katie said, speaking up after a long silence.

Lottie gave her an appreciative look. The idea had merit.

"Our options are," Jaesen began. "Fix up the settlement and build the structures we need, or rehabilitating an old town."

"Sounds about right," Brad replied, his rough voice muffled behind a squirming toddler. He set Max down, and the tyke took off on stubby legs. "But that won't help us today. We need something now."

"We could raid that house that had the camping equipment," Jules volunteered. "I know you didn't like it, Brad, but it had at least one tent."

"If that house has a tent," Lottie said. "and we repair Nyah's, then our immediate needs are solved."

"We can go tomorrow," Jules offered.

"If every able-bodied person goes," Brad added. "Then, we should be able to get everything useful back in one day."

Lottie nodded. "Okay. We'll all go. Get what we can and get back."

"You," Jaesen said, pointing to her. "Zoe and Ally need to stay, along with Tristan."

"Hey!" Lottie exclaimed, frustrated at her exclusion. Lottie was physically able to help.

"Between the three of you, you have five children plus Tristan to take care of," Jaesen added, softening his tone. "How much do you think you can do if you are carrying Hope and chasing after Grey?"

Her shoulders drooped. Jaesen was right.

"It's not like you'll be idle here at home. I know you," Jaesen said with a smile. "You'll keep busy here at the settlement."

She nodded, setting aside her disappointment to address the next issue: assessing the damage to their surrounding property.

"Jules," she asked, turning to him. "When you were getting the ax, did you notice anything wrong with the pasture?"

Jules frowned. "Yes. The southwest edge was missing, and needs repairing."

"Okay," Lottie said, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "If the pasture is damaged, we need to make its repairs the second highest priority after housing everyone."

She glanced around the fire, making sure to catch everyone's eye. "We don't know when the livestock will arrive, but we know 'spring' and since it is spring"—Lottie stressed the word—"it is safe to assume the livestock is on its way and could arrive at any time."

Addressing Mason behind Jules, Lottie asked, "You were working on the supplies before the storm, right?"

"Yes."

Lottie glanced at Jaesen for his confirmation. When he nodded, she continued, "Do we have enough supplies to fix the destroyed wall?"

"Unknown," Jaesen replied. "But, I can run out there after this meeting and check."

"Please do," she said, and then thanked him.

He nodded.

Lottie took a deep breath. "We'll have to step up the deconstruction effort."

Singling out Grace, Nyah, and Katie with a pointed look, Lottie said, "Can you team up with the men to bring those houses down faster? Zoe, Ally, and I can work on the fence."

"You don't have the strength to pound in the posts," Brad said from behind her.

"Maybe," she conceded. "But we have to try. Tristan won't be able to work for a few weeks."

"Worst case," Jules said over the end of her sentence. "We can help them out by setting several posts, and all they'd have to do is the rails and supports."

"That'll work," Zoe affirmed in her usual quiet tone.

"Good," Lottie tacked on. "With everyone working together, we should be able to get that fence done soon."

After that? Well, they'd have to figure it out then.

***

Tristan was awake and playing with Grey when Lottie arrived that night. She set the bucket of warm water next to the flap and dropped the leather scrap into it to soak.

"Mommy!" Grey yelled, eliciting a squeal from Hope.

"Hey'ya, Grey," she greeted, then addressed Tristan, "How're you feeling?"

"Better," Tristan replied, his color was off, and his face seemed tight with pain, but he was up and moving, so that said a lot. He set another one of Grey's blocks on the stack in front of them. "You get the clearin' squared away?"

"Yep."

Dusting his hands on his thighs, Tristan asked, "Which tent am I goin' to?"

Lottie paused on her way to his side. "You're staying right here with me. With us," she amended.

His eyebrow quirked up. "Zoe and Dexy comin' here?"

Lottie shook her head and replied, "They're staying with Nyah and Mason."

Tristan's shoulders drooped. "She's made her decision."

"What do you mean," Lottie hedged, though she had an excellent idea at what he meant.

He snorted. "She'd rather stay in Nyah's tent—riskin' witnessin' the two of them humpin' like rabbits—than to stay livin' with me."

Lottie sat next to Tristan and set her palm on his bare shoulder as Grey came over to hug her. She ruffled his hair and pointed to his blankets. Grey stuck his thumb in his mouth, grabbed his ball, and made his way silently to his side of the tent, where he sat with a sigh and shot her an accusatory glare. She ignored him and turned her attention back to Tristan.

"I'm not all that surprised. She's been workin' up the nerve to kick me out for a while now."

Wrapping her arms around Tristan gently, Lottie rested her head on his shoulder. "Wanna talk about it?"

He shook his head. "Wouldn't help. Been too many years, and I can't get past the fact she liked him. Maybe even loved him."

Lottie pulled away enough to look at Tristan's face. Tristan patted her knee with his uninjured hand. "It's okay. You know 'loved and lost' an' all that," he said, waving his hand slightly in a dismissive action.

"You guys are breaking up because of jealousy?"

Tristan grimaced but didn't say anything else.

She shook her head and returned her cheek to his shoulder. She couldn't do a thing about it now. "You're supposed to stay here with the kids and me 'til we get more tents. I hope you don't mind. Casey says I snore."

Tristan snickered, but then asked, "What will Case say? With me here?"

She shrugged. It was a valid concern. One she'd also harbored, especially now that she'd kissed Tristan twice. "You're his best friend, right?"

"As far as I know."

"Then, he'll be fine with it."

Tristan was silent a bit longer but said, "I hope so. Don't think I could handle it if he kicked me out too."

"He won't," Lottie reaffirmed. If he did? Yeah, she might have to leave too.

Changing the subject, she asked, "Can I look at your shoulder? I need to clean it. Make sure it doesn't get infected."

He nodded, slipped from her embrace, and eased to his stomach.

Lottie shuffled over to the bucket, grabbed it, and brought it over to where Tristan lay. Wringing out the scrap leather, she dabbed at the wounds, careful to avoid pulling the stitches. Leaning forward, Lottie inspected each small knot. Jaesen had to conserve the thread to cover all the areas needing work, and it showed. There weren't enough stitches to hold the wounds together without gaping. There were a few where she could tell Tristan had tensed during the procedure since the flaps of skin were no longer aligned. There were a few that looked about to tear, but she couldn't undo them now—no more thread to replace them.

As she worked, she noted his back twitching and growing tight. "I'm sorry I'm hurting you," Lottie whispered.

"'Urting 'Ukel 'Istan?" Grey asked, crawling over.

"See," Lottie said, pointing to the worst of the injuries. "Lots of owies. Need to be careful. Will you be careful?"

Grey nodded, and when he reached to touch Tristan, Lottie caught his hand and shook her head. Grey returned his hand to his lap. "'Ukel 'Istan," he asked.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"'Oo, 'aunt ball?"

Tristan chuckled and winced. "Can't today, buddy, but maybe later?"

Smiling, Lottie wiped away a tear that snuck past her defenses.

Even hurting as much as he was, Tristan was willing to play with her son. Why couldn't he set aside his jealousy? It didn't make sense. She hoped Zoe and Tristan would get past it. They seemed made for each other.

***

On the sidewalk in front of Casey, three off-duty soldiers were walking and discussing their evenings. Casey stepped closer to hear them better. "How'd it go at The Peacock?" the soldier on the left asked one of his two companions.

_The Peacock?_ The word sounded like a State-bar or State-run name.

"Shitty," the middle soldier replied. "The bitch told me, no, and the proprietor asked me to leave. Kept a third of my money for wasting their time." The man said, adding air quotes around the 'wasting their time'. "Dumb bitch."

The soldier sounded like a waste of Casey's time. Though, he wondered what the soldier had done to get kicked out. It had to be pretty grievous. Casey's limited experience at Uncle Sam's told him the State-runs didn't turn away many soldiers, not unless they had a habit of taking things too far.

The third soldier, the one farthest on the right and closest to the buildings, shook his head and snorted. "I told you to come with us to the Dregs."

The middle soldier glanced at the one on the right. "Who'd ever want to go to a State-run with the name Castoffs and Dregs?"

Casey found himself agreeing. It wasn't a complimentary name for that sort of business.

The soldier on the left, spoke up, drawing his companions' and Casey's attention, "First off, it ain't no State-run, and two, it's staffed by old ugly whores—hence the name Castoffs and Dregs. 'Cause they can't get work anywhere else."

"Way to sell it," the middle soldier replied.

Casey's lip curled, and he harry-eyeballed the three men. What kind of place did these soldiers like to frequent? He smoothed his expression back to neutral. The tone and topic of their conversation bothered him, but that didn't mean Casey should advertise his feelings. He didn't want to call attention to himself. Besides, baring a fight, he couldn't do much about them or their attitude, and he didn't want to get incarcerated again. Casey wished they headed in a different direction.

The third soldier, the one on the right, smacked the middle one with the back of his hand. "Yeah, but at the Dregs, don't matter if they say no, and the proprietor, Gary, won't ever turn you out. Won't keep your money either."

The middle soldier glanced at the soldier on his right, and Casey saw the middle man's eyebrow twitch up.

"Didn't know that, huh?" the first soldier boasted. "You can pay extra for the privilege of smackin' 'em around."

Casey growled softly to himself.

"The more 'no's you want," the first soldier explained. "the more you pay, but man, it can be satisfactory to punch 'em in the gut and then bend them over a couch."

The first soldier clapped the middle one on the shoulder, and Casey's hands balled into fists. He might get in a fight yet.

"Ain't nothin' like it," the first soldier continued. "'Course, you can't hit 'em in the face without it costin' you an arm and a leg. Not to mention, their mugs are ugly enough without the added bruises, but I'm tellin' you. It's worth it. There ain't nothin' like backhandin' a bitch, then watchin' her drop to her knees to do what you paid her for."

Casey's insides roiled, and he itched to deliver retribution. Oh, how he wanted to punch _them_ in the stomach. Hit _them_ in the face. Just to see how _they_ liked it.

"You've done that?" the middle soldier asked with awe in his tone.

Of course, he would sound impressed.

Asshole.

The soldier was a lousy waste of flesh and bone.

"Fuck yeah," the first and third soldiers replied in unison, snickered, and shared a look across the one in the middle.

"Next time we go—" the first began.

"—You come with us. We'll hire one bitch to share between the three of us." the third finished.

"And we'll pay enough so you can smack her around a bit," the first soldier, the one on the left, added.

"But I get her ass," the soldier on the right said, staking his claim.

Casey stepped faster. He had to get away from these soldiers before he did something stupid and jeopardized his mission.

_Focus, Case_ , he urged silently. _You're here to get those four girls away from jackasses like them._

"And I get her pussy," the first soldier added.

"And that leaves me?" the middle soldier asked, sounding affronted.

"Her mouth," the third soldier replied, shooting his friend a wolfish grin.

"Just wait 'til she's chokin' on your cock while the two of us are gettin' her from behind," the left soldier remarked.

"You'll come so hard you see God," the third soldier added.

As if Casey hadn't been thoroughly disgusted with them before, now, he'd had enough!

"Ain't nothin' like it," the first soldier replied.

Casey gritted his teeth and shoved his way through the three men. He couldn't— _wouldn't!_ —hear another word. He was done— _Done!_ —with listening to them speak with such casual disrespect.

"What's your problem, asshole?" the middle soldier called after Casey. It was easy to know which one spoke after listening to their disparaging remarks about the workers at the illegal brothel.

Casey flicked them off over his shoulder as he continued down the road. He half expected one of them to sucker punch him in the back of the head, but as the distance between him and the three of them grew, Casey relaxed.

Finding the door to Specialist Brice's office, Casey went inside, where Casey greeted the same tall white man with the too angular face, sandy brown hair, and dark blue eyes hidden by wide-rimmed glasses that Casey had met two days ago.

Brice smiled as Casey entered, giving Casey one of his overly broad false grins that showed too many teeth and flashed his dimples. Casey's lip threatened to curl, and it took a herculean effort to keep a straight face. "Brice," he said.

"The tooth bothering you?"

Casey nodded.

Brice swept his hand to the side, indicating a checkup room and offering Casey the dental chair. Casey hopped up. After getting comfortable, Brice set to work. A few minutes later, he announced, "It has got a cavity, but a filling will fix it."

Again, Casey nodded, waiting for Brice to get to it.

"Do you know more about our task?" Brice inquired as he clattered behind Casey's head. Casey assumed the noise was Brice getting out more tools of his trade.

"Not really," Casey answered. He knew a few things and had a plan of attack for kidnapping Stanzy, but Brice wouldn't be involved in that, so he didn't need to know more.

"Open," Brice ordered and brought a long needle forward. After the shot to numb the area, Brice patted Casey on the shoulder. "Let's give that a few minutes to work."

As the chemical deadened the nerve agitated by the cavity, Casey sent a silent thanks to the void. "Yoosh'et'noooocane?"

"For a situation like this?" Brice asked, seeming to understand Casey's jibberish. "Yeah, the Army still issues us a numbing agent for dental work. Antibiotics for pneumonia? Not so much."

The outer office door clattered, and Brice left the room to greet the newcomers, calling out their names as he went. Casey had trouble deciphering what Brice had said since the sound of boots milling around the vestibule drowned out Brice's words, but the cadence of their voices sent a shiver of disgust chasing down Casey's spine. The three soldiers he'd been following earlier had entered the office.

"Thanks for the rec, again, B-man," the original first soldier said. "The Dregs delivered just as you said they would. And we convinced our friend here to join us next week." Casey imagined the buddy-buddy back smacking that would typically accompany a statement like that one.

It made him sick.

Brice recommended the place?

"Glad you liked it," Brice replied. "Gary's never steered me wrong yet! Hey? Did you get a chance to check out Simon Says?" Brice asked them.

The three soldiers chuckled. Casey heard the soldier, the who'd been the man on the far right, say, "They closed it down."

"What? Why?" Brice exclaimed.

There were shuffling noises out front, and Casey didn't catch the response, but what he did hear made him shake with renewed anger.

"Yeah," the first soldier responded. "Not much of a loss. No one would want to fuck those old broads anyway. What were they?" he paused for someone to respond. Casey didn't know if anyone answered him, but the first soldier continued with, "Sixty or so? No one wants to fuck pussy that old and used up."

There was a smattering of chuckles before the middle soldier said, "If they're too old for fucking, they're too old to live. I say they should be taken out to the parade grounds and shot."

"Wasting resources," the first added.

There was another chorus of "Uh-huh"s and a few "Yeah"s, but Casey's capacity to listen had disintegrated along with his marginal thread respect for Brice. It thinned further with every non-rebuke that man failed to utter.

How would Casey be able to live with a soldier who thought so little of women that he would not only pay to hurt them but also agreed with these asshats about killing them once they weren't young any longer?

Casey grimaced at both his degrading thought and at the situation of bringing Brice back to the settlement.

They needed a dentist, sure, but he'd be damned if Brice had a free pass after today's antics. Casey would watch him—and occupation be damned—the slightest threat to one of Casey's women, and Brice would go down the same way Adan did.

That level of assholery had no place in _Casey's_ settlement.

# Chapter 24

Lottie's feet came to a halt at the crown of the fallen tree. It rested amongst its neighbors like a soldier shot in a war, limbs at odd angles, cold and lifeless. She shuddered. If not for Tristan's sacrifice, they might have died.

It had been a near thing.

She swallowed, and tentatively stepped around the top of the tree, moving toward where the four of them had taken refuge. Her toe kicked something hard, and it rolled away from her.

Grey's ball.

Lottie knelt to retrieve it.

She rolled it between her fingers a few times before pocketing it. Shying away from the branch responsible for Tristan's damaged back, Lottie resumed her trek to the garden. She would have to ask one of the men to help her clear the path, or she'd have to forge a new one. The old tree took up too much room to easily climb over.

Sighing, she filed that to-do item into the back of her mind. She needed to focus on the garden and how much damage it may have sustained. Lottie hoped it was minimal, but, in all likelihood, the storm had destroyed their garden.

Lottie rounded the final bend and nearly wept. Branches were everywhere, the ground gouged and torn from the wind. She traversed the furrows, stooping here and there to check on the shoots.

At least the greenery not covered by debris seemed to be mostly okay. In many places, the new shoots were barely considered sprouts and had managed to be low enough not to get caught up in the destruction, unlike the trees around the small farm.

As she walked, she collected and discarded what she could to bring order back to the clearing. Some of the tree limbs were too big, and Lottie resigned herself to leaving them until later. Stepping back, she did another visual sweep of the area. There wasn't enough food growing, and she was out of seeds for many of the items. Lottie would need to go to that farm near Shelter Two and hope to find enough supplements there.

Her shoulders drooped as Lottie left the garden for the orchard. There she was greeted with a more soothing sight. Only one tree had fallen—a baby apple—and she hurried to it.

It appeared salvageable.

Scanning the area, she found a Y shape branch that would be perfect. She grabbed it and brought it to the fallen apple tree. Lifting the trunk, Lottie wedged the forked branch into the dirt and rested the trunk of the apple tree in the Y. She'd have to come back every few days and shift the apple tree trunk and brace until tree returned to an upright position.

Lottie dusted her hands on her pants and moved to a small log on the edge of the grounds, where she then sat. There was so much to do.

She sighed and rubbed her belly. It was weird to have a flat squishy stomach again. Thoughts of her changing body made her think about Hope, which in turn lead her to memories about conceiving her daughter.

Lottie blushed, missing Casey.

Gazing up at the blue sky, Lottie found it clear. Had Casey been caught in yesterday's storm? Had it missed Fort St. Louis? For that matter, what was Casey doing right now? Was he on his way home yet?

"No way to know," she said to herself.

Once rested, she stood and began the trek back to the clearing. Her aches made the task more difficult than usual, but at least Zoe and Ally were babysitting Grey and Hope, and she hadn't had to do the job of surveying the damage with two babies in tow. "Thank the ever-absent, God, for small favors."

The walk home took twice as long as the hike out, but finally, Lottie entered the clearing where Ally and Zoe were at the central fire, chatting. Lottie's gaze dropped to Max and Grey, who were running around the two women. Cody sat on the ground, playing in the dirt at Ally's feet, while Ally held Hope in her lap. Dexy looked content in Zoe's arms as she nursed.

Lottie's breasts pulled and ached. Hope needed to eat. Joining the women, Lottie took Hope from Ally and found a seat next to her. With practiced ease, Lottie had Hope at her breast, and she groaned through the pain of having her milk let down as Hope began to suckle. Zoe and Ally smiled in understanding.

"How's the weaning going?" Lottie asked Ally, more for needing to fill the silence than any real desire to know.

"Max is taking to it fine," Ally replied, patting Cody on the head. "She's going to need me to feed her for a bit longer yet."

Lottie nodded. Something was off about Cody. She was a happy little girl, but her face was too round, and her eyes seemed incorrectly spaced. Additionally, she was developmentally behind. She'd only recently learned to sit up. Everyone in the settlement tactfully ignored the obvious. Cody had a disability.

"Well, if you need anything, let me know. I'd had to wean Grey earlier than I'd have liked," Lottie said.

Ally gave her a soft smile, knowing the sacrifice Lottie had made in her effort to rescue the women from Gates hospital.

"How is the garden?" Zoe asked, and for the next several minutes, the women chatted about the storm, babies, and their comrades who were off on missions for the settlement.

"You think they'll get home today?" Zoe inquired.

Lottie didn't see why not. The house with all the supplies was no further than any of the other houses the men had been deconstructing, and with six of them gone, they should be able to get finished and come home all in one day.

Putting Hope over her shoulder, Lottie patted her back. One giant burp later, Hope stopped squirming and fell asleep. "I better go put her down," Lottie said, standing. Ally and Zoe murmured their understanding, and Lottie left them to their earlier chat. "Come along, Grey," she called. He needed a nap. Grey dutifully trundled after her.

As they neared her tent, Lottie put her finger to her lips and urged Grey to silence. He popped a thumb in his mouth and nodded. It was odd, Lottie thought. Grey should complain more about naps. Skylar—her little brother who'd lived in the same commune building as hers—along with most of the other young children Lottie had tended, had cried and fought the handlers when it came to naps. Lottie assumed that was the norm, and it continually surprised her when Grey would go to bed without a fuss.

Unzipping her tent, she eased the flap open and motioned Grey inside. He beelined to his bedroll. Once there, he wadded up his blanket, shoved it under his cheek, and closed his eyes. Lottie smiled and shook her head, amazed.

Moving to her pallet, Lottie nestled Hope into her bedding. Lottie shifted the blankets around the newborn to keep her in one place. Naptime was one of the few times Lottie wished for an actual crib. Too many times to count, Lottie had come back to the tent to find Hope on her stomach, nose pressed to the bedding. Each time, Lottie feared she'd find Hope dead from lack of oxygen, yet, each time, Hope was okay and protested lying on her belly.

"She'll be okay. I'll watch her," Tristan rasped, startling Lottie.

She hadn't wanted to wake him, so she'd tried to be quiet. "You need your rest," Lottie murmured. Grey lazily opened one eye, checked on her, and closed it again.

"Rested enough," Tristan muttered.

Lottie clucked her tongue and turned to give Tristan her full attention. Resting the back of her hand against his forehead then cheek, she checked his temperature. His skin felt hot to the touch, and she worried about infection. "You need anything?"

He licked his lips.

She had the small mug of water in front of him before he could ask for a drink. He smiled gratefully and took a few sips before handing the cup back to her. "Thanks," he whispered.

"Least I can do," she replied.

Tristan grunted and scooted closer to Hope. "She need anythin'?"

"Nope. Full belly. Burped. The works."

He smiled. His eyes drifted closed as he positioned himself near Hope. Lottie fidgeted with the blankets, pulling them up to his neck and smoothing them. Tristan had so much love to give. Why didn't Zoe see him the way Lottie did?

She sighed.

Lottie might never know.

***

Leaving Brice's office, Casey was one cavity lighter but a whole hell-of-a-lot angrier. He brooded the entire way back to Uncle Sam's, marched up the stairs, and let himself into Noah's apartment without his cursory polite knock. His hands shook—no, his whole body vibrated—with the desire to slam the door and destroy Noah's property in righteous indignation. He fisted his short hair and bit back a howl of frustration.

Theia growled, pulling Casey's eye to her and Noah, working with some papers on Noah's bed. Noah motioned to the dog to stay and then stepped lightly toward Casey's side. "What is it, son?"

Like an earthen dam breached by stormwater, Casey spewed out his anger. "Did you know there was an illegal State-run dedicated to—" Casey swallowed. The word rape on his tongue, and even though it was accurate, he couldn't quite bring himself to say it. "—to abusing women?" he finished weakly.

"Ah," Noah said, his expression showed his understanding. "You have learned of the Dregs."

Casey gritted his teeth. His lips pinched together in a scowl. "You knew about that place?"

Noah inclined his head once.

Pushing into the room, Casey stormed to the window near the bathroom, pivoted on his heel, and stalked toward the kitchen island. When that distance proved inadequate, he turned and marched to the other window, nearer Noah's bed. He continued pacing as he spoke. "We have to do something. Get them out. They shouldn't live like that. Forced into sex. Endure being hit. It's not fair. It's not right." Casey pinned Noah with a glare as he walked by. "It needs to be stopped."

Casey received another single nod from Noah, but it wasn't enough.

"What will it take to get them free?" Casey demanded.

Noah didn't speak, didn't blink, didn't do anything at all, and Casey's frustration grew too much to contain, and he yelled, "Answer me, dammit!"

Noah sat on Casey's cot and patted the spot next to him. Casey shook his head and resumed his pacing, too keyed up to sit.

"What you are asking for is not possible at this time," Noah replied.

"The hell it isn't." For maybe the first time, Casey truly understood what Lottie had felt when Noah initially denied her request to rescue the newborns from Gates _and_ the girls from Fort St. Louis.

Casey thought of all the women here in the communals, barracks, research facility, and State-runs, suffering, living lives they would not have chosen for themselves, and his heart burned for them.

Rescuing everyone was out of the question, Casey knew that deep down, but at least the women here at Uncle Sam's wanted to be here, unlike the women at the Dregs, forced to work in an illegal State-run for unknown reasons. Casey's mind stuttered over his last thought as he remembered Nicky with her dead eyes and buried shame.

Nicky hadn't wanted to be here. It didn't take much imagination to assume none of the women at Uncle Sam's wanted to be here either, but at least they had a proprietor who cared if they were healthy and made sure to keep the clientele in line. That was more than the women at Dregs had, and it made Casey's heart hurt in sympathy. He rubbed at his chest.

As calm as a stagnant pond, Noah asked, "Have you thought through all of the ramifications of our current mission?"

How could Noah sit there without any emotion at all when Casey was brimming with them? Finally, he bit out something that sounded vaguely affirmative.

"You are aware that Gates will most likely go on full lockdown preventing additional rescues"—Casey nodded. He had thought of it.—"and deploy more IRT to search for the missing girls and you, because, I promise you, the Army has tied your name to the women who escaped last year, and the new disappearances will have you listed on their records as a prime suspect?"

Casey spun on his heel and marched around the room, unable to answer Noah sensibly. He didn't need a reminder about the IRT being after him.

Noah continued, "I doubt I need to tell you the full scope of what you are facing here with these four girls." Casey growled deep in his throat, feeling out of control, and hating it. "Once you succeed in getting them out, there will be policies put in place to prevent further kidnappings. More guards, possibly a new branch to the Army geared toward this new threat you pose, but at the very least, a recruitment upswing in all the protection branches of the Army: CPS, FAP, IRT, PCE to name a few. You will be causing a ripple effect that will be evident for years to come."

Again, something Casey suspected even if he hadn't put it in so many words. Casey sighed and glanced at Noah as he passed but quickly looked away.

"Son, there is a reason why something like this hasn't happened in recent memory. The last known kidnappings happened during the riots of 2194 and 5. No one who has attempted to steal away a woman since then has succeeded."

Wasn't that perfect? Casey thought bitterly.

Now, Noah figured he'd fail and couldn't wait to throw it in Casey's face. Well, Casey'd show him. "Are you saying I shouldn't try?"

"No," Noah said.

Casey's lip turned up in a sneer, ready to call him out. "If all prior attempts have failed, then why should mine succeed?"

"Timing."

Casey stopped pacing to stare at Noah.

A small smile tugged at Noah's lips. "It has been years since the last attempt, and the Army has grown complacent. But," Noah said, lifting a single finger, and Casey braced himself for what Noah might say next. "They won't be so easy to circumvent the next time. That is why you _cannot_ take on more risk. You already have enough trouble with the four you are rescuing."

Grunting, Casey pivoted and returned to his march between the windows and kitchen. He couldn't stand it when Noah pointed out the obvious, especially since he'd already come to the same conclusion.

After a long break, Noah said softly, "I know of the injustice at the Dregs. It pains me to leave anyone in such conditions. I regret leaving those men and women where they do not wish to be, but we have to keep our focus. We have to be selective about who we liberate and when. One wrong move, and we fail."

Casey's footsteps faltered, and he came to a stop. He didn't remember the last time he heard Noah sounding so uncertain. Slowly, Casey turned his head to look Noah in the eye.

"This is a long game, son, and we're fighting to win at something where the rules change on a whim, and no one tells you about it. We need to be careful. We cannot induce change overnight as much as I'd like to. No one would accept it, not even the ones who wish for freedom. I cannot abide failure, though it is an option."

Noah sighed and shook his head. His hands brushed his thighs. "It sits at my side where ever I go—goading me with its probability—but I cannot give up. I cannot _not_ attempt this. I cannot let the movement go due to my fear of other's mistakes or my own. For the sake of all the men, women, and children in the world who wish for freedoms, then I have to push forward. I have to succeed. I cannot accept anything less. And neither can you."

Casey's shoulders drooped, and he made his way over to Noah and sat. "I understand," Casey said. And he did. He would leave the women at the Dregs for the time being, but he would not forget them.

***

"How does he do it?" Casey muttered to himself, patting the small pouch in his front pocket, confirming it hadn't moved.

It turns out, Noah already had a tobacco supplier. For Javier, no less! Casey reminisced on the discussion from two days ago, right after the one about Nicky. He could remember the look on Noah's face when Casey asked how to get some smokes for Stanzy. Noah had been slightly flustered, another rarity for the man, and had dug in his pack to hand over what he had already bought. Afterward, they'd left Uncle Sam's to meet his dealer—Casey snickered at the thought. Noah's dealer promised to work with them long enough to hook Stanzy in their charade. He was willing to do sell them tobacco at the dealer cost. If the ex-soldier was telling the truth—and Casey suspected he was—then Stanzy was getting a pretty good deal, only a three percent markup over the usual five to ten.

He shook his head and kept walking toward his rendezvous point with Stanzy.

Arriving early, Casey found a decent spot to watch the workers and keep an eye open for the young woman. Per expectation, she was late to the rendezvous point.

"You came," she said breathlessly.

"I did."

"Do you have it?" she asked with an eager smile.

"I do." Casey indicated his pocket. "Do you have the cash?"

"Oh! Yeah," Stanzy said and retrieved some cash from her pocket and handed it to him.

He counted it quickly and fished the pouch from his pocket to hand to Stanzy. It contained some rolling papers, a new lighter, and the tobacco. Stanzy squealed in delight, examining the solar-powered lighter.

"How'd you know I needed a new one?" she asked.

He hadn't. The lighter had been part of Javier's order.

"This is great!"

Casey inclined his head once to acknowledge her. Stanzy pulled a paper from the small dispenser, and after a pinch or two of the dried leaves, she rolled it and lit it. Stanzy inhaled, and her eyes closed as she exhaled on a sigh. "This stuff is better than what Kyle can get. How'd you do it?"

Casey shrugged. Any answer he gave her would send the wrong message. Better to let her fill in the blanks herself.

"This time, in two weeks, you will meet one of my associates." Okay, technically, it was the dealer himself, but that didn't matter right here and now. "And he will sell you the next installment."

Stanzy paused mid inhale. Leaving her cigarette pinched between her lips, she tugged at her ear. "Wh'on't'e'u?" she asked around the smoke in her mouth.

What was it with smokers and their need to speak as they exhaled their habit? Casey wondered. As it was, it was all he could do not to walk away from the stench of the smoke, but now he also had to decipher what she said.

"I will be away on a mission," Casey said, hoping her question had been about why wasn't it him.

Her eyelids widened, and her eyes practically bulged out. Casey had no idea what she thought to create such a reaction, but clearly, it made an impact. Stanzy pulled the cigarette from between her lips to stutter out, "Holy shit! You're—You're—You're a grower?"

It took Casey longer than he would have liked to figure out what she meant by that statement. She thought he was the dealer's supplier and that Noah's contact was a small-time dealer instead of the other way around. He found no good reason to disabuse her of that notion.

"Wow." She puffed a few more times on her smoke before tossing it to the ground and grinding it out with her heal. "So it was dumb luck you ran into me the other day? I can't see why a grower would do his own," Stanzy trailed off and gave him a side-eye glance. "I'm not going to sell for you."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Casey replied, but something in her eyes made him roll with a new facet of their budding relationship. He chuckled. Relationship. "Unless you wanted to, that is." Wouldn't that be rich? Hook her as a dealer, for Noah's dealer to groom and then kidnap her in a few weeks?

Stanzy swallowed hard enough Casey heard it. He hadn't quite figured out how to handle her reaction, when she said, "I'll think about it."

He nodded once, a slow movement down then up, to show her he heard her. Pushing away from the wall and their hiding spot, he walked away. Before he'd gone too far, he said over his shoulder, "Remember. Same time. Same place. Two weeks from now."

A faint "yeah" was her reply.

***

Lottie tumbled into bed next to Tristan. Her body ached everywhere, and she was so desperately sleepy, she hadn't bothered to change into pajamas, opting instead, to sleep in her hand-me-down uniform she'd worn all day while working in the pasture with Ally and Zoe. It had been hard work juggling the construction and all their children, but between the three of them, they'd managed to make _some_ progress. It helped to have both Nyah and Grace working the clearing, keeping it clean, and making sure to feed everyone.

"Get more done," Tristan slurred, scooting closer to her and wrapping her in his arms.

She stilled, muscles stiffening with tension. Even after two nights of sharing a tent and subsequently a bed with Tristan, his touchy-feely tendencies caught her off guard. Lottie reserved her body, heart, and soul for Casey and Casey alone.

It helped to know that, one, Tristan didn't realize he was spooning her, and two, that he didn't want her romantically. Tristan just seemed to need bodily contact when he was sick. And boy, was he sick! His skin felt like scorched earth after a forest fire, and his stitches were puffy and red, a clear indicator of an infection raging in his body. With him struggling for health, Lottie couldn't find it in her heart to tell him to keep his hands to himself when he might be dying.

Lottie patted Tristan's hand at her waist. His fingers flexed before tightening, drawing her closer to him in a hug.

"Yeah," she answered his question. "We moved the fence forward a few feet."

"Good," he murmured, his breathing dropping into a snore.

Tristan was asleep again, and Lottie relaxed. His rest was good for healing and good for her discomfort.

Reaching to the side, she pulled Hope's bedding closer to aid in the inevitable middle of the night feedings. Hope was getting better, but it would be several weeks yet before she'd sleep through the night. Lottie blinked slowly. Fatigue making her eyelids heavy. She needed a full night of sleep and could hardly wait for the day Hope slept straight through the night. It was too much to hope for so soon, but maybe Hope would be grown enough by the time Casey returned to accomplish it.

Lottie frowned and glanced at Tristan's pinched expression. What would they do with Tristan once Casey returned? She wouldn't kick him out, that much she knew. Lottie palmed his cheek.

They'd have to figure something out.

***

At first, the heat at Lottie's back felt as if she'd fallen asleep next to the central fire, but then she amended the thought. She couldn't be asleep there; she was under her blankets in her tent. That meant, Casey had to be home, didn't it? He was sleeping beside her, and that was the reason she felt over-heated, but then, she realized, that couldn't be right either. If Casey were home, he would have woken her to let her know, but Casey hadn't, besides, even when his ankle hurt him to the point of tears, he never thrashed in his sleep, but that wasn't the case with the man behind her.

This could only mean one thing.

She wasn't sleeping with Casey.

As that thought registered, Lottie came fully awake. Rolling over, she spied Tristan beside her, and her memories flooded back. His injuries. His stitches. His subsequent fever. All of it was a direct result of her. She frowned. Wanting to help him, but at a loss as to how.

Lottie pushed her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, and stared down at him. His glassy-eyed gaze fixated on the ceiling, and he had a perpetual frown. Lottie pressed her fingers to Tristan's brow and then behind his ear. His temperature—which had been high earlier—felt dangerous now.

Despair hit Lottie hard, and she nearly doubled over in pain. His infection had fully taken over, and Lottie could very well be looking at Tristan's last days on earth. A tear slipped through her scrunched eyes. Tristan was integral to her world, to the settlement's world, to Casey's. What would they do if they lost him?

No!

They would not lose him.

First, she could work on his fever and hopefully bring it down a bit. Lottie tossed back the covers and pulled on her boots. A whimper from the edge of her bedroll made her abort her immediate departure and instead crawled over to Hope. A cursory inspection showed the infant needed a diaper change and probably a feeding, as well.

A handful of minutes later, Lottie had a clean and fed infant, and the two of them stepped from the tent to make their way to the central fire. Lottie hoped there would be water available for her use. Sometimes, whoever was in charge of KP, left a full bucket of water for the next person to use. Lottie didn't care if it was sanitary, only clean and cold.

Luck was with Lottie. There was a bucket set off to the side, and it did have water in it. She picked it up and made her way back to her tent. Setting it down inside, Lottie then made herself comfortable next to Tristan with the bucket, a rag, and Hope in her lap. Lottie sponged Tristan with the water and hoped with every fiber of her being that it helped his fever.

"Zoe?" he rasped. "Zoey? That you?"

Lottie bit her tongue to keep from aw-ing. He may not be living with Zoe at the moment, but his heart still longed for Zoe. "Shh," Lottie urged.

Tristan's eyes shifted in their sockets and swiveled toward her. His glazed look faded, and recognition grew. "You okay, Momma?" he asked.

She snorted softly. "You're the one with a fever and stitches, yet, you ask me if I'm all right?"

He inhaled a long and shuddery breath.

Answering him, Lottie said, "We're fine. You have a fever. I'm trying to help."

He nodded and exhaled. "What happened?" he asked, and Lottie replied, even though it had to have been his third or fourth time, he'd asked the same question. On a whisper, he said, "Okay. Makes sense."

They spent the majority of the night silent. Lottie would sponge his skin or futzed with Hope while Tristan presumably kept quiet to not over-tax himself. As the night dragged on, Lottie failed to have anything engaging to say, but as dawn rose, Tristan seemed to rally. "How is the pasture fence comin'?"

Lottie smiled. He'd asked that question earlier as well. "It's coming. Not as smoothly as we'd like, but we've resumed the teams for both decon and supply making, and me, Zoe, Ally, are in the field trying to do your job." He grimaced, and she patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Focus on getting better."

Tristan nodded.

After a few moments of silence, Lottie asked, "You hungry?"

"No," he rasped.

"Thirsty?"

"No."

"You have to choose one," she remarked with a brightness she didn't feel. "And if you won't choose, then I will."

"Surprise me," Tristan whispered.

With dehydration being the more significant threat, Lottie grabbed her canteen and had him drink several mouthfuls. "Better?"

He indicated another no, but he licked his lips as if the water had been the best- thing he'd ever tasted.

"More?" Lottie inquired.

Tristan gave the canteen a side-eye but then nodded. After another few swigs, he lay back on her and Casey's bedding. "Thanks, Momma."

"Don't mention it," she replied. "I need to go get ready. Will you be okay on your own for a bit?"

"Yes."

Lottie took him at his word. Grace—or maybe Katie, once she was back at the settlement—would check on him every hour or so to make sure he stayed comfortable.

"I'll refill your water," she said, "but then I'll leave you to rest. Let someone know if you need anything."

"I will," he murmured. His words already slurred with coming sleep.

Lottie pulled the blankets up to his chin and pressed her hand to his chest. "Hold on for me, okay?" she whispered.

"I will," he answered.

She'd have to trust him on that.

Turning to Grey, she shook the little boy's foot, and he stretched, his tiny fists pressing to his eyes as he rubbed the sleep from them. "Mommy?"

"Yeah, baby?"

He sat up and blinked at her. "'Gree, Mommy."

Lottie grinned, amused. Despite the gravity of the situation going on in her tent, Grey was, of course, hungry. When wasn't he? "Then let's go see what Granma Grace or Auntie Nyah's cooked for breakfast."

Grey grinned and stood. Lottie helped him dress and then scooped up Hope.

"Ready?" she asked.

Grey grinned. "'Eddy!"

"All right, let's go."

***

"90, 91, 92, 93—"

A firm pounding knock on the door interrupted Casey's pushup routine, and he glanced at the door as he lowered to do another. "94, 95" He knew by the intensity of the knock that wasn't anyone he'd met before. He also knew that this knock wasn't some random noise generated by an over-zealous soldier who consummated his purchase before reaching a private room. No, this knock reverberated in a way that screamed authority.

"96, 97."

His palms grew slick, and his heart jackhammered in his throat. What if it was the CPS? Maybe Green saw him out?

A new knock reverberated against the door.

"98, 99."

"Coming," Noah yelled from the bathroom.

Casey swallowed guiltily. He should have said that!

Instead, he said, "100" as he finished the last repetition of his set.

"Private Ives?" the deep voice called from the other side of the door.

Casey stood as Noah finished up in the bathroom. Casey stepped toward the door, but Noah stopped him. "Let me, son."

Putting his hands up to show his willingness to let Noah lead, Casey backed away and sat on his cot, returning his hands to his lap, where he rubbed the sweat from his palms onto his thighs.

Another knock began as Noah got to the door. "I said, 'coming'," Noah growled at the person.

Noah yanked open the door, and Casey lifted an eyebrow at Noah's uncharacteristic irritability. In strode a man that was so tall Casey had to look up—way up—and he'd thought Fordmyer had been tall! This man towered over Fordmyer.

Who the hell was he?

Skimming over the rest of the details, Casey noted the soldier's self assure stance, the fact he was hefty to the point of being overweight, and the slight epicanthic folds, marking him as a man with some form of Asian genetics in his family tree.

That was when Casey notice another detail, one that had his eyes bulging in their sockets. A small gold leaf affixed to his jacket lapel proclaimed to the world his rank as a Major of the USA army.

A Major Hammond.

Belatedly, Casey realized his casual and extremely disrespectful stance. He snapped to attention with a crisp salute, even though he didn't have to—he was a civilian—but the newcomer barely spared him a glance.

Casey relaxed into a parade rest despite not receiving permission to do so, and he sighed. He'd already slipped back into the mindset required for the hierarchy of command.

"Ayers has sent word," the man said. "The delivery of Captain Kenzie's order is initiated. You are required to receive it."

"Why don't you come in, Erskine," Noah said, indicating the room at large even though Major Hammond was already standing inside the dwelling with his back to the kitchen.

Casey's attention whipped to Noah, who stood casually next to the open door, his hand resting against the jam. Casey blinked, astounded to see Noah so relaxed in the presence of a Major— _No_ , Casey amended. _Not relaxed_. Noah's eyes were devoid of emotion, but the skin at the corner of his eyes betrayed a tightness hinting at an artfully disguised tension. Noah projected a calm which, to anyone who knew him, would prove to be fabricated. This realization made Casey stand taller. Whoever this Major Hammond happened to be, it would behoove Casey to be wary of him.

Noah closed the door. "Kenzie's made his move?"

_Kenzie? Kenzie?_ Where had he heard that name before?

"Yes."

"Have you looked into utilizing Private Busch?"

_Cameron? Kenzie? Oh!_ Casey exclaimed, putting the pieces together. They were talking about Leo. Lottie's contact from Gates. He was amazed he could forget the name of the one who was going to give them the livestock.

"Private Busch is acceptable, but only if we can recruit him to our cause and our branch."

"That won't be a problem," Casey said and then regretted it when Erskine shifted his intense black eyes to Casey.

"Who is this?" Major Hammond barked.

"This is Staff Sergeant Huxley."

Casey tried not to snort. He wasn't a Staff Sergeant, and introducing him as such was a complete misnomer. "Casey. Name's Casey," he said, amending Noah's introduction. "I've been discharged." Urgh, why'd he go and say that?

Major Hammond didn't react. Instead, he said, "This the man who initiated the find of Zero?"

Zero?

"Yes," Noah replied. "He has been instrumental in our efforts."

"Good," Major Hammond remarked and turned back to Noah. "Recruit Busch to the cause. He is inconspicuous enough and shows a remarkable level of restraint. Make sure he knows where Zero lives, and that he can travel unencumbered between here, there, and any other location we determine as pertinent."

Noah nodded.

"Are we in an agreement," Major Hammond finished.

"We are."

Major Hammond addressed Casey. "It was good to meet you."

"And you, sir," Casey replied, even if he didn't quite believe what he said.

After a parting statement from Noah, Major Hammond left.

Casey stood next to his cot, staring at Noah, hoping for some sort of explanation of what happened. When nothing was forthcoming, Casey asked, "Major Hammond? Your superior?"

Noah sighed. "Yes."

"Imposing fellow."

Noah snorted. "Yes."

"Um. What's next?"

"Next?" Noah replied. "Next, we pack up and leave. Ayers has a few days headstart on us. The livestock will slow him down, but not by much. We need to get back to the settlement before he gets there."

"Okay," Casey said, already moving to pack up his belonging.

"We'll need a few things from the Fort before we go, but we should be on the road no later than mid-day."

"I'll be ready."

"I know you will be, son. I know."

***

Sharp pain in Lottie's belly as she pounded the post in front of her with a sledgehammer, had her wincing. If the pain had come a day or two before the big storm, she might have stopped working to check it out, but regretfully, Lottie'd had too many belly aches since the storm to pause for this one. At least she could take solace in the fact she wasn't bleeding out. This pain was probably a continuation of the one she had during her mad dash back to the settlement during the storm, a PTSD like response post-delivery related to excessive activity.

She leaned against the handle of the hammer while Ally set the next post into place. Lottie checked over Ally's shoulder to Zoe, who sat with the children after her turn at fence building. It was hard work, and they were all exhausted, but it was early in the day, yet, and they couldn't stop.

Movement at the tree line from the direction of the camp caught Lottie's eye, and she directed her attention to the trees. A moment later, a tall, blond figure stepped out of the treeline and into their workspace.

"Hey, Momma," Tristan greeted her, then Zoe and Ally. He let his gaze taking in their work. He smiled. "Looks good."

Lottie grinned. The edges of her lips rising practically to her ears. Tristan was up and moving around!

Six days ago, Lottie feared Tristan would die.

Five days ago, his fever peaked.

Four days ago, his fever broke in a drenching sweat, soaking through the blankets and their clothes.

He'd been recovering every day since.

Lottie didn't know how his body did it. A fever that high, and infection that well established, should have killed him. It didn't, and for that, she'd be eternally thankful.

"Thanks," she said in answer to his praise.

"There are a few week spots further back, but it looks like they'll hold. I can do a deeper repair after I'm better."

Lottie found herself grinning. It was so good to see him up and about.

He waved at her to continue. "Don't mind me." Tristan grinned at her. "I got tired of the same four walls."

"I bet," Ally remarked.

"And how are you doing, Ally?"

"Pretty good," she said, wiping her brow. "It's the first time I've felt like I could contribute."

That statement grabbed Lottie's attention. Ally seemed to be a free-loader, only coming out of her tent for personal reasons, such as food or bathroom breaks, but maybe Ally wasn't as anti-social as Lottie first assumed. She tried to remember any interactions with the woman when they lived at Gates and came up blank.

"What would you want to do?" Lottie asked, butting into the conversation. She was undeniably curious. Ally never hunted. Didn't collect food unless guided. Barely made an effort in the garden or worked the orchard.

Ally's smile faded. "I don't know. I'm not good with anything you seemed to need here."

"What would you have done?" Tristan prompted. "Ya'know, if you weren't here."

Her faded smile morphed to a frown. "I worked in a State-run," she said, her tone flat.

Tristan shook his head. "No, not what you did. What would you have wanted to do?"

"Oh," she said, brightening. "I would have liked to teach the kids."

"A teacher?" Tristan confirmed.

"Yes."

"You don't mind it when we ask you to babysit?" Lottie asked, remembering all the times the mothers of the settlement dumped their children on her and how Ally'd never seemed to be bothered.

"I love it, actually."

_Huh_. The settlement could use that.

"If I nominated you to be our communal home director, fully in charge of the kiddos, you'd be okay with that?" Lottie asked.

Ally beamed. "As long as I got to teach them? Sure."

_Hot damn!_ "You're hired," Lottie said.

The grin on Ally's face practically radiated heat and self-satisfaction. "When can I start?" she asked, even though everyone present knew she'd been doing the work all along, and they all chuckled.

"But seriously," Ally said. "I want to be a productive member of this team. I just haven't known how, since I can't hunt, and I seem to kill every plant I touch." Ally looked to the ground. "Ya'all have done so much for me."

"Ally?" Lottie waited until the other woman met her gaze. "We have five children here, and we're about to get six more," Lottie said, restating the obvious. "We'll need someone dedicated to keeping them cared for while the rest of us do the things you hate. Having you as our formal caregiver and educator takes a load off my mind, and I'm thankful you said something."

Ally put down her post and hugged Lottie. "Thank you for this," Ally said, her voice sounding thick with unshed tears. "I can make this work."

Lottie patted her on the back. Her throat felt light, but her chest felt lighter than it had in months.

"No, Ally. Thank you."

# Chapter 25

A furry blur darted between the trees and softly growled as they approached. Casey wondered why King didn't recognize them, but when Theia responded in kind, Casey assumed he had his answer. King didn't know Theia. Therefore she was a threat to his pack. Noah whistled, and both dogs ceased their aggressive behaviors. While, Theia, for her part, dropped to the ground and whined for Noah's approval. King slinked from the trees and tentatively licked Noah's hand, also begging forgiveness. Noah ruffed the fur behind his ear. At another signal form Noah, both dogs relaxed, and they resumed their hike to the settlement.

As they drew near, Casey strained his ears for the familiar sound of Greysen calling his name. With each step they took, his heart pounded harder. Why didn't he hear his son?

Entering the clearing, he noticed what was wrong. There was no one there! Brad and Jules's tent was gone, but that was to be expected, since, when he'd left, no one had finished the deconstruction missions yet. But across the way, there was a brand new tent where Ally and Katie's used to be. And aside from the missing outhouse, nothing else looked out of place. So, where was everyone?

A snapping twig, as if someone trod carelessly along the path from the west, came from the farthest corner near the tanning and butchering station. Casey fixed his gaze on the spot. Sure enough, Katie popped into view, carrying a large log. She looked about to drop the thing. Before Casey could ditch his pack and hobble to her, Noah had reached her.

Casey changed his trajectory to meet them at the fire. Noticing the stack of wood, Casey poked it with his foot, curiosity piqued. "Where is everyone? What happened?" he asked.

"Tornado," Katie answered.

"What?!"

"I know!" she agreed. "But, it's all dulce. We hid in the shed. It caught Lottie, T, Grey, and Hope outside. It's pretty dulce they were out—"

"—Are they okay?" Casey interjected. Noah placed a steadying hand on Casey's shoulder, urging silence, maybe? Or patience. Or maybe support? Casey didn't care which. Katie had said his family was in a tornado.

"—Yes," she answered. "If they had been in the shed with us, then we wouldn't have gotten out at all."

Katie pointed to the big block of wood, which Casey could now see was a cross-section of a tree trunk over eighteen inches in diameter.

"Between, her, Jules, and Brad, they were able to get us out. T was hurt, though, so he didn't help," she said, and Casey almost missed it as he contemplated the size of the tree which had to have fallen.

"Tristan was hurt?" Noah asked the question Casey had yet to voice.

Katie nodded. "Yeah. Real bad too! Nearly died. But it's all dulce now." Casey wished she'd stop saying that word. "Lottie an' 'em are off in the pasture working on the fence, and Jules, Brad, and Grace are at decon," She trailed off. "Ab'sino lanam!"

What the hell did that mean? Casey wondered.

"Do you mean 'Ab asino lanam'?" Noah inquired.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Katie replied. "We had to skip decon seven in favor of raiding that house with all the camping gear. A falling tree branch destroyed Ally and my tent. It also damaged Nyah's, and they all had nowhere to stay. We've been doubling up since then 'cause ain't enough room for us all at the moment. And then with T so ill—as I said, he nearly died—"

"—Wait. What?" Casey exclaimed. The first time Katie had said that Casey thought she was dramatizing events, but now it sounded as if she had meant it.

"Nearly died," Katie said, bouncing on her toes, her eyes sparkling. "I don't know the whole story, but he saved Lottie's life. Lottie took him to youzze guyzes tent to nurse him back to health. Far as I know, he's living there since Zoe don't want him back."

Casey glanced at Noah and found the same look of surprise Casey knew he expressed. "Where is everyone now?"

"Told you 'ready," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead with her arm. "They're up at the pasture trying like hell to get it done before we get the livestock." She smiled brightly at Casey. "I'm only on KP right now since I'm not doing decon. Lottie said we needed to step it up." Katie glanced at Noah. "It's dulce, though. I'm pretty sick of being inside all the damn time."

Casey blinked. Katie had changed while he was away. She was still a hard worker—the sweat and willingness to lug large hunks of wood around, proved that—but the sullen, meek girl had gone, and left this bubbly, swearing, poorly speaking individual behind. He shook his head. Casey had to reflect on that later.

Turning for the pasture, he asked Noah, "Coming with?"

Noah responded with a quick twitch of his head, and they left Katie to her duties and hiked toward the pasture. After they'd walked for a bit, Casey asked, "Did you follow much of that?"

Noah snorted and pushed aside some branches to ease Casey's travels. When they encountered the first fence rail, they followed it, checking for weaknesses.

"Settlement's done a good job," Noah remarked.

Casey puffed his chest in pride as if the compliment were for him.

They walked a few more feet to the north before climbing over the fence. Theia and King squirmed underneath the lowest rail and raced ahead.

"I don't see many spots where it could be improved," Noah continued. "Should be fine for whatever Captain Kenzie sends your way."

Excellent.

Casey and Tristan had chosen this location for its natural clearings, and although it had plenty of open pasture space, it wasn't devoid of cover.

As they walked, they found rough, displaced dirt, and lighter colored boards at one section of the fence. Casey assumed it indicated storm damage. Approximately a hundred yards later, as they crested a small hill and spotted Lottie, Ally, Zoe, and Tristan. Ally sat on a blanket with one dog, several squirming babies, and Greysen beside her.

"What do you think she's doing?" Casey asked Noah, referring to Ally's posture and Greysen's rapt attention.

"She appears to be reading to him," Noah answered. "See the book?"

Casey squinted. Sure enough, there was a small item in her hand, barely bigger than her palm, and Ally held it in front of Greysen. Her mouth moved, and she occasionally pointed to something in the book. Whatever it was, it had caught Greysen's attention so thoroughly, that the toddler had yet to notice Casey's arrival.

The peaceful scene shattered a moment later when Greysen's attention snapped to where Casey stood. Greysen scrambled to his feet and ran toward him, screaming, "Daddy!" the whole way.

Casey plucked his son from the ground and finished crossing the clearing to Lottie's side.

"Hey," Lottie said in greeting.

Casey settled on the blanket next to her and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

"Hey, yourself," Casey said and ran a fingertip along Hope's cheek as she ate. She blinked lazily in response but kept nursing.

A hand slapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome home, pup," Tristan said.

"I hear you were hurt," Casey said. He'd half hoped Katie'd been exaggerating, but that wish dissipated as the somber faces of the group registered. Tristan nodded and pulled his shirt off, revealing his shoulder and back.

Casey looked closer. The stitches were long gone, but their healed status didn't diminish the fact Tristan suffered a severe injury. His back, side, and arm were a roadmap of scabs and future scars. Casey even noted the few pulled spots where Tristan didn't get stitched adequately.

Looking deeper, Casey found a few other places where Tristan needed care but hadn't receive it. Casey figured Lottie had run out of surgical thread. Good thing Noah'd taken the time to replenish the first-aid kit before they'd left Fort St. Louis. Otherwise, they might have had a problem.

"You look good," Casey said, acknowledging the miracle of Tristan's recovery. "What happened?"

The group informed Casey and Noah about everything they'd missed. Eventually, the conversation shifted to what Noah and Casey had learned. After that, the group turned to more current events.

"What were you and Greysen doing earlier?" Casey asked Ally as the group's conversation split into several topics.

Ally smiled—no, beamed, he amended. "I'm the official settlement educator," she announced brightly. _Educator?_ "My first pupil is Grey here. He's learning all about the alphabet and what letters mean and the sounds they make."

"Yeah," Lottie said, joining their conversation and drawing everyone else's attention back to Casey and Ally. "We discussed it a few days ago, and being our settlement teacher is how Ally would like to contribute." She paused. "I thought it was a great idea."

He smiled and ruffled Greysen's hair. "I do too." Casey then addressed Ally, "You like teaching?"

"Yep. Always wanted to do it, but ended up stuck as a State-worker before Gates." She frowned but then seemed to shake it off. "It's the least I can do."

"I thank you," Casey said and meant it.

"We also decided," Tristan said. He was lying on his uninjured side with Dexy propped against his belly so she could sit and see the world. "We need to step up the development of the cabin we'd originally planned, but it's only a short term solution."

"Short term?" Casey asked.

"Yes," Tristan replied. Lottie and Ally were nodding along with him. "We're expectin' to be nearly thirty strong by the end of the year—that's almost the same as what Wolf has, and we don't have enough housin', food, or facilities to handle that amount of people. We just don't. Granted, we could ask Wolf for help, but what we—"

"—Jules," Lottie interjected.

"—what Jules proposed is that we search for a small housing unit—a neighborhood or an apartment complex—in repairable condition, and spend the next few years establishin' it as our next home."

"We need basements," Lottie said, her tone grave. "If that tree had fallen even three feet to the left, it would have crushed everyone inside that shed. As it is, we lost a tent and the outhouse."

"I saw that," Casey remarked. "Why haven't you fixed it yet, by the way?"

"This was more important," Tristan answered.

Casey wasn't sure he agreed.

"We can shit in the woods," Tristan explained. "But if we don't finish the fence, the critters'll get out."

Okay, good point.

"Once we finish this fence," Tristan continued. "I can scout for a good location."

Casey shook his head. "Not you. Not at first."

"But—"

"—You sustained an injury," Casey said, cutting him off. "Other people can do the scouting, that's the easy part. You'll do the assessing, and Noah and I'll take what you find and make the final decision."

"Yes, sir," Tristan grumbled, making Casey smile. Tristan only pulled out the 'sir' when he wanted to be contrary or prove a point.

"It'll take years,"—Lottie said, taking up the thread of conversation—"to get the land ready to support that many people. We'll need a garden on par with what Wolf has. If we started today, the orchard would require five years before it yielded tangible results, and that's assuming we get edible fruits from the seeds. You know that's not a guarantee, and we're struggling now as it is."

Lotti paused, then added, "Not to mention, we've lost a lot of early sprouts when that storm came through." Casey opened his mouth to ask her a question about it, and she put her hands up. "No. We're not in desperate need yet, but there are a few things we will have to let go to seed without being able to harvest."

Casey frowned. Maybe when they were back in Fort St. Louis, he checkout the black-market and get some seeds. Hell, perhaps he could convince Stanzy to steal some seeds for him. That was an excellent idea. It fit with what he knew of her and Kyle's prior arrangement, and he lamented not thinking of it sooner. "Noah," he called.

"What is it, son?"

"Is there a way to get a message to your man in Fort St. Louis. The one we're using for Stanzy's supplies?"

"Maybe," Noah replied, his tone indicated Casey should elaborate.

"What I was thinking is, if we can get her to pay for her tobacco in seeds, that would be more valuable to us than her cash ever would be," he explained.

Noah inclined his head once. "I will see what I can do."

"Great," Casey said, hugging Greysen tighter in his lap. "That's one potential problem solved."

"Only if I can get him the message," Noah replied.

Casey returned his full attention to Noah. "I have full faith in your abilities. I've seen what you can do." And surprisingly, Noah rolled his eyes at Casey, earning a chuckle from all who saw it. Casey joined in.

They all chatted for a while longer, but eventually, Zoe and Ally stood. When Casey inquired as to where they were going, they said, it was their turn to work on the fence. They left the children to Tristan, Lottie, Noah, and Casey. After a few more minutes of idle chit-chat, Noah, too, excused himself from their group, and an awkward silence prevailed. Casey quirked an eyebrow, wondering what was up.

Tristan sighed and sat up. "Case?"

"Yeah?"

"I have a confession to make."

That sounded ominous, and Casey tensed, his arms wrapped around Greysen, holding him tighter as he waited for whatever Tristan had to say.

"I've been sleepin' in your tent for the last week or so."

Casey waited. When Tristan didn't elaborate, Casey said, "That all? Man, I thought you'd hit me up with something heavier. Where else would you go?"

"That's not all," Tristan said and visibly swallowed. "I didn't do it on purpose"—he lifted his hands as if to ward off a blow—"but there were times where I woke up with Momma in my arms," Tristan said in a rush and dropped his hands to his lap and hung his head.

Casey shook his head, not quite comprehending Tristan's consternation. He glanced at Lottie, and she looked embarrassed but met his gaze with an air of confidence she hadn't had when he first met her. He addressed Tristan while watching Lottie. "You were hurt, right?"

"Yes," Tristan muttered, and Lottie nodded.

"And, it was pretty dire—I've seen the injuries."

Tristan mumbled, "Yes."

Lottie nodded some more.

"I'm assuming you needed comfort and clung to the first person you found, right?"

Again, they both responded in the affirmative.

"Normally, this would have been Zoe, but you had a falling out, correct?"

One more time, they nodded.

"I fail to see the problem," Casey said.

Lottie's shoulders relaxed, but Tristan's head snapped up. "Fail to see... Fail to see?! Case! I slept in _your_ bed. With _your_ wife."

Casey jerked back at the intensity of Tristan's statement, though, not at the words themselves.

"I did this all while _you_ were gone! I betrayed you, Case. At the very least, you should kick me out of your home and hate me forever."

After Tristan fell silent, his chest rising and falling rapidly from his emotional exertion, Casey reflected on what Tristan revealed. Casey felt a twinge of jealousy, but it died without fully forming since it sounded like Tristan couldn't have helped himself. And then there was Lottie. If she'd felt as if she were betraying him, she wouldn't have done it. He felt confident of that fact. He didn't like that Tristan suffered, and Casey wished he hadn't received an injury, but Tristan cuddling with Lottie wasn't as big a deal as Tristan made it sound.

Tristan gently lifted Dexy from her propped position and set her down on her belly and made to stand, but Casey stopped him. "You know, I'd be a damn hypocrite if I hated you—or even held you responsible—for what happened while you were recovering. By all accounts—All, Tristan!—you saved my family's life. Hell, you've saved mine a time or two. If you gained comfort with hugs from my wife while I was gone and those hugs kept you from dying and being taken from me? Well, then that is a price I will gladly pay again."

"But..."

"No, Tristan. Even if you two had had sex,"—Casey shivered at the thought. Knowing Lottie was forced to sleep with strangers was one thing, but thinking about her voluntarily going to someone else was another—"I wouldn't hate you." He swallowed. _...I think._ Both Tristan and Lottie gave him a bug-eyed look, and he quickly amended his rant. "Don't get me wrong. I'd be pissed as hell. But if the other option was losing one or both of you? Then you having sex together would be a price I'd be willing to pay."

"Case—" Tristan tried again.

Casey knew what Tristan was about to say, and he wasn't going to listen. "—We talked about this before," Casey said, referring to their conversation about Tristan's inability to let the paternity of Dexy go. "This isn't the same as that. You can let it go, old-man. No harm, no foul. Promise."

Lottie shifted closer and wrapped Tristan in her arms, while Tristan gave Casey a shaky smile. "Thanks. I didn't know what I'd do if you hated me."

"Well, that ain't gonna happen," Casey reaffirmed. It would take a lot more than a comfort fuck that didn't even happen to shake Casey's faith in Tristan.

***

The first thing Lottie heard when she awoke was Tristan whispering, "No, you stay there. I got 'em." She cracked an eye open long enough to confirm he spoke to Casey and not her. She snuggled back into the warm blankets as Tristan left with Hope in his arms and a blurry-eyed Grey on his heels. "I'll keep 'em quiet for a bit while you sleep in," Tristan added as he zipped the door closed behind him.

Lottie sighed and rolled over, nuzzling against Casey's bare shoulder, breathing in the smell of him. He'd been away too long. A pang of lust, though muted, shot through her veins, and she kissed Casey's neck at a spot right in front of her nose. His arm tightened around her.

She sighed. Should she go back to sleep or not?

Naturally, the birds chirping loudly, coupled with the overly industrious squirrels scampered nearby, and the subdued voices from camp kept Lottie from falling back asleep. Lottie groaned. She might as well get up. Besides, it was only a matter of time before Tristan would be back with Hope.

"Morning," she whispered.

"Morning."

"Sleep well?"

"Yes," Casey replied. His fingers slipped below the hem of her shirt near her waistband, and he teased the skin he'd found.

"Good," she said. She'd worried.

Last night had been Casey's first night back, and after Tristan's reveal and Casey's subsequent rebuttal, Lottie hadn't been too sure what to expect. "Why'd T take the kids?" she asked, even though she had a pretty good idea. _Alone time._

"Alone time," Casey said, echoing her thoughts and easing his hand higher up her back. "That all right with you?"

"Your idea?"

She felt him shake his head. "His."

Lottie smiled. Of course, it was his. Tristan felt guilty, one, for staying with her all last week, and two, for sharing their space the previous night. She lifted her head from Casey's shoulder, and he turned his intense gaze to hers. Her lazy smile turned seductive, and she said, "It'd be a shame to squander this time."

Heat flooded Casey's usually calm expression, and he nodded once. Lottie barely held back her chuckle and inched her hand lower to find out just how much he wanted to take advantage of their quiet time, his sharp intake of breath when she caressed his erection told her all she needed to know.

But first, she had to pee!

She wiggled out of his embrace and out of the blankets to crawl to the tent flap. She peeked out the screen. Good. No one was nearby.

"Be right back," she whispered. When she returned, Casey left to do the same. When he came back in, he grinned at her and quickly slipped out of his pants.

Five frantic minutes later, they lay boneless in a heap, sated and happy. Casey trailed his fingertips up and down her exposed arm. "I'm sorry," he said.

She snuggled closer. "Why?"

"I should have," he trailed off, and Lottie waited. "I didn't..."

Lottie played with the slight hair on his chest, idly noting he had more of it now than he did two years ago.

"Should have what?" she inquired.

He shrugged, his shoulder muscle pulling tense under her. When they didn't relax, she glanced at him. Casey's ears were pink, and his blush threatened to flush his cheeks with red. She resettled against him.

"You can say it, you know," Lottie said, referring to whatever had him so embarrassed. She had a pretty good idea but didn't want to jump to conclusions.

Casey cleared his throat and resumed stroking her back. "I uh... I... didn't pull out."

She nodded. Her guess had been accurate.

"I should have. I—I didn't think about it. And it felt too good. I'm sorry."

Lottie moved to kiss him on the cheek. "It's probably okay," she said, thinking back to a prior conversation with Nyah. "Nyah said you couldn't get pregnant if you're nursing." She laced her fingers with his and added, "The crisis and something about the hormones prevents it from happening."

He squeezed her hand. "Good."

_Good?_ Lottie lifted her head, and he tried to meet her gaze, making his neck and chin scrunch together comically.

"Not that _I_ would mind if you had another baby, but I know it's hard on you. I don't want you to suffer."

Lottie nodded, relieved her safety had been the impetus behind his statement, and returned to the more comfortable position of her cheek on his chest. She let his scent envelope her and drifted through her incomplete thoughts.

After some immeasurable amount of silence, Casey asked, "What are you thinking?"

"That it's good you don't mind having another baby since you'll have another one before the year is out."

His fingers, which had been tracing small circles on her spine, stilled. "Oh? But you said—"

"—Not _ours_ ours. Not like that," Lottie said. "I meant Rowan or Emilia. We'll be adopting one of them when Javier and Noah come back."

She frowned, remembering Nyah's reaction when Lottie'd asked her to adopt one of the two babies, pain, happiness, hope. Nyah ended up looking so miserable. It had been as if Hunter had died in front of her again. Lottie feared for the mental health of her friend, but Mason would be around this time. He would help her.

Loosening her fingers from Casey's, Lottie wiped away her tear before it fell, and her gaze swept the small confines of their tent. Three children and two adults? It would be a tight fit, but they'd make it work. What else could they do? Let one of the babies starve?

"Oh," he murmured, relaxing under her cheek. "I knew that. I figured we'd take one of them on." Casey hugged her and resumed his caress.

She snuggled closer, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lip. "You think they'll have any trouble getting the babies from Gates?"

Casey's hand stilled on her lower back as he thought, then replied, "Yes."

Lottie bit her lower lip and pressed her hand against his chest, using his steady heartbeat to calm her own. "How so?"

"Well, they're both priority white—like you—so, I'm guessing they'll have more guards with them when they leave."

"Wouldn't that draw attention to them?"

"Maybe," Casey said. "Maybe not." He was quiet for a moment. "Javier and Noah can handle it, and their plan is sound." He pressed his cheek to the top of her head and hugged her close before letting his fingers play again.

"They'll succeed." Casey's words mirrored her thoughts.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"Will your mission succeed?"

Casey gave a half-snort half-chuckle. "I hate playing on vices, but I'm not above using them. Stanzy will be so dependent on Noah's man. She won't even question what went wrong 'til its too late."

Lottie nodded, content. "I'll miss you while you're gone."

"Aw, Bean," he whispered. "I will miss you too."

***

"If we move the tents here and rope off this section," Casey said, pointing to one tree near the northeast corner of the clearing. "to here," he added moving his finger to indicate the large tree northwest of the first. "we'll have enough room to build two outhouses and the cabin."

Tristan nodded as he walked the line Casey'd indicated. "Could work, but it will take years before we can remove the stumps."

"I know," Casey agreed. It would be a decade before the root system rotted sufficiently for a cellar. "But if we give the cabin a raise the floor as we did with the shed, can we ignore the stumps?"

Tristan tapped his lip with his finger, and Casey waited for him to decide. "We'll need more wood. Good weathered stuff, not what we can get from hewin' these"—Tristan tapped his fist against a tall maple—"And our tent will have to move too. We're gonna need to fell everythin' in that direction."

"Understood."

"Then yeah," Tristan said, giving him a grin over his shoulder. "We won't finish it this year, not even if everyone works on it, but we should have the cabin done by this time next year."

Casey nodded. Next year would be excellent. He'd figured that with everyone off doing tasks for the settlement, plus the upcoming missions, that it would take even longer to complete the cabin than Tristan estimated.

"Let's rope off what we need, and then go help in the pasture. Lottie said they're close to done. And I want to get that finished before the livestock arrives." As the words left Casey's mouth, his attention shifted to a streak of movement through the center of camp. He whipped his head around to follow as King, Attila, and Theia charged off toward Arrowhead lookout. His gaze snapped back to Tristan. "You up for a run?"

Tristan chuckled. "Nope. You?"

Grinning, Casey shook his head and did a little toss to resituate his cane more firmly in his hand. "Me neither, but I think I can manage a quick walk."

"Hop to it, then, pup," Tristan ordered, and they left their work unfinished to investigate what had the dogs all riled up. Casey wasn't concerned. None of the alarms were going off, and the dogs hadn't been growling, so it was probably someone they knew.

Two kilometers later, they paused to listen. It sounded as if a whole herd of dogs was up ahead. Casey could identify the camp's three, but there were higher-pitched barks. The way the sounds overlapped, there had to be at least two of them, but probably more.

"We'll wait here," Casey told Tristan. They were at a good lookout point and could study the situation from a distance before acting.

"You got it," Tristan affirmed, setting in to wait.

The sounds drew closer, eventually, coalescing into individual voices. First, there was Noah, which explained why none of the dogs were concerned but didn't answer how he arrived before Casey. Noah had been helping with the fence, last Casey knew, and that was well west of the clearing. And then there was Ayers. The surly, fat man had a distinctive voice. Additionally, Casey noted four more dogs and bleating.

"Come on," Casey said, tapping Tristan on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Sounds like our critters are here."

Tristan clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "Good thing Noah's been helpin' Momma and the others finish up."

Casey nodded and began their trek toward the newcomers. The two groups spied each other at the same time, and Casey caught Noah's nod of greeting before his gaze slid from his mentor to the lean figure walking behind him. "Cameron!"

Cameron glanced up and peered around Noah. When he spied Casey, he grinned. "Hey! Huxley." After a cursory check of his surroundings, he said, "Finally, I get to see where you live."

"Yeah," Casey replied. "They"—he tilted his head to indicate the RAC soldiers in front of Cameron—"got tired of passing messages along, so I asked for you." Casey fell into line beside Cameron, and they exchanged an elaborate handshake. "You remember Tristan," he said, introducing his friend to Cameron just in case Cameron had forgotten.

"Sure do." Cameron did a quick knuckle-bump-tap with Tristan as a way of greeting him. "Man, can't believe it. You're a rebel."

"Nah," Casey said. "Just trying to live my life."

"Out here? In the woods? Kidnapping women? Man, Huxley. I never thought I'd see the day when you'd give up soldiering."

Casey shrugged. "This is better."

Cameron chuckled. "I bet."

"Okay, why four dogs?" Casey asked, changing the subject. Cameron's casual statement about Casey being an ex-soldier hit him hard.

"Two," Ayers announced from in front of them. "Are trained as herders for the East Friesian."—Ayers pointed to a sheep—"And two, are trained for herding the Rambouillet."—He indicated the other sheep. Casey looked but didn't see a difference between the sheep.

Cameron leaned in close and whispered, "Can you tell them apart?"

Casey shook his head.

"Me neither," Cameron agreed. "And I've been with them for ten days now."

"Why the two kinds?" Casey asked.

Ayers cast him a dirty look. "East Friesians are for milk. Rambouillets are for wool."

Casey looked across Cameron and caught Tristan's gaze. Tristan mouthed 'nice', and Casey agreed.

"And the dogs are trained for specific breeds of sheep?" Casey asked.

Ayers's nose lifted infinitesimally. "Yes."

"How do they know the difference?" He genuinely wanted to know.

But before Ayers responded, Tristan asked, "Out of the six—"

"—Three of each," Ayers replied, cutting off Tristan. "Two females and one male to each breed. Captain Kenzie wants you to grow the flock. You'll need to keep the males separate from the females to prevent crossbreeding or reproduction with the daughters. In a few years, Captain Kenzie send you a new male of each bread, which can service all the females, and he'll take back the ones you have now."

"Got it," Tristan said. "We've got the infrastructure already to support the separate pens."

As they walked past the northern edge of the camp, Cameron told Casey, "Kenzie sent a couple of husbandry books, a whole bag full of different types of seeds, and some fertilized eggs."

"Chickens?" Tristan exclaimed as Casey said, "Good."

Cameron's news was better than good. It was excellent.

"What kind of seeds did he send?" Casey asked before Tristan could talk about the eggs.

Cameron shrugged. "I didn't look. But I know he sent cotton seed in addition to wool"—Cameron indicated the sheep with a thumb over his shoulder—"Something about allergies?" Cameron paused a beat, and Casey waited for him to continue. "Anyway, I got the impression you didn't have this stuff on hand already."

Casey acknowledged him with a grunt. He didn't know Kenzie, but from what Lottie'd told him, the man sounded like the type to pay attention to a deficiency, and if he could, he'd be willing to supply it. By that token, Casey figured Lottie'd mentioned what Fort Sutton had grown, and Kenzie had extrapolated from there.

Tristan stopped a few feet northwest of the coop. "Where are the eggs?"

"Here. In my bag," Cameron answered.

"Can I have them?" Tristan asked. "I want to get them under Isabel as soon as possible."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Cameron said, stopping with them.

"We're going to go on ahead," Casey said. "Catch up when you can."

"Aye, Aye, Captain," Tristan chirped and added a salute.

Casey snorted and shook his head. He picked up the pace to catch up with the others who'd continued without him.

***

Lottie wrapped her fingers around her hair at her nape and lifted it off her neck. The chilly spring breeze ruffled the loose strands, sending shivers down her spine. It tickled, but she didn't mind. The light wind felt good.

She fanned her face and studied the remaining fence gap. Even with Casey and Noah's help, they had about three days of work left to do before they could call it finished. She sighed. And after they finished the pasture? Well, then they had to begin digging new latrine holes to replace their existing outhouse. Lottie wished they had something to treat the sewage, which sat under the rubble. No one had ventured near it, but not having someplace for waste was taking its toll.

Thoughts about the bathroom rebuild had her daydreaming about this morning when Casey and Tristan opted to stay at camp to plan the cabin and new bathrooms. They'd promised to come out and help with the fence when they finished their discussions but had yet to show up.

Squawking high above her head had Lottie looking upward to the flocks of birds silhouetted against the partly cloudy sky. Spring was officially here, and the land showed significant growth everywhere. She breathed deep, enjoying the sweet perfume of early blossoms. Lottie wanted to ditch her duty with the fence and go exploring for fresh greens or maybe hunt. She could barely remember the last time she took her sling out and caught some small game.

Lottie let go of her hair and turned back to her work, but Ally held her hand up. "Do you hear that?" she asked.

Lottie set the hammer down and listened. She was about to shake her head no when Jaesen paused in his task to ask, "What's going on?"

"Don't know," Lottie replied. "Ally thought she heard something."

The three of them strained to hear whatever had caught Ally's attention, but all Lottie could discern were the children on the blanket with Zoe, and Zoe's soft voice as she read to them. Lottie was about to turn back to her work when she heard it.

"Is that... Bleating?" Ally asked.

All three of them turned toward the sound. A minute later, a fuzzy critter's head came into view, and then another. Six in all, plus two—no, four—small dogs. All barking and nipping at the animals' heels.

"Are those... Sheep?" Ally asked, but before anyone could answer, Grey's head whipped up and around toward the coming flock. His earlier soft chant of "Daddy. Daddy. Daddy." grew in volume and exuberance.

A smile broke out across Lottie's face. Casey was on his way here, and so was the livestock. That must have been why Noah had left earlier.

The first of the animals reached the break in the fence, and the dogs herded them into the enclosure. Now that they were all inside, Lottie saw four completely new dogs. Two of them separated three sheep from the rest of the herd. The remaining three sheep went in the other direction at the other two dogs' urgings until the two sets of three were many meters apart. For the most part, the sheep baaed complacently, clearly unaffected by the new location or the dogs nipping their heels.

Unbothered, they set to work grazing.

Lottie leaned the hammer against the recent post her team was working on and dusted her hands on her thighs as she prepared to greet the four men coming her way.

She ignored Casey and Noah in favor of identifying the other two.

_Ayers_ , she thought. His bald head made him pretty distinctive, but she couldn't place the fourth man, though she felt sure she knew him.

As the fourth man came closer, he studied the fence, Casey, and Grey as they reunited, and then, to her and her group.

He stopped abruptly.

She couldn't hear the words, but it looked as if he said, "There's Lottie." She must be mistaken.

Lottie quickly scanned everyone else to see if they saw the same thing she had. No one except Casey appeared to have noticed. Or if they did, they didn't care, but Casey? Well, he had a scowl on his face, and he was speaking urgently to the newcomer. The man's expression turned apologetic, and he said a few words to Casey, which, if Casey's posture were an indicator, had been placating in manner.

She wondered what he'd said.

Casey did an elaborate handshake with the man, and they both relaxed. Whatever the argument had been, it was over now. Casey then drew him closer to Lottie and her group. She waited, barely breathing. Who was this man she felt as if she knew?

The man stopped in front of her and held out his hand to shake. "Good to see you again, and this time under better circumstances."

"Uh," she hedged. "Yes, it is."

"You don't remember me do you?" he asked.

Before she could reply, Casey jumped in, "This is I-Comm, Private Cameron Busch."

Lottie blinked, her vision grew gray around the edges. The trees shook as if there were an earthquake under her feet. "Cameron? The Fort Fenton Cameron?"

"Yep."

She didn't know what to say. Cameron had been the curious one. The nice one. The one who tried the hardest to keep Vic from being too disgusting. The Army released Vic, Hua, and Cameron before she had a chance to thank him. "Thank you," she blurted. "Thank you for what you did."

He nodded and smiled softly. "I would have done more, but..." Cameron shrugged. Lottie understood. He'd not been in the same cell as Vic, so he'd been limited to what Hua had been willing to do. Not a lot, as it turned out, but enough, regardless.

Cameron's gaze swept her up and down, and she inched toward Casey. Casey wrapped his free arm around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You were formally enlisted that week. How did you get here? With this..." Cameron glanced at Casey for some reason, Lottie wasn't sure what.

"Settlement," Casey supplied.

"—Settlement. How did you get free again?"

Lottie checked Casey's reaction to Cameron's question. He nodded, and she answered, "When you saw me, I was on my way to Gates, on purpose. We knew where I would go if I turned myself in. And we wanted to rescue my biological mother and another woman important to Tristan."

"Zoe," Casey supplied, indicating Zoe behind him with a sweep of his hand.

His motion appeared to be an invitation, and everyone joined them, and Lottie wondered when Tristan had arrived. She let her curiosity die as the conversations grew around her. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Casey's waist and snuggled deeper into his embrace, relieved. He was here with her, Grey, and Hope, and Cameron's attention was focused elsewhere.

***

A little while later, Zoe and Lottie sat together on a blanket, feeding their infants while Nyah and Ally worked on the garden planting some of Leo's seeds.

The group of women had left the six men in the pasture with the hopes they would complete it today. On their way to the garden, they collected Nyah and sent Mason to help the others. Lottie didn't want to wait to plant some of the seeds. Each day they weren't in the ground was one more day added to when they could harvest. Yet, the relief everyone felt at having more seeds was nearly palpable. With what Leo had sent them, even if they could only get half of it to grow, they would have enough food to take care of everyone currently at the settlement and the new members due later this year.

"Should I tell him?" Zoe asked, the first words spoken since they began to nurse their babies. Her finger brushed Dexy's cheek, moving the soft curls off her forehead.

"I think you should send a message back with Cameron, yes," Lottie said.

Zoe nodded. "I thought you would say that."

"Too bad we can't send him a picture," Lottie murmured.

Cameron's arrival had reminded her of the old digital camera used to take her photo back when they admitted her into Fort Fenton. Leo would love a picture of his daughter. "Her hair color is his."

"But curly like mine."

"Yes," Lottie agreed with a small smile.

Zoe's auburn hair was unrivaled, but Dexy's hair appeared to be equally as stunning.

"Her eyes get lighter every day," Zoe added.

"They'll probably end up like his," Lottie agreed. "She looks like you, though," Lottie said, meaning more than the color of Dexy and Zoe's skin, and Zoe nodded.

"What should I tell him," Zoe asked.

Lottie shrugged, shifting Hope in her arms. "That he had a girl and her name?"

Zoe nodded again.

"Any reason why you wouldn't want to tell him," Lottie asked, curious.

"No. I've wanted to tell him. Want to tell him."

"Ever think about doing the same for Tristan?" Lottie asked before she could think better of it. Sheepishly, she tacked on a "Might help."

"Might hurt," Zoe countered.

"Maybe. But back at Gates, you wanted to tell him. If I remember right, it was the whole reason you decided to leave with us."

Zoe sighed. "Would telling him do any good?" Zoe asked. "It's not like he could do anything for our son. Besides, I don't know anything about him. Not where he lives. His name. Hell, I didn't even get to hold him before they took me to Gates. What could I possibly say to Tristan? Hi, you have a son. He turns nine this month. 'K thanks, bye?"

Lottie gaped at Zoe.

After a bit, Zoe snorted.

"Okay," Lottie choked out. "But, I think Tristan would like to know he has a son somewhere out there."

"All right," Zoe replied, resigned. "I don't know when, or how, but I'll tell him."

"Good."

They were quiet for a bit. Lottie changed Hope and laid her on the blanket to nap while Zoe played with Dexy. Eventually, Lottie asked, "Do you think you'd ever take him back?"

"Who, Leo?"

"Tristan."

"Ah."

From the sound of it, the problem between Zoe and Tristan had grown. "Is it the jealousy?"

"Lottie, I don't know," Zoe replied, sounding exasperated. "It's not working out. So, can we please just drop it?"

Lottie put her hands up. "Sorry."

Zoe's shoulders drooped, and she fidgeted with Dexy, helping the six-month-old do squats against the ground.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," Zoe said after a long stretch of silence.

"It's okay," Lottie replied, quick to assure her. "I pressed when I shouldn't have."

"It's just," Zoe added, shaking her head. "I know having Tristan in your tent is putting a strain on you and Casey and that's my fault—"

"—The storms fault," Lottie corrected.

"—and I should take him back, but..." Zoe shrugged.

Lottie rested her hand on Zoe's shoulder, drawing the other woman's eye. "It's okay. Really. We don't mind having Tristan with us. He's not a burden. Besides," Lottie said, wagging her eyebrows. "He takes the kids in the morning, so Casey and I have some time alone."

Zoe made a weird whimper noise, and Lottie squeezed her arm before letting go.

After a minute, Zoe sort of squared her shoulders and tried to rally a smile. It appeared thin, but Lottie returned it with a more robust effort of her own.

Deciding to change the subject, Lottie said, "I don't know where to plant the cotton. Do you?"

A more natural smile graced Zoe's lips. "I know the perfect place."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Zoe replied. "Remember that old log we used as a bridge? Back when we first got here?" Lottie nodded, knowing where Zoe meant. "Well, on the other side of it is a large flat plain. We'll probably have the occasional flood, but it looked remarkably stable and above the usual high water line."

Lottie agreed. It would work. "Thanks."

"Sure. Glad to help."

# Chapter 26

Lottie snorted quietly and shoveled some more dirt from the row she was tending. "If you'd told me back at Basic," she mumbled to herself, or Hope, or maybe Attila the dog, since talking to thin air felt odd. "that I would actually enjoy this?" She attacked a particularly tricky section of dirt. "I would have laughed you right out of the barracks." She paused and looked around. Hope was nestled in her sling by the edge of the clearing with Attila standing guard at her side. "But, I do enjoy it," she told them and shook her head in wry amusement. "I really do."

With her announcement finished, she returned her attention to the earth. The scent of the flowing river, decayed leaves, disturbed silt, and fresh rain, filled her nostrils. She took a deep breath, held it until her lungs felt ready to explode before exhaling. Lottie loved this time of year.

After a bit, Hope whimpered, and Lottie went to her. A quick diaper change and a feeding later, Lottie was back to work in the field with Hope nestled in her sling tied across to Lottie's chest. As she knelt, water seeped into her pants, saturating them at the knees. Lottie didn't care. Working quickly, Lottie planted several feet of cotton seed before she heard the voice. "Down on your knees, eh? Just like a good Huxley Girl."

Lottie squeezed Hope to her chest, and her head whipped toward the noise, and Hope whimpered but settled back to sleep.

"Hello, Javier."

He stood with his arms and feet crossed, casually leaning against a tree only a few feet away and dressed in a mixture of leathers and fatigues. He looked like a perfectly replicated Noah, right down to the very last piece of fringe on his leather jacket, with nothing to mar the illusion except for the lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

"You here to see Case?"

"'Ope. 'Eee'ined'eetin'," he said, making the little white stick between his lips bounce up and down.

She had no idea what he said, but agreeing seemed prudent, and after a nod, she returned to her task.

"What'er'ou 'anting?" he asked.

At least that question had been more legible. "Cotton," she replied.

He snorted. "Cotton?"

She looked up to find him a few steps closer, cigarette in hand instead of clinched between his lips, which explained why she'd understood him that time.

"Don't ask me to pick it," Javier added with a shake of his head.

She shrugged. Why would she ask Javier for help gardening? Lottie never knew when he would come to the settlement, so it would be foolish to assign him to that task or any other settlement task for that matter. Besides, it had to _grow_ first.

"Why are you here?" she repeated.

"Told you already. Predefined meeting."

"Oh."

"Need to get going, though, if we're gonna get to Gates with that week lead time that Noah wanted."

Lottie sat back on her heels and adjusted Hope's sling for a more comfortable fit across her shoulder. "A week? Won't it take you close to thirty days to get there?"

Javier shook his head and squatted near her. He reached into her bag of seeds and pulled a few out. Javier poked at them before focusing on the land she'd prepped into rows. "How far apart?" he asked, and Lottie indicated the distance with a hand motion. He began planting what he held and responded, "It'll only take us two weeks, maybe three, tops, to get there."

"But it took us close to five weeks to get here," she countered, remembering their run home and her trip out.

"Yes," Javier agreed, grabbing a few more seeds and moving farther down the line. "But neither time was a straight shot, and Noah and I can move a lot faster than y'all ever could." He grinned at her over his shoulder. "We ain't preggers."

Lottie sighed. Everyone had been sore and sick and miserable.

He bumped her shoulder playfully as he took another handful of seeds and dropped them into spots further away. "Anyway," Javier said. "Know where I can find him?"

She clumsily walked on her knees behind him, adding dirt to where he'd been. "Yeah. He's with all the others back at the central fire, rebuilding our outhouse and clearing out some woods for the cabin we want to build."

Javier paused mid planting, his finger stuck in the dirt, and lifted his eyebrow in silent question. It was such a typical Noah response, Lottie struggled not to laugh. Eventually, she asked, "The outhouse?" She needed to clarify his silent question.

He indicated "yes" and returned to planting by pulling his finger from the hole and dragging it, making a long, thin furrow.

"A downdraft or tornado or something hit us about a week ago," Lottie answered. "Just now getting around to fixing it."

His expression sobered, and his hands dug at the dirt roughly. "Y'all okay? Need help?"

"Nah," she said, resuming her planting where he'd opened the dirt. "The only thing left is the tree which fell on Tristan and me, but I think we'll make a path around it instead of trying to remove it."

Javier paused once more, and his brown skin paled, appearing almost ashen at her news. She put her hands up, quick to reassure him. "We're all right. No permanent injuries." Javier studied her for several moments. When his scrutiny became too intense, she asked, "What?"

"No permanent injuries implies there were injuries."

"Well, yes," Lottie said and then went on to explain what had happened in more detail.

As she finished, Javier whistled.

"Yeah," she agreed. "We were lucky. Tristan was lucky."

"I'll say." Javier held a hand out, and she dropped more seeds into his palm. They worked side by side until her pouch was empty. When finished, he helped her stand, and they both dusted their hands on their pants before packing up her tools and heading back to the camp.

While they walked, Javier told her about the new squad at Fort Sutton. "Best I can figure," he said, drawing on a cigarette. "They're there since so many of Casey's men left. Brass don't know if them leavin's due to CO loyalty or something else. And then there are the two upcoming transfers—Lincoln and Hong—plus, Ty and Wade already put in their retirement requests. They're leavin' FS this August."

"Who's left?" Lottie asked.

"From who you knew?"

"Yeah."

"Paul and Wu," Javier said over his shoulder.

Lottie mouthed the word "Wow."

"Yep," Javier replied, facing forward again, and stepped onto a log. After he hopped down, Javier offered his hand to Lottie. She took it, and he helped her over. "Aside from me," he continued as he forged a new path through the woods. "there's only one other person left from when Casey was CO. A delinquent named Brandon."

Under his breath, Lottie caught the words, "Should've done him in like I did the others."

Javier flicked ash and kicked a rock with his boot. Louder, he said, "I don't expect Wu to stay for more than a year."

"What would he do?"

Javier shrugged, checked his glowing cigarette butt. He must have finished it, for he dropped it on the ground and dug his heel into the soft earth to smother it. "Plenty," he said. "There's Fort Ridge or Fort Fenton. He could even get a desk job in Fort St. Louis if he wanted or put in for another state as Lincoln did."

"Where's Lincoln trying to go?" She hadn't liked Casey's second, but until she came along, he'd been Casey's closest confidant. "Montana."

"They have a big enough population to support outposts?" she asked, surprised.

"More of a 'support for the PCE', being so close to the border with Canada."

"Ah," Lottie murmured. She assumed any migration from either country was due to a 'grass is greener' mentality, though, with each having a martial law military state government, so she didn't see the point of hopping borders.

Javier shrugged. "He figures it will be better for him there."

She nodded and held Hope close as she studied the ground right before her feet. Lottie needed to remember to ask Casey or one of the other guys to help clear an official the path for her, or future visits to the cotton field would be tedious.

As Lottie and Javier drew near enough to the settlement, they heard construction activity. Accompanying the voices giving orders or holding simple conversations, were the sounds of hammers, saws, axes, and the clack of discarded boards. Someone yelled, "Timber," only seconds before an ominous creaking grew into a cacophony of snapping branches. The earth shuddered under their feet as a mighty tree landed, and Lottie flinched with a yelp. Her heart pounded, and she clutched Hope close to her chest, waking the infant. Hope keened her distress at being held so tightly, and Lottie futzed with her.

When Lottie looked up again, Javier stood off to the side, tactfully giving her space to tend to Hope, and Lottie smiled. He talked gruffly, several steps beyond crude, but when it mattered, Javier gave her and the other women the respect they deserved.

"Ready," Lottie said, and they finished their hike to the settlement.

Stepping through the tree screen and into the clearing, Lottie spied the nearly finished replacement walls for the existing outhouse. Jules and Brad sat high above affixing shingles to the open roof. A few feet away, Tristan and Casey were hard at work with Cameron and Noah as they each took turns chopping into the trunk of the tree they must have just felled. It was one of the biggest in the clearing, and she relaxed, knowing it was down, and no one was hurt.

They hadn't gone more than a few feet into the field before Noah and Casey spied them.

Lottie followed in Javier as he strode toward them.

"We'll leave in the morning," Noah said in place of a greeting.

Javier gave a curt nod and glanced around. "Looks like I should have brought a few tents. All I have with me is one of Fort Sutton's travel ones."

With a dismissive wave, Noah said, "I sent Ayers to Fort St. Louis with instructions to pick up more. He'll be back in a few days."

Lottie snorted and had to cover her mouth with her hand to prevent further mirth from escaping. She easily pictured Ayers's expression at being told to do a multi-day task for Noah. He hated being a messenger, especially for Noah.

Noah smiled knowingly. "Grab an ax and help us get rid of this tree," he commanded Javier.

Javier gave a curt nod before he strode off to get the required tool. Lottie watched for a few minutes as the four men confirmed how to work together and then quickly fell into a routine as they each took turns at chopping the trunk. In no time at all, a two-foot-long section of tree had been reduced to large wood chips. Each piece the perfect size for the fire pit.

When the men moved down the trunk to the next section, Lottie left them to their task and joined Katie and Grace near the butchering section. As far as Lottie could tell, they were working on laundry. "Need help?" she asked.

Katie nodded, and Grace glared. Lottie shrugged. Grace never seemed happy, but it always more pronounced when Jaesen was away. Moving to the smokehouse wall closest to them, Lottie set up Hope's sling to act as a playpen, and Attila curled up next to the infant. Once the two settled in, Lottie joined the women at the big washtub. Submerging her hands, she said, "Did you get a chance to check out the sheep yet?"

"I did! Their fur is so thick!" Katie exclaimed, her lips turning down in a frown. "Any idea how to... What was the term?" she asked Grace.

"Sheer."

"Yeah, sheer a sheep?" Katie finished.

Lottie shook her head and scrubbed the garment in her hands. "No," Lottie replied. "But that book Leo sent explains how, so I hope to learn from it."

"Good thing he sent those supplies, too," Katie added. Lottie knew what she meant.

Leo, in his infinite wisdom, included several tools for taking care of the sheep he'd given them. There were even some tools for castrating future male lambs, but among all the unfamiliar items had been a set of specialty scissors made especially for cutting the wool off the animals without hurting them.

"Those dogs are dulce, too," Katie said. "To think they can tell the difference between the breeds." It was impressive, Lottie agreed. "And then there are the eggs."

"Eggs?" Lottie asked.

Katie brushed the hair from her cheek and leaving soapy bubbles in her fingers wake. "Yeah, T has them under Isabel. He's hoping for a new rooster. Too bad we can't genetically engineer them to what we need."

Grace harrumphed. "You think if the surgeons could do that, we'd still have the population crisis?"

"No," Katie sighed. "We'd be overrun with girls by now." After a beat, she smiled again. "But think of the science behind it! Two hundred years ago, they were making strides towards cloning and genetic engineering. Imagine what they could be doing now if everything hadn't gone to shit?"

Lottie tugged her ear, frowning. It was too bad.

The three of them had worked in silence for a while when Grey finally found them. Ally and Zoe had to be back from the garden, Lottie thought, ruffling his hair as he dove his hands deep into the water, wetting himself to the elbows before Lottie could to stop him. "'Gree, Mommy!"

His pronouncement set the women to chuckling, and Lottie excused herself to get Hope and start a meal. As she worked, Zoe and Ally joined her. Before she knew it, the day had passed, and the men stopped working, each one disappearing down the river trail or towards the outhouse cistern, presumably to wash up before dinner. One by one, they all found spots around the fire, and as Lottie handed out servings, they set to eating her meal. Lottie grinned as they groaned in appreciation. And as far as she could tell, it had been a successful day.

Casey sat back as he finished eating and smothered a belch. "We're all going to hit the river," he said. "Wash up. Think you can fire up the smokehouse for us?"

"Sure," Lottie replied, understanding his intent. It wasn't the first time they used the building as a post-bath sauna. It came in handy several times the past winter when more than one person felt the need to bathe, yet it was too cold and impractical to warm up that many buckets of water. "Let me get you some towels."

"That'll be great," he said to her retreating back.

Lottie smiled the whole way to the shed. Casey's clean up idea sounded perfect. She'd take a turn in the river and the smokehouse after the men. Unlocking the shed's door, she slipped inside and grabbed enough of the Gates-or-decon-house-pilfered-towels for everyone to have one, even the babies. If she felt the need to be clean, it would be a sure bet the other women did too.

As she left the structure, she struggled to hold the stack of towels and lock the door.

"Here," Katie said, surprising Lottie with her nearness. "Let me take some of those for you."

"Thanks!" Lottie said, handing them off.

Finished at the shed, Lottie brought the rest of the towels back to the clearing where all the women and Casey sat. She set them down. Casey promptly snagged one off the top, dropped a kiss on her cheek, and limped away. She shook her head. A small, crooked smile graced her lips. She couldn't wait to see him naked again.

"You do love him, don't you?" Katie asked.

Lottie shook the sexual fantasy from her head to look at the younger woman. "I do."

"Dulce," Katie replied. "I thought it was a lie—you know when he told it to me—but I'm glad to see I was wrong." Lottie nodded. She didn't know what to say. "I don't think I'll ever have a love like that."

"Sure you will," Lottie said, though she wasn't sure how it would happen. "If Noah has his way, the settlement will be growing all the time. Someone should strike your fancy and you, his."

Katie's lips turned up in a rueful smile. "We'll see."

The reaction was odd, but then, so was Katie, and Lottie let it go. "I need to get that smokehouse going, or they won't have a place to warm up after their dip."

Grace grunted and stood. "Call me when they're back."

Lottie assured Grace that she would as Grace wandered off to her tent. Lottie sighed, turned, and went to finish her tasks before the stream of wet men came back from the river.

***

Lottie adjusted her towel, so it covered her a little bit better and let her head rest on the wall behind her. Sure, the wall was probably dirty with soot and other unsavory things, but at the moment, she didn't care. The heat from the coals warmed the air inside the smokehouse to a toasty level, and she felt the weeks of stress melting away.

"Well," Katie chirped from her spot near the door, and Lottie cracked an eye open to look at her. "I'm gonna turn in. KP tomorrow, and I want to rest up."

Lottie and Grace murmured a farewell as they settled back into their seats. Lottie shivered in the blast of colder air swirling in the room after the door closed behind Katie.

"Jaesen's due back tomorrow," Lottie said. She wasn't sure why, maybe as a way to cheer up her mother, who looked so sad all day. Well, more than usual.

Grace grunted, and Lottie sighed. She didn't have the energy tonight to be more civil to the prickly woman, and instead, aborted her conversation attempt. They could sit in silence for all she cared.

After several long minutes, Grace volunteered, "He cares about how I feel."

"I do too."

Grace sighed. "I know." She didn't say anything else for several heartbeats, but then, Grace added, "I know you said you wanted to deal with the sheep, but we could use some fresh meat more."

Lottie blinked and turned her attention to Grace, unsure of the conversation's direction. "Yeah?"

"Our supply of preserved meat is nearly out. I can't hunt—neither can pretty much any of the other women even though Zoe's trying—and the men are too busy with the different building projects. If Nyah and I promise to work with the sheep, to learn what to do and how to do it, will you try to get us something fresh to eat?"

Lottie knew they were using up their stores, but since she hadn't been cooking recently, she hadn't known how low things had become. Sitting forward, Lottie tucked the loose end of the towel under her arm, making sure her naughty bits were covered.

"I'd love the help. You sure you don't mind taking that task on? It sounds big," Lottie confirmed.

"I offered, didn't I?"

"Sure," Lottie agreed quickly, thankful for their help. Between the garden, the orchard, and the brand new cotton field, plus all her other tasks which often fell to her to organize or delegate, she'd wondered how she would get everything done. "I'll make sure to get you the books Leo sent so you can read up on how to do it."

Grace patted Lottie's shoulder before standing and getting dressed. "I'll go out to the pasture in the morning before the boys get back. The animals should probably get used to me before I sheer them."

Beaming at Grace, Lottie bobbed her head in a quick nod. "Maybe you can take Grey with you? He likes sheepdogs."

Grace swallowed back a chuckle as if she didn't want Lottie to know she was capable of feeling something other than grouchy.

Dropping her hands on her hips, arms akimbo, Grace said, "What dog doesn't he like?"

"Don't know," Lottie replied with a lopsided grin. "He's never met one." Grace failed to stifle her laugh at Lottie's joke. Riding the high of her success, Lottie added, "But if I do, I'll let you know what breed it is."

Before Grace could reply, a knock on the smokehouse door disturbed them. "Lottie?" Casey inquired, his voice muffled through the door.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry to interrupt, but Hope's hungry."

Lottie sighed and stood. "Be right there."

"M'kay," he said. "We'll be waiting in the tent."

"Okay!" She stared at the ceiling before grumbling, "Duty calls."

"It does," Grace agreed. "It does."

***

"No. No. No!" Lottie said, her voice growing progressively louder.

She dropped to her knees, tossing her bow and arrows to the side when they bonked her in the head. Her hands shook as she gingerly picked up a bell pepper sprout from where it rested. Its roots exposed to the elements and tiny pieces of dirt clung to the life-giving threads.

"No!" she yelled again. The volume of her shout brought Grey tentatively closer and made Hope cry from her sling on the edge of the garden patch. Lottie ignored both children as she tucked the delicate seedling back into the earth and grabbed the next loose one. Frantically, she set each uprooted baby plant back into the dirt where it belonged. "I'm going to kill them. Every last one of them," she growled.

Lottie spent the next several minutes, crawling carefully amongst her plants, tending to the ones the squirrels disturbed and cursing the ones which looked beyond recovery. When she finished, she stomped back toward Grey and Hope. Her son cringed, and tears welled in his eyes. His lip quivered, and her heart thudded in chagrin. She once again dropped to her knees and scooped Grey into her arms. "Shh, baby," she said. "Mommy's not mad at you. Just the damn squirrels."

"'Am skerrerls?"

"Yes," she answered, rocking him. Lottie pressed Grey's head to her chest. "The squirrels hurt our food." She felt him nod under her chin, and as his tears subsided, so did her ire. When at last he hiccupped into calmness, she pulled away and looked him in the eye. "Want to help me hunt some squirrels?"

"'Ow? Mommy?"

She glanced around them and found a few acorns and rocks. "With these," she said, holding them out for Grey to take. When he palmed them, she motioned for him to wait, and while he stood quietly, Lottie tended Hope. Once both children had calmed, Lottie took Grey a few feet away and showed him how to throw the small projectiles at the squirrels. His aim sucked, but Lottie hoped his constant movement would keep the squirrels busy.

"Now, remember," she said. "You can't throw rocks in camp or at people, okay?"

Grey popped a dirty thumb into his mouth and nodded. His freehand tossed a rock in the vague direction of a squirrel.

"Good job," Lottie told him. "I'll be over there, doing the same," she said, pointing to a spot mid-garden. "Don't walk on the plants, okay? Call me if you need anything."

He blinked. His beautiful jewel-green eyes shimmered with drying tears. "'Kay, Mommy," he answered.

Lottie sighed, shifted Hope in her sling, and strode toward the center of her garden. There she took out her sling and vowed to bring some meat home for dinner, even if it was some squirrels.

***

Tristan stood several trees away from Casey. They had their faces toward the towering trunks, but that didn't disguise the fact both knew what the other was doing.

"Tell me again why we're out here waterin' the trees around the garden and not usin' our new latrine?" Tristan asked, a smirk in his voice.

Casey rolled his eyes and stalled in his task. He shuffled a few feet away and resumed his duty. "We're marking our territory," Casey replied. Did he have one more tree in him? Yes, Casey decided and repeated his shuffle. He sighed in relief as he finished.

"You know we'll have to do this more than once," Tristan said.

Casey nodded with a small sigh. What wouldn't he do for Lottie?

***

_Now that J, N, and C have departed_ , Casey wrote then scratched out the word he'd written and used _are off on their missions, I am nervous. T and I plan to leave in a few weeks, and—_ The rarely used picnic table shook under his pen, and Casey glanced up from his journal entry to find several dead squirrels arrayed in front of him. He raised his eyes from them to Lottie as she smacked another brace of squirrels onto the table. She growled something inarticulate, and Casey fought back a smile. Her hunting had been successful.

Shifting in his seat, he offered her his lap. When she sat, he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in her scent. Lottie smelled of river water, sunshine, blood—Casey assumed that was from the squirrels—and wood smoke. He nuzzled her neck and kissed behind her ear.

"Tell me about it," he murmured, and her tension drained away as she snuggled up to him.

"For every fuzzy-tailed-bastard I killed with the sling, another took its place."

He ran a hand through her blonde hair, petting her, and she melted against him.

"I'm going to have to live out there to keep our food safe," she groused.

"Marking the territory didn't work?" he asked and kissed her forehead.

"Nope," she said and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He let his fingers trail down her arm, all firm muscle under soft, soft skin. He tickled her elbow. "What would you like me to do?" he asked, returning to petting her hair.

She sighed again. "Nothing."

He shook his head, finding her answer unacceptable. Casey couldn't do much about the squirrels except help her kill them. "I can help hunt them," he said.

"You have duties here. What about the building? The barn? The cabin?"

"What about it?" he countered, but he knew where she was going with her argument. Preemptively, he said, "We're nearing completion with the decon. Jaesen informed me the supplies house is complete. When team two returns today, they should be bringing back the last load, and we can resume decon on seven. Only two more houses to go after that."

"But—"

Silencing her with a quick kiss, Casey said, "But nothing. Now that the pasture is complete. The other constructions aren't as high a priority, and that means I can spare the soldiers to help guard our food."

His caressing fingers found a snarl in her hair. While he teased at the knots, he said, "Processing the reclaimed lumber can wait, so can building the barn and cabin. Besides, I want the men to expand their patrols again to include the pasture and your cotton field. It won't tax them too much to take an hour or two to kill some rodents with fluffy tails. Especially if it means the men can continue to eat."

Lottie nodded and kissed his cheek. He was about to kiss her lips when movement on the east side of camp, deep in the trees, caught his eye, and he turned to look. It wasn't Jules, Brad, or Grace returning. They would be arriving from the northwest. Casey patted Lottie's thigh, urging her up. Her eyes widened, but she stood quickly.

"What is it?" she whispered.

He held a hand up to silence her as he scanned the campground. "Friend of some sort," he answered and then pointed to King and Attila sitting near the fire. Their heads lifted, and they watched for the new arrivals, but their posture didn't appear threatened.

"The dogs aren't excited." He stepped away. He would greet whoever was coming before they reached the clearing. "Stay here," he commanded but didn't wait to hear her response.

Limping as fast as he could, he walked toward the path where the newcomers were sure to pop-out. As he drew closer to the trees, he slipped the securing mechanism from his gun's holster. He could have it out, and the safety off before the visitors knew what hit them. But as they approached his location, Casey thought he recognized one of them. The red hair and red beard reminded him of Amos, and Casey nearly smacked himself in the forehead when the man's name drug up a memory of his and Wolf's agreement.

He glanced back to Lottie, who stood where he'd left her. Her hands clenched together. Casey signed 'all clear,' and her shoulder's visibly relaxed away from her ears.

A moment later, Amos and his companion—Corbin, Wolf's second in command—hailed him from the path.

"Amos. Corbin," Casey said in return.

When they entered the clearing, they paused. It didn't take any imagination to know why. The place looked wrecked.

"We had a bad storm two weeks ago," Casey answered their unspoken question. They nodded, and Casey indicated they should move to the central fire with a sweep of his hand. The two men were already walking that direction before Casey had finished the motion. As he followed behind them, he looked to Lottie, ready to give her some hospitality orders, but she was already in action, coming back from the shed with mugs and a pouch in her hand.

"Mint tea?" she asked.

Amos and Corbin replied in the affirmative.

While Lottie made their drinks, Casey began the trade with an apology. "I know it isn't an appropriate excuse, but it is the truth. The storm distracted us, and we forgot to get our share ready for your arrival."

Amos shrugged, but Corbin studied him with an expression that bordered on cold.

"If you can stay a few days," Casey added, trying to make amends. "we would be more than happy to make a few hunting trips to fulfill our part of the bargain."

"I have all those squirrels," Lottie said from where she knelt near the fire. Her gaze turned to them. A half-smile plastered on her face. "If it would help."

"Squirrels won't be enough," Corbin said with a shake his head, and Lottie's smile faltered. "We'll stay," he amended. Her smile returned tentatively at best.

Casey exhaled the breath he'd held as quietly as possible, pleased to come to such an easy resolution. Angering Wolf or one of Wolf's men was not something Casey wished to do. The settlement needed the food Wolf's greenhouse supplied, especially since the storm destroyed part of their garden, and the squirrels were hell-bent on ruining the rest.

"We can go before dawn tomorrow—or even at dusk tonight—if you would like," Casey offered, willing to do whatever it took to keep Corbin—and by extension Wolf—happy and the supplies coming.

"The situation is tense," Amos said, earning a dirty look from Corbin.

"Then we'll go tonight," Casey reiterated, though he wondered why it would be tense now and not several months ago when they'd first set up the trade agreement. Perhaps something else was going on? He'd wait and listen.

"Tonight," the two men agreed, and the conversation relaxed as Lottie bustled around, and the men drank their tea.

***

Lottie stepped lightly, focused on the glen where deer often congregated for their evening meal. Amos, the man with curly red hair and a red beard, stalked silently behind her. She nocked an arrow and slowed to an almost stop. Amos steadied behind her. She held her breath as she peeked around the trunk, intently focused, ready for the slightest movement.

Amos tapped her shoulder, and she glanced at him.

_Left. Mine. Right. You?_ Amos signed.

_On three_ , Lottie signed and prepared to let her arrow fly. Amos, for his part, readied himself as well. His borrowed bow ill-fitting him, but neither Corbin nor Amos had come prepared to hunt. That had been Casey's job.

Lottie nodded once, twice. On the third, they both let their arrows go.

The clearing erupted in flailing hooves as deer scattered in all directions.

"Come on," Lottie whispered, running after her buck. With luck, they'd hit one or both of the deer they targeted and could dispatch them.

Two steps into the clearing, it was evident who'd been successful and who's arrow had failed. Lottie's buck lay twitching a few feet away. Her arrow was protruding from its neck. Amos's deer was gone, not even a blood trail to follow.

While Amos inspected the clearing for evidence of either his arrow or a hit, Lottie knelt by her kill. She hated the part where she had to slit the creature's throat, but after the many animal deaths that Lottie had orchestrated, she'd grown accustomed to the task.

Lottie sliced quickly, and while the buck's lifeblood poured into the ground, she stood and looked to Amos, and that was when she noticed the arrow in his hand.

"Injured?" she asked, hoping he'd at least struck the beast.

Amos shook his head with a shrug, and as he came toward her, he returned the arrow to his quiver.

Lottie pointed to her buck. "Want to dress it here?" Usually, she would have to. Deer were too heavy for her to haul back without some sort of field dressing, but with Amos here, he could help.

"Let's clean the chest cavity and then head back," he replied, and she nodded, setting to work.

As the two of them hacked their way to a smaller carcass, Amos said, "I see you had your baby. What did you name him?"

"Her," Lottie corrected. "Case named her Hope."

When Amos didn't respond, Lottie glanced up. His expression confused her. In it, she saw envy, hope, pleasure. Amos cleared his throat. "Hope is a beautiful name."

Lottie smiled. "Thanks."

"I always wanted a girl. But it's been eight years since Elly had Kistler, so I don't think it will happen."

"Oh, Kistler is your son?"

"Yes," Amos replied. "I am his father, but so is Connie."

Lottie's eyebrows drew down in confusion. "Connie?"

"Conrad," Amos answered and then chuckled. Lottie didn't get the joke. "Elly's a bit of a free spirit. She came to us barely out of Basic. I loved her the moment I saw her. We had a son together. Dillan. He looks like me, but it quickly became apparent one man wasn't enough for my Elly, and soon Connie joined our bed. Kess is by all rights, his, but it's hard to think of him that way."

Amos gave her a small nod. "I believe Huxley understands this. Your son is not biologically his, right?"

Jewel green eyes flashed in her memory, and she flinched.

"Didn't think so," Amos finished. He waved her attention back to the task in front of them. "Let's get this done and back to the smokehouse."

Lottie acknowledged his request and attacked the deer with renewed vigor.

***

It was full dark before Lottie and Amos made it back to the settlement. The warm glow of the central fire beckoned, and she couldn't wait to put her portion down. In the end, she hadn't been able to carry the quantity Amos had, and she felt guilty for being glad they only killed the one buck. Hopefully, Casey and Corbin had been more successful.

As they dropped their loads at the butcher station, Grace greeted her. "Go get some food. I'll take care of this."

Lottie nearly cried in relief. Her breasts were so full of milk they hurt, and she couldn't wait to feed Hope and relieve the ache. "Where's Hope?" she asked, but the faint crying of her daughter carried her forward before Grace had a chance to point toward the sound.

A few steps later, Casey emerged from the trees with Grey's hand firmly in his and Hope resting in his arms. Hope flailed, and her wail rose in pitch. Casey's gaze swept the camp, and he visibly relaxed when he spied her.

Lottie hustled over, and in no time at all, both Casey and Lottie sighed in relief as Hope's cries abruptly stopped as the infant began to feed.

Wincing as her milk dropped, Lottie indicated a damp Grey hugging Casey's knee. Casey stooped to pick him up. "He got into some poison ivy. I hoped to wash the oil off before it irritated his skin, but I don't think I was in time."

She nodded her shoulder's drooping. Between the hunting, the garden, her babies, and the fact she didn't know what would work for the inevitable poison ivy blisters, she felt close to crying. Lottie ducked her head and fussed with Hope at her breast. She hoped Casey wouldn't notice.

"Hey," Casey said and pulled her into an embrace. "Tell me what you need, and I'll get it done."

The sob which rose in her chest, lodged in her throat, choking her. Her shoulders shook as her tears threatened to break free. A moment later, another set of warm arms enveloped her from behind, and carrot red hair obscured her vision.

"I'm sorry, L-girl," Nyah whispered in her ear. "I didn't see it in time to stop him."

Casey's warmth left her forehead as he backed away from them. "I'll get him some food," Casey murmured and left Lottie with Nyah. Nyah spun her around and hugged her again. "I borrowed your book, and it says witch hazel can help."

Lottie's sobs kicked up a notch, and her tears began to fall in earnest. She didn't know where they could find witch hazel. She hadn't seen the plant growing anywhere, plus, it was probably not going to work. She vaguely remembered reading that she would need the dried flowers to get any real benefit from the plant, and she didn't have those in her storeroom of herbs.

"Hey," Nyah murmured. "I'll help. Grace'll help. Hell, I'll force Mason, Katie, Jules, and Brad to help if it'll make you stop crying!"

Lottie hiccup laughed and lifted her raw and scratchy eyes to catch Nyah's gaze. "I'll hold you to that," she said with a watery smile.

Nyah grinned and hugged her awkwardly since Hope's bulk prevented a good full-bodied embrace.

"We have some stew over the fire, and I also managed to get some laundry done between watching the kids and sitting in the pasture."

Lottie whispered her thanks.

"Don't mention it," Nyah replied, looping her arm over Lottie's shoulder and steering her toward the fire. "It's the least I can do."

Lottie huffed a breath between her teeth, making the hair at her eyes flutter.

"Now sit and eat this fantastic stew Grace made with your horde of squirrels and then bat those pretty lashes at your lover boy. I want to sing some songs tonight, and he needs to break out that guitar."

Lottie groaned at the thought of Nyah singing but grinned at the prospect of hearing Casey play. Lottie shifted Hope in her arms and wrapped her free hand around Nyah's waist, keeping the other woman close. "

Thanks," she said. "It sounds perfect."

"Of course it does," Nyah announced. "I came up with it."

***

Lottie watched the clouds scuttle across the sky, but she had no energy to appreciate it. She didn't know if it was her anxiety for Creepy-Corbin, or all the nights Grey kept her awake with his scratching and crying, or the fact Casey and Tristan were leaving in the next day or two, or a combination of all three things, but she felt exhausted. The kind of exhausted, which made her stomach churn with a subtle malaise. A sensation no amount of mint tea seemed to squelch, and it dampened what little energy she could muster toward her workday.

Regretfully, her fatigue and stomach ache was why she now lay in the grass, shaded by huge trees, instead of working in her garden or hunting as everyone wanted. At least she didn't have to babysit her son while he played with the new chicks. Casey and Tristen were doing that for her.

She cracked an eyelid open and found Casey and Tristan chatting near the coop. He held Hope up to his shoulder, and Hope looked about with bright eyes. Lottie wondered what she saw. Probably not much, Hope wasn't even two months old yet, but whatever she did notice over her father's shoulder, enthralled her. Lottie's smile for the two ended in an acid burp that burned her throat and brought her thoughts back to her unhappy belly.

Lottie rubbed it. "What's going on in there?" she murmured to herself. It almost felt like morning sickness, but that was impossible. She was nursing Hope. Besides, Casey'd been more careful of late, so pregnancy was out of the question. But, boy, did she feel sick. If she didn't know better, Lottie would have thought she ate something rotten.

She frowned and pressed her fingers to her lips, swallowing back bile.

"Maybe laying down's a bad idea," she muttered to herself and sat up with a groan.

The world spun for a moment, and she feared her stomach would rebel. Luckily, it settled down after a few convulsive swallows and some deep breaths. Once in control, Lottie let her gaze shift to the domestic scene in front of her.

Casey and Tristan had turned so that they now leaned against the coop instead of standing alongside it, and Casey had moved Hope from his shoulder to his chest while he watched Grey chase the new chicks.

Lottie let her focus drift to the new birds. Only five of Leo's gifted eggs from the dozen had hatched. The amount was disappointing, but from what she understood, it was a better hatch rate than Tristan expected. Something about fertilization going stale the more prolonged the wait for incubation. Lottie couldn't remember the details of what he'd said, only that he'd wished for more of the little brown, black, and speckled birds that pecked at the ground near Isabel and Lottie wondered which of the babies were hens.

She shrugged and leaned back on her hands. Gender determination of chickens was one problem Lottie was glad to leave in Tristan's hands. All she had to do in the 'grow the flock' effort, was keep the eggs Tristan wanted to let hatch, under their mother's bellies. His expansion goal felt ambitious and severely cut into their egg supplies, but if successful, would alleviate a protein concern come next winter.

"Protein," she mumbled. She ought to be out hunting. The thought almost sent her flopping to the ground in exaggerated dismay. After a bit of quiet contemplation, she watched as Casey and Tristan headed her way.

"Hey Momma"

"Hey, yourself."

"You ready to head back to Base?"

The thought of getting up and heading anywhere filled her with dread, but she replied, "Sure." She'd have to walk back eventually. Might as well be now. Casey extended his arm—the one not holding Hope—and as she took his hand.

As he helped her up, Casey said, "We're going to take down our tent and put up the travel one."

Lottie sucked in a breath. "Tonight's the night, then?"

Casey's fingers intertwined with hers, and he squeezed them. "Yes," Casey said. "We'll stay tonight and then head out early tomorrow morning. We should get to Fort St. Louis right around Karsyn's first day of Basic."

She nodded. They'd talked about it and had, with Noah's input, decided on getting there several weeks before Stanzy was due to enlist into the program officially. That way, they would have almost the full thirty-three days where both Karsyn and Stanzy were in Basic in which to act on their plan.

"Where will you stay tonight?" she asked Tristan.

"I'm stayin' with Jules and Brad tonight," Tristan said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Since there won't be any room where my usual bedroll lives." Lottie felt her cheeks heat at his innuendo. "We'll have everythin' packed up and ready to go. All I'll need to do in the mornin' is roll out of bed. Oh, and get this sorry-assed-pup of yours up too."

Casey dropped her hand to punch Tristan in the shoulder. "You're the old man who needs help getting up in the morning," he said.

"Handoff your daughter, youngin. You're about to go down."

Grinning, Casey moved to give Lottie Hope, but Grey interrupted the mock fight before it could begin. "Daddy? Potty!" he announced, drawing everyone's focus. He had his hand clenched tight around a very delicate appendage. Lottie chuckled as Casey's shoulder's drooped and took Grey's hand. He grumbled something inarticulate, and they walked off to take care of Grey's little problem.

"Guess you're saved a beat down," Lottie muttered to Tristan.

She smiled when he dared to laugh.

# Chapter 27

Casey stared down at Lottie and Hope asleep in his bedroll. The glow of moonlight made their pale hair appear as a halo around their faces. They were both so—so—breathtaking. He brushed a tendril from Lottie's cheek, and she turned into his touch.

"Leaving?" she murmured.

He nodded, even though her eyes were closed, and she wouldn't see his response. He didn't want to speak, knowing that his voice would wake her too much too fall back asleep quickly, and after her illness earlier, she needed all her rest. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead and then to Hope's, kissing them goodbye. Casey had no idea when he'd see them next. His and Tristan's mission would take them well over a month—and that would be if everything went smoothly—which, of course, nothing ever did. That fact left a sour taste in his mouth, almost as if he'd eaten moldy bread. He sucked in a breath and shifted his weight on his knees to get closer to Greysen.

Greysen opened his eyes as Casey came near. "Daddy?"

Casey pressed a finger to his lips and shushed Greysen.

"'Kay, daddy," Greysen murmured and rubbed his fist into his eye while yawning.

_Greysen's donor must've been one handsome fucker_ , Casey decided while looking into Greysen's sleepy green eyes. The color was positively arresting. Plus, Greysen's curly black hair won all the women's hearts. It made Casey wonder what other traits that asshole who raped his beautiful wife had given his son. Hopefully, nothing too grievous. _Nature vs. Nurture_ , he thought.

"You be good for Mommy," Casey whispered and kissed Greysen's forehead.

Greysen nodded and popped his thumb in his mouth. His eyelids were already drifting shut.

Sighing, Casey finished dressing, grabbed his boots, and let himself out of their tiny tent. He stopped at the threshold to put them on. Once laced, he navigated the few trees between his shelter and the cramped clearing to reach Tristan at the fire, where they ate a quick meal of warmed broth and dried meat. Leaving their mugs near the fire, they hoisted their bags to their backs and left.

They hiked for twenty minutes before the dawn even brightened the sky, casting its rosy glow on the world.

"You think Bean's all right," Casey asked, breaking their companionable silence for the first time since they left the settlement.

"Whatdya mean?" Tristan asked.

"She's been so tired, and in general, not feeling well," Casey elaborated.

Tristan huffed a non-committal noise and pushed aside some honeysuckle. "She's doin' twice the work of anyone else, plus has Hope to feed. Of course, she's tired and doesn't feel well. I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure it's nothin'."

Casey ducked under a tree branch. Tristan's words seemed an oversimplification, but maybe he was right. Casey tried to push the thought from his mind. They had other things to think about, and it wasn't as if she didn't have people at the settlement to support her. It wasn't like when he left her in the hands of the ATR. This time she had her mother, her friends, and several of his soldiers to protect her. Tristan was right. She would be fine. Casey swallowed hard, remembering how close he'd come to losing all three of them.

"You know," Casey began, revealing the path of his thoughts to his best friend and closest confidant. "I don't think I ever properly thanked you for saving my family's life."

Tristan made a soft gagging sound, and Casey frowned. He thought Tristan had moved passed his supposed betrayal.

"You're welcome," Tristan choked out.

Casey's frown deepened. They probably needed to talk about it more, but maybe he shouldn't have brought it up this morning. Changing the subject, Casey launched into his plans for the rescue and felt relief when Tristan's voice loosened up. His friend was present and planning, and they were on their way.

***

Maybe by luck or perhaps by provenance or possibly it was his constant need for situational awareness, but, as Casey and Tristan arrived in Fort St. Louis from the south, Casey happened to look up and see the sign out front of the building they were passing.

Castoffs and Dregs

He stopped abruptly.

_The_ Castoffs and Dregs. It had to be the place. Casey's hands clenched into fists.

"What's it," Tristan asked, doubling back. "What's wrong?"

Casey forced his fingers flat to wave away his friend's question and took a step toward the establishment's front door. He wanted to see for himself if it was as bad inside as those soldiers had said.

Placing a hand on Casey's forearm, Tristan stalled him. "You want to go into the Dregs?"

"Yes," Casey said and shook off Tristan's touch.

"Why?"

"Because."

"But, Case," Tristan said with a little shake of his head. "It's a State-run—"

"I know that," Casey barked, his feet smacked the wooden steps harder than he intended.

"Case. Don't," Tristan warned, grabbing his arm, holding Casey back. "It's not your kinda place."

Casey whirled around and leaned toward Tristan, his finger pinging Tristan in the chest. "And it's yours?" he growled, appalled at how much Tristan seemed to know about the Dregs. By Casey's estimation, Tristan should have been as ignorant as he had been. It's not as if his friend had ever taken leave to hire State-workers.

"Aw, come on, Case."

Casey straightened while crossing his arms and leveled a stern look at Tristan.

"It's not like that," Tristan replied, his usual smile turned down in a frown. He ran a hand through his blond hair, lowering his eyes. His behavior appeared... Guilty.

"What the fuck, Tris—"

"—Jesus," Tristan said, cutting him off and whipping his gaze up to Casey's. "Is that what you think of me? That I would hire a State-worker from here? That I get off on beating women?"

"No," Casey retorted, his stance relaxing as he thought about it more. He would have had to seriously rethink what he knew about Tristan if his friend said yes. But it begged the question, "How do you know about the Castoffs and Dregs?"

"Case," Tristan replied, shaking his head. "Everyone knows about the Dregs."

"Not everyone." He sure hadn't.

"Okay. But not everyone's a brownnoser with their snout buried in strategic texts and out doing extra drills to impress their CO."

"What's that supposed to mean," Casey said, leaving the porch to step closer to Tristan.

The muscle in Tristan's jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. "It means, sometimes the pups talk at night, all right? Sometimes the quiet guy leanin' against the back wall listens to what they say. Not everyone is hell-bent on being the next Five-Star General like you were. _Some_ of us wanted to do our damn job and then get out."

"But, you reenlisted."

"For you," Tristan said and pushed Casey in the chest. Tristan pushed him again, and Casey knocked Tristan's hand aside. "Because I believe in how you run things. If it'd been anyone else— _Anyone, Case_ —I would have bailed when my time came up."

"But—"

"—Gentlemen," a booming masculine voice sounded behind them, making Tristan look up, and Casey spun around. "There's no need to fight. I have plenty of women available. Come in. Come in!"

How much of Casey and Tristan's argument had this man overheard?

As one, they stepped closer, and the man closed the distance by coming down the steps to meet them. He looped an arm around both Casey and Tristan's shoulders, and half dragged half pushed them toward the front door. "What'll it be?" the man asked. "Old? Young? Blonde? Brunette? Singly? Two at a time? A man?"

Casey shot Tristan a look behind the guy's head. Casey's heart pounded, and his palms were slick with sweat. He'd only meant to take a peek inside, prove to himself it wasn't as bad as he'd been lead to believe and then skedaddle. He had no idea what to say to the man now that it looked like he'd have to hire one of the women.

"We're here to look," Tristan replied for him. "Get a feel for the place, ya'know? See what's up for grabs. My CO has never been here before."

The man looked to Casey with his eyebrow cocked high. "Really?" He let them go to grab the door and pulled it wide. "What kind of woman interests you? I've got all kinds." He motioned them to proceed, and Casey stepped inside. His heart nearly stopped, and he barely felt when the man jostle him forward so he and Tristan could both enter the building.

Instead, Casey's gaze fell to the sad expressions plastered on all the women's faces. As he scanned them, some of their eyes flashed fear before dulling to lifelessness. His mind refused to acknowledge everything he saw, but what he did take note of, made his stomach roil.

Casey couldn't help but compare The Dregs to Uncle Sam's. For one, the lights were brighter, here at The Dregs than at Uncle Sam's. The added illumination highlighted the stark reality of these poor women's lives. Casey's gaze skittered around the front room, trying to find anything to focus on but flesh or sex. Unfortunately, there wasn't the slightest bit of themed kitsch to keep his attention. Nothing garish to take away from the abuse he saw everywhere.

Stumbling back, Case once again found himself under the arm of the proprietor.

Pointing to a group of women with various shades of purple and green bruising on their faces and arms, the man said, "They're half price today. Good for a quick fuck and get out." The man gave Casey a once over. "You have somewhere you need to be?"

For some horrid reason Casey couldn't define, he shook his head no.

"Great!" the man exclaimed and spun Casey toward the other corner. "Then, one of these girls might be a better fit."

As the room blurred in front of him, Casey couldn't help but acknowledge the women on their knees, engaged in services Casey had valiantly tried to ignore on his first inspection. The man stopped their spinning and pointed. "Any of those strike your fancy?"

Casey shook his head franticly. He wanted out, needed out. He craned his neck, looking for Tristan. They had to leave. Now.

"No, huh," the man said. "You drive a hard bargain." He rubbed his chin. "I know! Corrina? Baylee?" A moment later, two women with absolutely nothing on stepped out of the hallway. The man beckoned them closer. When they drew near enough, the man at Casey's side reached out and stroke one of the women's cheeks.

"These two are perfect. Barely a mark on them," he said.

Before Casey could say a word, the man slapped one of the women so hard she spun and fell to the floor. "Baylee," he scolded, looking at the woman he'd smacked. Corrina dropped to her knees in front of Casey while Baylee struggled up to hers. Corrina's hands shook as she clasped Casey's belt in her hands. Casey batted her away, and Corrina flinched even though he'd barely touched her fingers. Tears welled in her eyes, and she darted a look to the man next to her before trying again.

_Ever-absent God_ , Casey thought, his gaze sought Tristan.

The man beside him shifted his weight and kicked Corrina in the ribs. "More enthusiasm," he barked, and she nodded frantically.

"Stop!" Casey yelled, putting his hand out to keep the man from hitting either of the two women again.

All movement stopped in the front room, even the men receiving oral paused to investigate Casey's outburst. Heat flooded his cheeks, and in the stunned silence, Corrina crawled forward, intent in her effort to fellate Casey. He danced aside to keep her at a distance. "Don't," he barked.

Fat tears ran down her cheeks.

"Huh," the man grunted, pulling Casey's attention from Corrina and now Baylee at his feet. The man's expression turned thoughtful, and he stroked his chin. "Private man? Or maybe," he trailed off. With a twist of his torso, the man snagged Tristan from where he'd had been hiding and pulled him forward. He then yanked Corrina and Baylee to their feet by their arms and ordered them to return to their room.

The proprietor asked, "Would you prefer a man? I have a few you could choose from."

"No! No," Casey said, trying to modulate his voice.

"Then who, exactly, do you want to fuck?" the man asked.

"N-no one," Casey stammered. "I don't want to fuck anyone." He clasped Tristan's sleeve between his fingers. The man's eyes narrowed, but Casey didn't care if his stammer made him appear as a weak commanding officer or how his fingers clasping Tristan's coat spoke of casual alliance and not of a superior to a subordinate. He couldn't stand to be inside the Dregs one more second. "We're leaving."

The man gave him a slow nod. "If I have nothing you want, then that seems best," he replied, his eyelids narrowing.

Casey fumbled for the doorknob behind him. Finding it, he tugged it open, and dragging Tristan from the room by his sleeve, he slipped outside and hustled down the steps. He didn't slow until he'd put at least a kilometer between himself and that awful place.

***

"That was worse than I thought," Casey muttered to himself once sufficiently distanced from the Dregs. Somehow the memory of the soldiers discussing their night, Brice's casual praise for the place, and Noah's look of pity and urge for patience had faded. Now Casey wished he'd never gone inside, and all his impotent fury was back, pounding through his veins, making his hands shake with the need to punch something.

"Casey?"

"Yeah," he growled, lost in thought.

"How did you hear about the Dregs, Case?"

"Brice."

"Brice? Like our new dentist Brice?"

"Yes," Casey said. His stomach felt sick. He slowed his march to a more maintainable speed, and Tristan loped forward so they could walk abreast.

"And you're goin' to let someone who thinks like that into our settlement?"

Casey growled something inarticulate. Neither Noah nor Casey had wanted to keep him, but they'd both agreed that having a dentist at the settlement was too important. Plus, Brice had a clean record. Noah found no proof Brice had so much as even looked at a woman outside of that hell hole. There certainly wasn't a record of him hitting a woman. Noah and Casey both agreed they couldn't disqualify Brice as an asset solely on his leave-time proclivities. It didn't matter how the women at the Dregs came to be employed there. The fact of the matter was that soldiers paid those women for their services. Casey and Noah could not condemn Brice for his presence at the Dregs, unless it spilled over to the settlement, no matter how sick it made them feel.

"We'll watch him," Casey said, giving voice to his thoughts. "And a single misstep means his death."

"Agreed," Tristan replied, and they said nothing else for the remainder of their hike.

***

By the time full dark had fallen, Casey and Tristan had arrived at the building Casey had scouted for before their arrival. Looking up and down the ally, Casey confirmed there wasn't a soul nearby.

_Good._ At least one thing was going right.

He nodded to Tristan, who reared back and gave a roundhouse kick to the door right near the deadbolt lock. It was a solid hit, and the door banged open with a resounding crash against the far wall. Casey quickly shoved Tristan into the building and slammed the door shut behind them.

He leaned against it, straining to hear any sort of alarm over the pounding of his heart. Had someone noticed their breaking and entering?

Little by little, Casey relaxed. No one appeared to have heard them. And after several minutes, Casey pushed away from the door with a nod to Tristan. Now that the initial fear of discovery had passed, the two men wandered around their new hideout.

There wasn't much to see.

The building had been an old storefront at one time, but now the main floor was devoid of any goods. The only thing left in the main room by the street were the windows, and an old counter with the back cut out and fallen shelves within.

Overall, Casey was pleased with his choice. Behind the front room, back away from prying eyes, were some small storerooms. If careful, they could have a fire in a bucket for warming their food or drink, and they could sleep free of discovery. Casey stifled a sigh, resigning himself to sleeping on the hard, dirty floor. They were so close to Noah's Uncle Sam's apartment that Casey wished they could use it, but apparently, it wasn't Noah's to loan out. Instead, it was the standard issued room for all RAC privates to use when in Fort St. Louis. Noah and Casey just happened to be there when no one else had needed it.

_So, yeah, that's out_ , he thought with a wry smile. Not like he wanted to take Tristan to another State-run facility even if it meant a warm bed, hot shower, and a real stove for cooking food. His friend might seriously begin to doubt his fidelity to Bean, and that wouldn't do.

"We'll stay here," Casey announced quietly. "And unless it becomes compromised, it will be our base of operations."

"Gotcha," Tristan murmured and moved to a grime-covered window.

Curbing his desire to recall Tristan from his perch, Casey instead set his backpack down and checked its contents one more time.

The food they needed for the trip home rested on the top, right over his gear and his spare clothes, but deep in a pouch on the side, he felt for the messages given to him by Noah. First, there was the cork, which he would leave for Brice on the windowsill of his office. Then there was a small screw for Fordmyer and a fishing hook for Surgeon Armstrong. Casey touched the paperclip wrapped around some cash, which Noah'd set aside for Rowntree, the tobacco dealer.

Casey pulled it out. One of his first tasks would be to find Rowntree and deliver their promised payment for his participation, and if there was any money left over, Casey was to secure some tobacco for both Javier and Stanzy. Casey checked the amount. It didn't look like he had enough for that level of trade.

A bump to his shoulder brought Casey from his musings.

"Hungry?" Tristan inquired, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah,"

"Let's go find a resource."

Casey snorted.

'A resource' was a thinly veiled code word for a vendor who provided black market goods. Sadly, Casey and Tristan's options were limited to such dealings. Either they dipped into their packed food, or they risked discovery using the shady black market. It wasn't the first time Casey regretted their status in the Army. If they'd been actual retirees or enlisted, then they could have popped into one of the many cafeterias located near each barracks and eaten their fill each day.

Standing, Casey pocketed the cash, paperclip, and his meager wealth he'd set aside for their ancillary needs. "Yeah," he said again. "Let's go."

***

Lottie pressed the back of her hand against her mouth and her palm against her stomach. She shouldn't have eaten that bowl of soup, and she wondered if it had gone rancid. As her nausea passed, Lottie fumbled around looking for her non-existent mint in the vain hope she'd find more of the dried herb even though Lottie knew she'd used up all her stores the other day.

"Damnit," she muttered and turned to her other task, finding a new garment for Hope from their measly stack of baby clothes stolen from Gates over a year ago.

Of course, on a day Lottie felt like crap, Hope had done a number on her outfit, and Lottie had to go hunting in the shed for a change of clothes for her daughter since she felt too sick to do laundry. But when she turned to go to the opposite shelf, Lottie managed to kick the massive wood-burning stove. With a yelp and a curse, Lottie rubbed her toe through her shoe, keeping her balance through a sheer act of will.

She gave the stove a dirty look.

It had been a nice gesture on Casey's part, and Lottie knew it was for her and the cabin he'd planned to build, but she wished it was gone or had been left back at the first house they deconstructed last year. Instead, it was taking up space where she didn't want it. The area the settlement could use for food storage or additional room during storms.

She leaned against it and rested her forehead against the cold metal.

Ever-absent God, she felt sick.

"Lottie, honey?" Nyah called from the doorway.

Lottie waved a hand behind her. She didn't know if she were telling Nyah to leave or to beg for her help.

Cool, cold hands touched her arm and then forehead. Nyah's tug to pull her upright proved to be too much, and Lottie bolted to the woods five feet way and lost her soup into the bushes.

"Hey," Nyah whispered near her ear as she swept Lottie's hair up and away from her face.

Just in time too, Lottie thought as her stomach heaved again. The soup had to have spoiled. Except, no one else seemed sick.

Slowly, she righted herself, and the world seemed reasonable again. Lottie's nausea eased. "Can you see if Zoe will feed Hope?" she asked. If this were a stomach bug, it would be her luck to pass it on to her daughter. Her three-month-old wouldn't be able to survive severe dehydration from vomiting.

"I'll take Grey for you too," Nyah offered.

"Thanks," Lottie whispered, her stomach already churning again. "I think I need to go to bed."

Nyah nodded, wrapped her arm around Lottie's shoulders, and helped her back to her tent.

"I'll make sure to check on you," Nyah said as she helped Lottie settle in. Lottie murmured a thank you and rolled to her side, praying the illness ran its course fast and that no one else became sick.

***

Earlier that morning, Casey'd awoken to find an empty paperclip with a blue ribbon tied at the end, resting on the windowsill of his and Tristan's hideout. Rowntree had received Casey's message and had agreed to meet that afternoon. So after a quick breakfast of leftovers, both Casey and Tristan had left for their respective tasks.

"Which one's Stanzy again?" Tristan asked as they arrived at the northwest corner of Forest Park garden.

Casey scanned the area, spotting her near the shed with a few of her fellow soldiers. "To my right, near the shed, third soldier from the left. She's the shortest one there," Casey replied, directing Tristan's gaze to Stanzy.

Shifting his focus back to Tristan, Casey said, "I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Gotcha."

After a nod, Casey walked away. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the location for his meeting with Rowntree. He stepped into the rundown townhome and took up a spot at a second-story window to watch and wait. It wasn't long before an overly skinny blond man made his way toward the abandoned residence and entered the building. Casey turned to face the door as Rowntree's footsteps drew near.

"You want another installment?" Rowntree inquired as he joined Casey along the wall.

"Yes." Casey assumed since Rowntree brought it up, that Noah's additional payment would cover the charges.

Rowntree leaned forward to glance out the window. The action brought a prickle of awareness to Casey's skin. _Ambush?_

"I can't do it," Rowntree replied. "Your payments have been too short for too long." Rowntree smiled. "A man's gotta make a living."

"How much?" Casey asked.

"I can give you half an order," Rowntree replied.

Rowntree hadn't answered the question Casey'd meant, but he'd provided an adequate answer anyway.

"Fair enough. What about her payments?" Casey asked. "Did she deliver?"

Rowntree snorted. "I have no idea why you'd want seeds, but yeah, she paid."

Casey rested his head and back against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. She'd paid in seeds. Between what Stanzy'd supplied as payment and what Leo had sent, the settlement's food supply should be good.

"Anyway," Rowntree said. "I have your last delivery for the girl plus what I could spare for your extra order. Want it now, or you want me to do the drop in a few days?"

"I'll take it," Casey replied. When Rowntree handed Casey the two small tobacco pouches, but nothing else, Casey prompted, "The seeds?" Rowntree grinned, and Casey's shoulder's tensed. But instead of the fast one Casey expected, Rowntree retrieved the seed pouch from his cargos and handed them over.

"Thanks," Casey bit out.

"We finished here?"

"For now," Casey said, keeping his tone neutral.

"Great. Let me know if you need more," Rowntree replied with an incline of his head to indicate the goods Casey'd already stored in his pockets and pushed away from the wall.

"When's the drop?" Casey asked before Rowntree could move too far away.

"Thursday," Rowntree said as he left the room.

Casey waited as the sounds of Rowntree's footfalls clattered down the stairs, across the first-story foyer, and out the door. Casey returned to his surveillance out the window. He didn't take a deep breath until he saw Rowntree stroll down the street and around the corner, but once Rowntree did, Casey ran a hand through his hair.

His contact with Rowntree was over for now.

"Thursday."

***

"Honey," Nyah said, patting Lottie's face with a wet washcloth. "You need to feed Hope."

Lottie groaned. She felt like death warmed over. Her tent smelled of vomit, and her stomach had a permanent ache. "Can't. Sick."

"I know you're afraid she'll catch this from you," Nyah said, "But it's been almost three days, and no one else even remotely feels bad. I don't think you'll give this to Hope." Nyah pressed the washcloth to Lottie's forehead. The cold water made her shiver, and her stomach refused to settle. Lottie clasped Nyah's hand between hers, pulling it from her forehead, begging for stillness.

"You'll lose your milk if you don't feed her soon." The concern in Nyah's voice forced Lottie to crack an eyelid open. Nyah nodded at her. "You lose your milk, and Hope will die. Possibly even Dexy too. Zoe can't keep feeding them both. Her body's not able to keep up."

Lottie struggled to sit. She released Nyah's hand to grab her belly as it threatened to heave again. "You sure no one else is sick?"

Nyah nodded. "No one is."

_So odd_. Lottie had felt so sure she'd eaten something that turned, but it had been two days since the first bout of sickness, and she didn't feel any better.

"Look, Honey... I hate to ask you this, but..." Nyah hesitated.

"What?" Lottie asked on a hiccup burp which filled her mouth with bile. She spat into the bucket near her pillow.

Nyah exhaled forcefully. "Are you pregnant?"

Lottie snorted and regretted it as her stomach lurched, and she gagged. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "Not possible."

Nyah brushed a strand of hair from Lottie's face and tucked it behind her ear. "You've had sex with Casey... Right?"

Lottie's ears felt hot as the blush crept up her cheeks.

"Recently?" Nyah asked.

Lottie nodded reluctantly.

"I hate to break it to ya, then, Hon," Nyah said. "but if you've been having sex... then there is a chance—"

"—But I've been nursing Hope," Lottie interrupted, desperate for Nyah to be wrong. "And he's been pulling out," she argued. She grimaced at how few times _that_ had happened and admitted, "...at least, most of the time."

"Oh, sweetie," Nyah said, shaking her head.

_Nope! Impossible. Can't be._ "But you said—" Lottie tried again. There was no way— _no way!_ —she could be pregnant.

"—Not a guarantee, Honey. It's a rule of thumb," Nyah said with a small wave of her to Lottie's stomach.

Lottie groaned. She couldn't be pregnant. Not again. Not so soon. Plus, she had little Rowan or Emilia coming. The babies were due to arrive any day now. What would she do? She couldn't feed three babies at once. Lottie flopped back on the bedding. "What am I going to do?" she groaned.

The silence stretched between them, and Lottie looked up to see why Nyah stopped speaking.

"You can abort," Nyah said, her words watery with unshed tears, and Lottie's hands flew to her stomach, pressing hard against her belly. "I know your herb-healing book had a section in it about what you can take to end a pregnancy."

Lottie was shaking her head, negating Nyah, before Nyah'd even finished her sentence. Lottie couldn't do it. She didn't want to be pregnant again, but the world's fertility crisis practically demanded she go through with it. Besides, Lottie thought, forcing herself to be brutally honest, even if it was only in her mind. She couldn't kill Casey's next son or daughter.

Lottie rolled to her side and whimpered. "If I am pregnant," she began, swallowing thickly. "If I am pregnant," she tried again. "then I'll do whatever I can to keep it."

Nyah clasped Lottie's forearm and squeezed it. "We'll help you. I'll help you."

"I know," Lottie said.

"Get some rest," Nyah urged. "I'll bring you some soup and Hope."

Lottie nodded, curling tighter around her middle.

_Pregnant?_

She hated to think it, but she would rather have food poisoning.

***

"She's late," he mumbled to himself and tapped his foot, glancing up and down the street. He ducked his head when he spied a patrol and moved under the eaves as casually as possible. Ever-absent, God, he looked shady, and he hoped the soldiers he'd spotted were Fordmyer's. At least then, they wouldn't question his presence here.

Pounding footsteps drew his attention, and Casey spied long brown hair swinging side to side as the female figure ran toward him. Casey couldn't be one-hundred percent certain, but he felt confident Stanzy was on her way to him. As the person drew near, he confirmed she was who he'd expected to see.

"It's-It's you!" she stammered, coming to an abrupt halt.

He nodded once to acknowledge her and leaned back against the building. His gaze swept the area, but aside from a few soldiers here and there, they appeared to be alone.

"Why are you here?" Stanzy asked.

Casey shrugged. "In town."

Stanzy tugged at the end of her ponytail. "Oh, okay."

He beckoned her to his side. She gave him a side-eye and checked her surroundings.

_Good_ , he thought. Stanzy wasn't completely oblivious to the potential danger he posed. Luckily for her, she was safe from him today. "I'm not handing it to you out in the open," he said quietly. She gulped but nodded and joined him. "You have the payment," he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "But I really can't get you anymore. My COs noticed."

Casey gave her a single dip of his chin to show he'd heard. "Cash going forward is fine."

"Why do you need seeds anyway?" she asked. "Since you're a grower already, don't you have all the seeds you could ever need?"

"No," Casey retorted, his tone clipped to convey his wish for her to drop the subject. She'd learn about the need soon enough.

Stanzy put her hands up in a placating manner. "Okay. Okay," she murmured. "Sorry, I asked." She fished around in her pocket, and Casey barely refrained from rolling his eyes when he saw it was a cigarette. She lit it and took a deep drag.

"You know those will kill you," he said, unable to restrain himself.

She cocked an eyebrow at him as she took another puff on her hand-rolled. "That's rich. I would think," she said on an exhale, blowing smoke in Casey's face. "You'd want everyone to smoke. More money for you."

He swallowed back a sigh. "Your payment?" he prompted.

She reached into her other pocket and pulled out a tiny, white cloth bag. "Here," she said, dropping it into Casey's palm. Stanzy left her hand out, and Casey gave her the tobacco Rowntree had provided. "Two weeks from now?" she asked.

"Yes," Casey replied.

Stanzy nodded. "Will it be you or your man?"

"Me."

"Good deal," Stanzy remarked. "We done here?"

"Yes."

She nodded again and pushed away from the wall. "Okay. See you," Stanzy said and strode away.

***

Lottie sighed and eyed her Knaves and Knights cards. It wasn't the lousy hand so much as the fact she knew her teammates, Brad and Katie didn't have any good plays either, so no matter what move she made, they'd lose this round.

"Do you hear that?" Jules said, his head popping up from his slouched position in front of the fire.

"Hear what," Brad asked.

"That... Is that? Crying?"

Lottie glanced at Ally, but none of the children appeared in distress, and not a single one of them was shedding tears.

"No, I hear it too," Nyah and Katie responded as Lottie finally heard the thin wail Jules had mentioned. Everyone except Lottie jumped to their feet, abandoning the Knaves and Knights game for this new excitement.

"Javier?" Lottie whispered.

As she watched, two blurred figures darted from the woods and bounded toward them, barking in greeting. King and Theia were back! Attila woofed, and the three dogs did their usual of butt sniffing and playing as they reacquainted themselves with each other.

"Here," Nyah said, offering her hand, and Lottie took it gratefully. Lottie needed help. Her body tended to be quite weak now that she couldn't keep anything in her stomach for more than a handful of minutes. "And your bucket?" Nyah said, handing it to her.

"Thanks." Lottie grimaced. Nyah gave her a tight smile and looped her arm around Lottie's waist. The two women followed after the rest of the crew as they moved toward the sound of an infant screaming uncontrollably.

"Why do I only hear one?" Ally asked.

"The other one's probably asleep," Jules replied.

"Through that racket?" Ally inquired, incredulous.

Lottie had to admit the baby had a robust set of lungs, but it didn't seem plausible for one baby to sleep through the hysterics of the other.

The settlement-family didn't have long to ponder this mystery for Noah, and Javier soon emerged from the trees with only one bundled infant nestled in Noah's arms. Lottie craned her neck, looking for a sled or a backpack or something. Where was the other one?

The two men came to a stop in front of them, and Noah handed the infant to the first person he saw. Thankfully, Jules had practice with fast handoffs, and he didn't fumble the trade.

"Where's the other one?" he asked, giving voice to Lottie's question.

"Didn't make it," Javier barked and shoved past them all to head to the fire.

Didn't make it?

"Didn't make it?" Ally asked.

"Yes. Didn't make it," Javier snapped.

"You mean it died?" Nyah asked.

Javier spun abruptly and marched back toward her, narrowly avoiding Noah's censuring hand. "She died, okay?" When Nyah didn't reply, he growled, "Okay?!"

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay!"

He harrumphed, pivoted on his heel, and strode toward the fire where he stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the light.

Slowly, after several cautious looks to each other, the members of the settlement drifted toward the blaze where the two men stood. Some took their seats, and others milled around, hesitant.

Coming to a stop next to Noah, Lottie patted Nyah's hand, letting her know she could release Lottie, and then asked Noah, "What happened?"

Noah ran a hand through his hair and tried to smile at her. "It's been a long day, child, and we're hungry and tired. Can we table this for a few minutes?"

"Yes. Yes!" Lottie exclaimed, her thoughts already dancing to the things they may need to relax.

A hand gripped her shoulder, and she glanced up to find Jules smiling at her. He held the sobbing infant close to his chest. "Sit, Chica," he said. "We got this."

"Yeah," Lottie replied, relieved, and a bit displaced. It was her job to take care of everyone. "Okay."

She leaned up against Noah, and he wrapped an arm around her, helping her to sit. "You healthy?" Noah asked, his eyes dipping to her bucket and then back to hers.

Lottie frowned and wrapped an arm around Grey as he came over. "Not really," she answered.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant."

Javier snorted, shaking his head, drawing her eye.

"You are?" Noah prompted gently, pulling her attention back to him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ally heading toward them with Dexy and Hope in her arms. Max was a few feet behind, wobbling on unsteady feet, and Cody, who'd recently begun scooting on her belly, rocked back and forth on her blanket a few feet away.

"Well, at least we all think so," Lottie replied, keeping her voice down, though she didn't know why. "No one else is sick, and I've been vomiting all the time for the past week or so."

"Perfect," Javier muttered. "Just perfect."

"What's your problem," she asked Javier's back. He was often surly, but this mean? Never to her, not since he joined them.

"Shh," Noah chided. "He's not angry at you, child. Let him be."

"Yeah," Lottie agreed, not satisfied, but willing to let his attitude slide. This time. "Okay."

"So, you think you're pregnant?" Noah prompted and took Grey into his lap when Ally arrived with Hope.

Lottie frowned, as she readied Hope for nursing. "I didn't think it was possible, but it would appear that I am." She sighed and winced as Hope latched on. "I've never been this sick before. Not even when I was pregnant with Grey." Noah nodded, concern shown in his gaze. "Anyway, I've been unable to do a lot..."

_Understatement of the year_ , she thought.

She let the statement die as Brad and Katie bustled around the fire, building it up and preparing some tea for brewing. Lottie fidgeted with her pants and brushed Hope's cheek with her fingertip. Eventually, Lottie's attention drifted to the path where Jules had appeared, carrying two buckets full of water.

She hadn't noticed he'd left, but if he'd been to the river, then that meant?

Lottie scanned the clearing and found Zoe, Nyah, and Ally across the way. Each had a child at their breasts. A smile tugged at Lottie's lips. Nyah's expression radiated peace, and the infant she held close seemed content too.

"Which one made it," she whispered.

"Rowan."

Lottie glanced down.

Rowan.

"Jackie's?" she inquired.

"Yes."

Lottie nodded and watched Max as he waddled toward her. He blew raspberry bubbles and babbled something unintelligible through a toothy grin. Sometimes he looked so much like Maggie that it hurt. Sadness made her throat scratchy. To distract herself from her thoughts, Lottie tugged at his super curly hair near his ear, earning an endearing giggle. "Hey, Maxie. Hungry?"

He nodded, drool dripping down his chin, and Lottie wiped his face with her sleeve.

"'Gree, Mommy!" Grey barked. "'Mm 'gree too, Mommy!"

Lottie patted Max on the chest and motioned Grey over. Grey nodded and wiggled off Noah's lap. As he passed Max, he frowned at him and gave him a push.

"Grey!" Lottie reprimanded, and tears pooled on Grey's lashes.

The poor little guy. He had barely seen her the past few days due to her illness, and his jealousy was showing. Unfortunately, that didn't mean he could get away with hurting someone else. "We don't shove."

He nodded and skirted around Max as Noah brought the toddler to his lap. Luckily for Max, Noah had been quick, catching him before he fell. Noah's tense smile told Lottie the action had been for his benefit and not so much for the child's.

At her side, Grey'd popped his thumb in his mouth and waited for her to lift him. It was a juggle to keep both of her children on her lap, and she had a moment of intense uncertainty when she realized she'd have another child before winter was out.

It had been one thing to adopt willingly. It was a duty Lottie felt required to perform, to know she chose to take care of them because of her actions, but it was quite another thing to have a pregnancy thrust upon her. Lottie was resentful and hated herself a little for those thoughts. Thoughts that segued into relief as she acknowledged the fact she no longer had to adopt, but then she felt shame. Shame at knowing she was thankful that the other baby died since that meant she no longer had to take care of it.

It made her sick. Well, sicker.

Noah's finger tilted her chin up so Lottie would look him in the eye. "Stop," he murmured.

She inhaled a shuddery breath. "Stop what?"

"Blaming yourself," he answered. "I've had enough of that on this mission," Noah added with a twitch of his head to indicate Javier, who stood by the fire, brooding. "Things happen for a reason, and even though Emilia's death is tragic, there is some forgiveness to be had for feeling relieved of the burden."

"But... We need girls, and I..."

"Shh," he said. "You do not need to rescue the world."

He patted her on the knee and sat back. "That's my job."

She snorted and hugged both of her children closer.

"Here you go," Katie announced and handed Noah something in a mug. "Mint tea while you wait."

"Can I have some too?" Lottie asked as her stomach rumbled. Hopefully, it was in hunger and not an indicator she would vomit soon.

"Sure," Katie replied.

"I didn't know we had more," Lottie said.

"Picked some today."

"Thanks," Lottie replied. It was good to know others were stepping up in her stead.

"Yeah. All dulce." Katie returned to the blaze and took another mug from Brad. She handed it to Javier, who grabbed it by the handle without sparing it a glance. A few minutes later, another round of mugs made their way around, and Lottie sighed in relief as the mint flavor coated her tongue. Hopefully, it would settle her stomach enough for her to eat.

While she sipped the tea, she watched as Katie and Brad cooked, and the other members of the camp drifted closer. Eventually, everyone was near, and the food prepared. Taking her serving, Lottie held off on eating anything. Her stomach hadn't liked the tea, and she didn't want to ruin anyone's dinner. She'd eat when others finished.

"So?" Jules prompted. "Tell us what happened!"

There was a chorus of yeses and a few yeahs as Noah settled back, and Javier began pacing around the fire.

"Everything went as planned," Javier began. "Noah followed his target, and I followed mine." Javier ran a hand across his closely cropped hair. "We thought everything was going according to plan, but then Emilia wouldn't take a bottle."

His tone turned melancholy, and Lottie thought she detected a tiny bit of self-recrimination. "We tried everything we could, but she would not eat," Javier said, drawing each of his final words out. "She died two days after we rescued her." His voice wavered. A sound that made Lottie think he was crying—or at least, trying not to.

"We buried her in a small graveyard several days north of here and moved on," Noah finished, when it was clear Javier would not, or could not, continue. "We were too far away to bring her with us, and we had to get Rowan to safety. We regret her death, but I fear it was unavoidable."

"How horrible," Ally remarked.

Lottie agreed. It did sound horrible.

"She wouldn't take a bottle?" Nyah asked. Lottie noted Nyah's protective arms around Rowan.

Javier shook his head and wiped a thumb under his eye. "She would gag and spit-up, but never drink," he replied.

Grace asked, "Was she small? Did she have trouble while with her guards?"

"Yes," Javier answered. "I witnessed several failed attempts at feeding her while I followed."

The group fell silent for a bit.

"It sounds like you did everything you could," Zoe said in her quiet voice. "Some babies never take to a bottle after being nursed." She glanced at Noah and then around the fire circle. "I don't know what they did with those babies while at Fort St. Louis, but I vaguely remember that, if they were female, the FAR kept them with a wet-nurse."

Zoe frowned. Lottie joined her with a frown of her own. If she followed Zoe's train of thought to its logical conclusion, that meant the FAR let male babies die.

Lottie squeezed Grey tight, making both him and Hope squawk with discomfort.

It was one thing to learn about the death of a baby who wouldn't take a bottle when there were no other options present, but a whole other thing entirely, to think a system would voluntarily let an infant languish, unfed, for the sole reason it had been born male.

The group exhaled collectively.

"Well," Jules said, breaking the tension, "That sucked."

_Understatement of the year_ , Lottie thought.

# Chapter 28

As Tristan watched from across the room, Casey sat with his back against the wall and slowly pulled up his pants leg.

"Think it will help?" Tristan asked.

"Yes." Casey glanced at Tristan and gave him a sarcastic smile as he wrapped his shins in leather padding. "Noah said it would." The snort Tristan released sounded painful, and Casey couldn't help but tease him. "Lose a sinus with that one?"

"No," Tristan answered, snickering. "Since when did you get to be so buddy-buddy with Noah that you'd take his advice? Last I knew, you barely tolerated him."

"I've always taken his advice," Casey countered. "Difference now is, we're not quite on the opposing sides as I once thought."

"Oh, okay," Tristan replied, his tone mocking. When Casey didn't join him in jest, Tristan mouthed, "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

Casey let the conversation lapse for a few minutes while he finished dressing for his mission. He was once again in his old uniform—sans pins—with plenty of padding hidden beneath his clothes and in strategic places. If Stanzy'd been even remotely diligent in her Basic training, then she'd have a few instinctual moves ready, and his leather armor would help protect him from a well-placed kick or punch. He snapped the cuffs of his pants down over his boots. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Tristan replied.

"Good. Let's move out," Casey commanded, getting to his feet and shouldering his bag. They would first drop off their packs at the abandoned hospital and then stake out their places near Forest Park garden.

As they left the old storefront, Casey and Tristan fell into step together, moving swiftly along the sidewalks towards their destination. They'd gone several blocks before they saw a single soul from Fordmyer's platoon. Fordmyer had been true to his word. His men's deployment schedule left gaping holes in the north district. Casey and Tristan had no issues sidling through them on their way to their next hideout.

Arriving at the back of the building, Casey and Tristan vaulted the low wall into the dilapidated car garage and hustled up the incline to get farther away from the street. Once above eye level, they slowed and took a breather behind a cement column before continuing toward the hospital entrance. At the glass doors, Casey knocked some jagged pieces lose and ducked inside. Turning right, Casey climbed the stairs and said, "It's this way," referring to the room he'd picked as their hideout.

Tristan followed silently after him.

Once on the third floor, Casey left the parking garage stairwell for the hospital proper. The two men crossed the sky bridge and into the hospital atrium. They stopped on the west side of the building overlooking the park. Although the glass was missing from the window at the end of the hall, Casey didn't fear discovery. For one, the building was on the outer edge of the standard patrol zone. Two, Fordmyer had done his job, and three, even well-trained soldiers didn't look up to check on threats in abandoned buildings when their lives weren't in danger. So, as long as they didn't make a sound, they were free from discovery.

"Once more from the top," Casey began as he moved away from the exposed lookout point. "I'll attempt to lure Stanzy away from the main thoroughfare for the drop while you keep watch from a distance. When I have her in hand, you come in and help me secure her before we head here. On our way, you'll act as my scout and warn me of danger. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Loaded?" Casey asked as he checked his revolver.

"Yes, sir."

Casey took a deep breath and released it slowly. "If anything goes wrong, leave me there and meet the others. We have to save as many as we can."

"Yes, sir."

"All right, time to go."

***

Casey kept completely still hidden in the shadows of the alleyway as Stanzy paced a few feet in away.

"Where is he?" she muttered, looking up and down the street. "I want to go home."

He let her stew in her impatience for several more minutes. Eventually, she groaned. "He's not coming. Not coming! I'm going to leave." But she did not move, and so Casey did not either.

After several more minutes of her muttering and craning her neck to find him, Stanzy tossed her hands in the air in a universal 'I give up' signal, and Casey relaxed. She'd given him what he'd been waiting for, and as she checked both ways—presumably looking for him one last time—he stepped from his hiding place and signaled her with a small whistle.

Stanzy abruptly turned toward the sound and smiled. "Good! I was about to leave."

Casey beckoned her over. It took her several steps before she paused, an expression of concern formed. He tried not to smile and instead waved her over again with feigned impatience. Stanzy hesitated, but evidently, her desire for more smokes overruled her common sense, and she crossed the remaining distance to stop in front of him.

Before she could demand answers about the product or where he'd been, Casey snagged her wrist in a punishing grip and spun her, so her back rested against his chest with her arm pinned across her abdomen. Simultaneously, he clapped his free hand over her mouth, drawing her head back and to his shoulder, immobilizing her.

Now three-fourths of her attack vectors were neutralized. She could neither elbow Casey in the chest, nor could she head-butt him. The position also removed her teeth from the equation. She could bite his hand but not his ear, which was okay by him. His palms were tough. But the most significant benefit would be her inability to scream.

"Shh," Casey cautioned as she flailed her legs, trying to kick him.

She landed a few blows to his shins, and he'd have to thank Noah again. With the leather armor under his pants, he hardly felt her boots as they bounced off the padding harmlessly.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Casey told her as he backed into the alleyway and checked for witnesses. "But you _are_ coming with me."

She screamed something behind his hand, which sounded a lot like: 'no, I'm not', 'help', and 'fuck you'. There might have even been an 'asshole' in there, but Casey couldn't be sure. He chuckled, which appeared to give her pause, for she stopped thrashing in his arms.

He tightened his grip, and she whimpered.

"I promise where you're going is better," Casey said.

Again, she uttered something muffled, which Casey decided to translate into: 'the hell I will'.

"Louis?" Casey called, using Tristan's code name.

"Here, Bren," Tristan replied, materializing out of the dark. He quickly looped a bit of cloth around Stanzy's head, sliding it under Casey's fingers and into Stanzy's mouth. As Tristan tied it off, Casey released her lips to grip her wrists and pull them in front of her body for Tristan to secure next.

"Secure her feet?" Tristan asked as he cuffed Stanzy.

Casey had to think about it. On the one hand, it made sense, but on the other, it would mark her as their prisoner. Well, more of one. She'd be a flight risk and an occupational hazard if her legs were free of restraints. It was bad enough they were cuffing her at all, Casey he couldn't justify hobbling her. Tristan and Casey would have to be more vigilant instead.

"Proceed as we discussed," he said, ordering Tristan forward.

Tristan replied with a crisp, "Yes, sir," and moved to take point.

Leaning down to speak into Stanzy's ear, Casey commanded, "Now walk." She whimpered but stepped forward out of the alley and across the street to the next one.

They'd gone a block or two when a noise caught Casey's attention, and they paused. Tristan signed that he would take a look and circle around while Casey and Stanzy waited for an all-clear. Unfortunately, Stanzy had other ideas, and as Tristan disappeared around the corner, she took that moment to scream out around her gag. Casey clapped a hand over her mouth before Stanzy had done so much as inhaled sharply. He'd known she would do it, but that didn't help him now. Casey had to get her into the shadows and away from possible observation.

He pushed her back against a building using his body to shield her from view. She tried to knee him in the groin, but Casey deflected it with his thigh pressed between her legs. He'd been ready for that maneuver as well.

"Quiet," he growled, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want you hurt, and you have to come with me."

"Halt," a rough and raspy voice commanded behind him. The speaker was familiar, but the only soldier Casey knew who was even remotely that hoarse would be Brad, but Brad typically sounded sick not... damaged. "Let the girl go and put your hands on your head."

Casey brought a finger to his lips and indicated Stanzy should be quiet. Her eyes rounded and crossed a little, trying to keep his finger in her sight. She nodded once, but Casey didn't believe she would stay silent.

Turning slowly, Casey kept Stanzy pressed against the wall with his back. Pinned as she was, she wouldn't be able to attack him, and he noted her quiet whimpers and rapid breathing as he focused on this new threat. The first thing Casey saw was the gun trained on his chest.

Never a good sign.

Casey's gaze traveled up the aggressor's arm and spied the CPS pin on the soldier's lapel.

"Casey?"

That softly spoken question had Casey glancing up enough to meet the CPS's eyes.

"Matt?"

Dropping his gun to his side, Matt exclaimed, "What are you doing, Case?"

"I know it looks bad," Casey began putting his hands in front of him in a placating manner. "Do you trust me?"

Matt's brows drew together in a frown. "I did," he admitted. "What are you doing in Fort St. Louis? Did Fort Sutton disband? Is Lincoln here?" he asked.

Matt swallowed audibly. "Did you... Are you..."

Casey halted him with a signal. "You remember when I escorted Bean to Fort St. Louis." Matt nodded. Casey glanced at Stanzy over his shoulder before he returned his focus to Matt. "I didn't take her here."

"You didn't?"

Casey shook his head. He heard footsteps and needed to hurry. "You remember that drifter we had leaving notes in our decoys?" Again, Matt nodded. Casey continued, "Well, that man was gracious enough to hide Bean in his home and watch over her and Greysen. By the time you left, we'd all formed a friendship, recruited Tristan and Javier to the cause, and built a mission around rescuing her mother from a secret facility."

Stanzy inhaled sharply behind him, and he nodded in confirmation to what he presumed were her unvoiced questions. "Long story cut incredibly short, the mission was successful, and I now live with Bean, Greysen, my daughter Hope, and about sixteen other souls."

He used his thumb to indicate Stanzy against the wall. "We're getting her and a few others out tonight. We'll take them back to the settlement so that they can live with us in peace."

Matt's brows, which had been relaxing, drew down in a steep V. "Why? I don't understand. Why her? Why not someone they won't miss?"

Casey sighed. "In a few days, when she turns eighteen, she's going to be declared dead and taken to Gate's research hospital in upstate Missouri. Once there, the surgeons will force her to procreate with select military personnel. She will never leave the building again. The only highlight for her would have been getting to meet her biological mother."

Stanzy made a soft choking sound, and Casey regretted her learning the details of their mission before she'd had a chance to warm up to him and his team.

Materializing out of the dark, Tristan stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Matt's shoulder, making Matt start violently. "Bell," Matt said as a way of greeting.

"Coden," Tristan replied. "We need to go," Tristan said, stating the obvious. Casey nodded.

"Will you report us?" Casey asked, knowing this would be a real test of Matt's loyalty to him, and they all knew it.

"You aren't going to harm her?" Matt asked, his tone unsure.

Casey shook his head. "No one will harm her." When Matt didn't reply right away, Casey asked, "Do you trust that I will do everything in my power to protect those under my command?" More silence.

With a signal from Casey, Tristan tensed, ready to knock Matt out. They'd wasted too much time.

"If you cannot let us go based on my character alone, can you do it as a repayment of my favor?" Casey hated playing that card, but if using Matt's transfer to CPS helped in getting everyone out of this situation, then Casey wasn't above using it.

Matt nodded tensely, shrugged out from under Tristan's arm.

Casey felt his shoulders unclench. He reached behind him and grabbed Stanzy by the arm and yanked her out from behind him.

"Move," he whispered to her. "Move quickly. We are too exposed."

As they passed Matt, Matt nodded to them and stepped aside. Casey turned to consider Stanzy when her breath caught, and he saw a tear slide down her cheek.

"All will be—" Casey started, but fingers on his shoulder had him reacting instinctually, and he threw an elbow back to catch his assailant in the chest. When he missed, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Matt a few feet away, his expression uncertain.

Casey pulled Stanzy to a halt, and by extension, Tristan stopped moving forward.

"Yes?" Casey prompted.

"Are you taking... soldiers"—Matt appeared to stumble over the word, and Casey's curiosity was piqued—"to this camp of yours?"

"Depends on their reason for wanting to be there."

Matt's Adam's apple bobbed with his swallow. "I know... I know someone who wants to leave but hasn't. Can't. They're afraid of being caught. If I send the soldier your way," Matt's words trailed off.

"You haven't answered my question," Casey chided, giving Matt his usual cold gaze. "Why does he want to leave?"

Matt took a step closer and then another. He leaned down and whispered in Casey's ear. " _He_ identifies as _she_ and is my partner on patrol most days."

Casey had a moment to be thankful they were not moving, for if they were, he would have stumbled.

_Transgender?_

He'd heard of soldiers thrown in prison for breaking with the social more of the Army but had never met someone such as Matt's patrol partner. There was little to no way for a biologically born male to embrace his feminine gender when all male infants were pulled from society and treated differently. A young boy fighting his known gender would be nearly impossible. Which is why Casey assumed he'd never met someone of that persuasion before. They hid their needs out of extreme necessity.

"Yes," Casey said, knowing he had only one real answer. "As soon as I am able, I will send I-Comm Private Busch. He will give you instructions."

Matt nodded and stepped back. "When should I expect him?"

"Unknown," Casey replied. "But I will not forget. Tell her to keep with the charade. I will come for her as soon as I am able."

Matt nodded again. "I will tell her." He glanced over his shoulder. "Go quickly. Someone's coming. I'll stall them."

Casey only knew of one way to honor Matt in this situation. He drew himself tall and gave his former subordinate a crisp salute. His hand returned to his side, and as he pivoted, he urged Stanzy and Tristan to run while he limped along beside her.

***

It was full dark by the time Casey, Tristan, and Stanzy arrived at the old hospital, and by prior arrangement, Tristan grabbed Stanzy's elbow as Casey shifted his grip, and they lifted her from the ground. They charged around the base of the parking garage entrance and hustled up the steep incline to the second level. At the top, they followed the faded center line and set her down.

"Stick to the middle," Casey murmured as he prodded Stanzy along.

She grumbled something around her gag but kept her feet moving.

Casey had to admit, for someone facing an unknown future at the hands of two strangers, Stanzy was handling herself quite admirably.

The three of them entered the stairwell and climbed to the next story before entering the hospital proper. "Wait here," Casey said to Stanzy and moved a few feet forward to check the area within sightlines of the sky bridge. "All clear, Tristan," Casey said, having long since dropped the code name after Matt let that fact slip.

"Got her," Tristan answered.

Casey strode forward, knowing Tristan and Stanzy would follow. He was counting on the night hiding his movement should anyone be looking up at that moment.

In no time at all, they were across the most exposed section of the hospital and on their way to the mission center hideout. He paused at the edge of the hallway and signaled Tristan to halt. When no other sounds came to them, he whistled a short tune to announce not only their presence but their success to Brice and Fordmyer. Palpable tension in the air eased, and soft voices greeted him from the darkness.

"Are the others there yet?" Casey asked, referring to Surgeon Armstrong, and the girls.

"No," came Fordmyer's reply.

It wasn't a setback, Casey reminded himself. She wasn't due to arrive until early morning. When he turned back to where he'd left Tristan and Stanzy, it was so dark he had to anticipate their location. Letting his senses be his guide, he hunkered near the warmth he felt on his arms. Once he drew near enough, he could scent Stanzy's sweat—a sharp, acidic smell originating from fear. Without a better way to know her location, he addressed the scent, "I'm going to untie your hands, and Tristan will remove your gag. Can you be quiet?"

A mumbled sound came from Stanzy, which he chose to interpret as an affirmative. He had to adjust his estimate for her height as her form slowly becoming visible as his eyes acclimated to the new light level in the room.

"Tristan," he prompted as he unsheathed his knife and cut the bonds around her arms. He could discern the movement of her rubbing her wrist, but barely.

"Was that all true?" Stanzy asked at a whisper.

"Which part," Casey inquired.

"The whole daughter-Hope-thing and a settlement?"

"Yes."

"Why?" she asked, her tone indicated a genuine curiosity and Casey breathed deep.

She wouldn't yell for help. Yet.

"Why what?" he inquired.

"Why is there a settlement? Why was I slated to 'die'? Why any of it?"

Casey sighed, but before he could answer, Tristan did, "Valid questions. But, I ask, can you trust anythin' we say?"

"Tristan," Casey growled. Way to ruin the trust he'd attempted to build, but, unfortunately, Tristan's words had made an impression, and Stanzy's relaxed state disappeared. Casey wanted to curse Tristan but managed, with a supreme effort, to keep from doing so.

"I'm tryin' to show her why she can trust us."

Casey had intended to reassure her of their honorable intentions once she saw the others. As it appeared now, she was about to be the plaything for four soldiers. Casey's hand hovered in front of her lips, ready to halt her mid-scream, but it didn't come. Okay, why was she so calm? He lifted his hand to signal Tristan before his friend could begin his spiel. "Stanzy?" he began. "Why did you agree to be quiet just now?"

She licked her lips, and Casey offered her his canteen, assuming she was thirsty. After a drink, she said, "It's stuff like that."

"Stuff like that?" Tristan echoed her statement as a question.

"Elaborate," Casey requested.

She sighed. "If you were going to rape me, you wouldn't have brought me back here. You would have picked a location near where we agreed to meet, done the deed, and then moved on."

"But I have others here."

"Again, if you were going to hurt me that way, why go to all the trouble to reassure me? Give me water? Let me free of the bonds? None of it makes sense for someone-s"—she amended after a tiny pause—"intent on harming another. I'm not stupid, you could turn on me at any time, but I noticed how quiet the streets were. I noticed how only one CPS soldier was on patrol instead of the usual two. I noticed how you hid in the shadows, dressed in uniform, and acted like a CO when you never did before."

Stanzy shrugged. "I noticed how that soldier with the warped voice deferred to you, though it is clear you are not his current CO. And if he believed you after seeing me vulnerable, all trussed up and pressed against the wall, then what else would I think?"

Casey glanced at Tristan, who appeared—if the different colored shadows were indicators—to sit there next to her with his mouth hanging open in shock.

"Well, that summed it up rather nicely, don't you think?" Casey asked him, his irritation forgotten.

A chuckle from the other men was the only acknowledgment of his question.

"I'm guessing you have a few Brass in your pocket, too," she said. "Hell, you might be Brass." Casey held back his chortle at what he assumed was a squinty expression. "Are you?"

"I'm about as far from Brass as you can get."

"Well... Now..." Tristan added.

"As of a year ago," he agreed, figuring Tristan meant his dishonorable discharge.

"Little under," Tristan amended.

Casey sighed. So, he'd been right. "Quit nitpicking—"

"—See," she said, cutting him off. "I figure, if you've gone to all this trouble to get me out, then I ought to listen to what you have to say. Who knows, maybe this is a good thing."

Casey and Tristan shared another glance even though it was too dark for either of them to see it adequately.

***

They spent the next several hours in the dark, talking about inconsequential things, but finally, the hour arrived for Casey to go and meet Carla and Trish. He excused himself from the room with an admonishment for quiet and strode away, his cane tapping softly against the broken tile lining the hallway. Casey would have preferred to have left his handicap behind like he did on the prior mission securing Stanzy, but circumstances prevented that luxury.

He would be alone during this task, and his cane made an excellent weapon should he need it for such a purpose. Besides, as opposed to Stanzy's rescue, Carla knew to expect him and wouldn't require force to secure her cooperation.

Exiting the sky bridge, Casey made his way down the stairs, down the ramp, and out onto the street. He edged to the corner and confirmed his path was clear. Affecting an I-belong-here attitude, Casey left the hospital grounds for his first proposed rendezvous point.

He arrived at the northeast corner of the park, but no woman smuggling a child was out there.

Casey forced himself to blended into the shadows, his attention aimed to be everywhere, but even with all his senses alert, he failed to hear anything out of the ordinary. After several minutes of waiting, Casey eased into motion. She wasn't going to make this drop point. Instead, he'd try the next predetermined location.

Shifting, so the shadows concealed his movement, Casey walked backward to the alley and ducked inside the narrow space.

The smell of wet brick tickled his nose. The recent rain made the air thick with humidity and gave Casey a sense of confinement he hadn't felt earlier while traveling this same road. He hoped Carla and Trish were at the next meeting spot.

He walked for two kilometers to the further most corner of Fordmyer's territory and knew Carla and Trish were not there.

He waited anyway.

As the minutes dragged on, his skin tingled, pricking with sweat and nerves and grew tight with suppressed emotion. The only sounds Casey heard came from his own feet as he kicked a small rock across the alley. It skittered and bounced down the road before coming to a stop with a thunk against a wall. He stiffened with tension.

Cursing his stupidity, he forced his feet still. Carla wasn't going to meet him here, he thought and decided he ought to leave. There was one more pre-determined place for him to go, but if the two of them weren't there? He assumed he'd have to backtrack in the vain hope of finding them.

Stepping out from the shadows, Casey meandered through the streets as if drunk, hoping he appeared intoxicated enough to be returning home from a night at a State-bar. He wouldn't pass a real inspection of his antics, but maybe it would be enough to keep him from looking too suspicious.

He needn't have worried. The one patrol he spotted was far away and barely spared him a glance.

Approaching the last station, Casey paused to update his situational awareness. The patrol sounded a block over—unhurried—unlike the lighter footsteps headed his way. The harried steps practically thundered in the quiet of the night, announcing the owner's location as if they wore a glowing beacon. In addition to their quick movement, Casey could hear the muffled sounds of a child crying.

He peeked around the corner.

A woman in standard-issue cargos, hair pulled up off her neck, hustled toward him. In her arms was a blanket with two tiny shoes peeking out from beneath its edge.

"Pst," Casey called, and the woman squawked. "Shh," he said. "This way, quick."

When she rounded the corner, she asked, "Casey, right?"

"Yes," he answered, leading her toward his original hideout. He needed her calm and the child in her arms to stop crying! They reached the location, and he pushed the door open, ushering her inside.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"The communal director wouldn't let me go. And then, I come to find out she's afraid of the dark!" the woman said. Casey assumed Carla meant the child and not the communal director.

"Okay, Carla, right?" he confirmed, and she nodded. "Take a deep breath," Casey urged. He stepped close and teased the blanket back from Trish's eyes, revealing dark brown irises a second before she buried her head in Carla's neck. "Will she let me carry her?"

"I don't know," Carla replied. "I'll ask her." Addressing her next question to the little girl in her arms, the woman said, "Trisha, honey? Can this nice man carry you? My arms are tired."

Dark brown eyes peeked out from their hiding spot in Carla's neck and regarded him thoughtfully.

"Trish?" Casey called, going by the nickname in her file.

Trish nodded.

"We can move faster if I carry you. Will you let me? I'll keep you safe. Promise," Casey offered, hoping to sell her on his ability to protect her.

Trish appeared to think about it and began to hum. After a few bars of a melody, Casey could not identify, Trish nodded and released her death grip on Carla and transferred her body to Casey. Her weight was slight, practically the same heft as Greysen, and Casey snugged her against his hip while Carla fixed the blanket around Trish.

"Carla, can you jog?"

"I-I think so," she stammered.

"Good," Casey murmured. "We're not safe here, and we need to get to the secured location on the other side of Forest Park. It's approximately three kilometers away. Do your best to keep up."

He heard Carla swallow, and he adjusted their anticipated speed downward, knowing she hadn't kept up with her physical training the same way he and his men did. He would need to be mindful of that fact as they fled.

Casey strode to the door, trailing Carla behind him like a comet tail. Checking the alleyway, he confirmed no one moved near them, and he propped the door open for Carla. "To the right," he said. "Go. Now."

And thankfully, she went.

***

Casey held up a hand, signaling Carla to wait. He heard someone speaking up ahead.

"Where are we going?" the feminine voice trembled. "Surgeon Armstrong?"— _That would be Karsyn_ , Casey thought. They were early, by at least an hour—" Why are we out here? This isn't right. We shouldn't be here."

"Shh," Surgeon Armstrong replied. "We're almost there."

"Almost where? Where are you taking us? What are we doing?" With each question, Karsyn's tone ratcheted up higher, exposing her panic to anyone who cared to listen.

Casey handed Trish back to Carla and pressed a finger to his lips. Carla nodded and held the dozing child closer to her chest. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and twisted his head, letting only his eye and part of his forehead peek around the corner.

Karsyn, Armstrong, and Lucy were approximately twenty-five feet in front of him. They were almost to the edge of the hospital property. Karsyn's head whipped back and forth often as she trailed after the tiny surgeon who carried a similar bundle to Carla's in her arms. The little blonde girl, Lucy, lifted her head from Surgeon Armstrong's shoulder and looked around. It pleased Casey to see her alert and calm. Hopefully, she would stay that way.

He returned his focus to Carla. "We will wait here for them to get inside."

She nodded.

With her acceptance obtained, Casey began his count, forcing his attention back to the immediate area around them. His decision, once made, left them exposed, but the alternative of following too close to the other three would create a scene Casey needed to avoid at all costs. Besides, once the other women were inside, Armstrong ought to give Karsyn more details about where they were going—and Casey hoped—brace Karsyn for what else she would find once she made it to the hideout room.

Three minutes later, Casey took Trish back from Carla and guided Carla toward the parking garage, where they ascended the ramp, stairs, and then crossed the sky bridge. They arrived in time to hear Karsyn hyperventilating. He motioned Carla inside the room and joined Armstrong in her attempt to calm Karsyn.

"Karsyn," he said.

Karsyn squeaked. "He knows my name! How does he know my name!"

"Karsyn," Casey tried again.

She turned her head in his direction, and Casey knew she was dangerously close to a full-on panic attack if he could see the whites of her eyes in the low light of the room. "Karsyn," he said a third time, using his most commanding voice in his arsenal. He hoped the association between his tone and her drill sergeant would break her from her panic cycle. "We're rescuing you."

"Rescue? Rescue?" she sputtered.

"Yes," Stanzy said from her post near the wall.

Karsyn screamed, and Casey cut it off with a well-placed hand to her mouth.

"Please calm yourself," he murmured to her. "No one here is going to hurt you. Nod if you understand." Casey decided to take her full body tremor as a confirmation she understood.

"How much did you tell her," he asked Surgeon Armstrong.

"Only enough to get her here."

Casey sighed. He'd hoped for more. Turning his attention back to Karsyn, he said, "I need you to be quiet for me." He felt that full-body tremor of hers again. "I'm going to give you a quick rundown of what to expect, all right?" Karsyn nodded, and Casey removed his hand.

"There are ten of us in the room. My mission is to get all ten of us out. We have another hideout we need to reach by dawn. We need to be as far from here as possible. Do you understand?"

Casey felt confident, Karsyn shook her head. A moment later, she confirmed this fact when she muttered a negative confirmation.

"I'm not asking you to understand the _why_ of it, only the truth. We are leaving, and you are coming with us. No arguments. No resistance. Understand?"

"Yes," she said, her tone barely more than a whisper.

"Good," Casey said, regretting the need to scare her into compliance.

"Brice?" he said. "Take point."

Casey felt the air in the room move as Brice complied with his request. A second later, the distinct sound of a man equipping himself with a combat-grade backpack filtered through the room. Brice's load up seemed to be the impetus required for the rest of Casey's men, for he heard the other two grabbing their bags from the floor and putting them on.

"Fordmyer," Casey said over the noise. "take Trish from Carla and follow behind Brice. Carla, you follow Fordmyer and calm Trish if she panics."

"Okay," Carla said, her tone quiet but sure.

A hand grasped Casey's shoulder, and he felt his bag's strap brush his fingers. He took the pack and put it on.

"Stanzy," Casey said. "You've run some drills with a standard-issue pack, correct?"

"Yes."

"Good," Casey said. "Take one of the spares along the wall and walk with Karsyn. I think she'd appreciate your take on these recent events."

"You got it," Stanzy replied, and he heard her murmur "take my hand" to Karsyn.

"Stanzy," Casey called again, pulling her from her discourse with Karsyn. "You are to follow after Carla."

Turning to address the dark shadow he assumed was Surgeon Armstrong, he said, "I got you a pack. You good to carry it?"

"Yes," Armstrong replied.

"Good. I want you to give Lucy to Tristan to carry and then follow Karsyn and Stanzy. Tristan, you take her six, and I'll get yours."

"Got it," Tristan confirmed.

"Brice?" Casey called.

"Yeah?"

"You know the way to our next waypoint, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then lead us out of here," Casey commanded and fell into his position at the rear of the column.

***

Casey kept a steady scan of their surroundings as Brice led them southeast through the neighborhood adjacent to the old hospital. The threat of discovery at this crucial stage of their escape was second only to their mission's initiation. Anything could go wrong. He gripped his cane's handle tight in his hand. The rough scales of the carved dragon's snout bit into his palm, and he belatedly realized he'd never taken the time to search the hospital's storage rooms for supplies. It was too late, and he hoped his oversite wouldn't become an issue in the future.

As they walked, it became clear Brice had some skill at maneuvering a large group through hostile territory unseen by deploying several tactical actions geared toward concealment and stealth. Casey didn't like the man, but at least he was competent.

Letting his attention drift from Brice at the head of their party, Casey gazed at each person next in line, gauging their fatigue, awareness, comfort, and overall stress levels. Fordmyer strode confidently behind Brice with Trish asleep in his arms. Carla twitched and jumped at every shadow, but otherwise kept herself calm. Stanzy gazed around wide-eyed in wonder, her fingers wrapped around the straps of her bag, and Casey had to revise his opinion on the young woman once again. Then there was Karsyn. The young woman quaked with fear, and Casey wanted to go to her and reassure her all would be well. Unfortunately, now was not the time. Hopefully, by the time the danger of discovery had passed, she would mellow to them all. Lastly was Armstrong. She walked confidently, eyes scanning the area fearlessly, her pack bouncing with each step.

Motion in Casey's peripheral vision dragged his attention from his assessment, and he turned to look. An eye peeked at them from around a corner, not more than fifty feet away. Casey casually holstered his cane in its designated strap on his bag and quietly gained Tristan's attention. "Trouble on our three," he whispered. "Watch the column for me."

"Yes, sir," Tristan answered.

Casey increased his speed, avoiding the middle of the column, to reach Fordmyer. The rapid change in the movement must have created concern in their observer since the eye's owner ducked back behind the edge of the wall.

"Fordmyer," Casey said as he stepped up beside the huge black man. "I need you to head south a block, loop to the west, and return north on the street over there," he said with a twitch of his head to indicate the last known location of the observer. "I anticipate the threat to be heading south. We need to be quick to neutralize it."

"Got it," Fordmyer responded.

He spun to hand Trish to Karsyn and his pack to Stanzy. Once the handoff was complete, he broke into a nearly silent, lopsided trot. Casey veered toward the corner where he'd last seen the threat and feared it would be too late. Reaching the corner, he peeked around it, checking for motion. Luck was with him. The roadway was little more than a glorified alley with tall, decaying fences along its length. Near the center of the road, skulking along in the shadows, was the figure Casey had seen spying on them only moments before.

Casey jogged toward him.

The person spied Casey and sprinted in the other direction toward his presumed freedom. Casey increased his speed, counting on Fordmyer to be where Casey needed him most. Fordmyer stepped into the way. The interloper skidded to a halt, hands up in a placating manner, as Fordmyer stepped from the shadows. Casey closed the distance as Fordmyer, and the stranger made a few dodge and block moves. The stranger's smaller size lent him speed, but Fordmyer appeared to have plenty of tricks at the ready to counter the would-be informant's attack. As the opponent attempted to punch Fordmyer, Casey tackled him from behind.

They fell among the ancient broken glass, and Casey heard the unmistakable crunch of bone snapping. The captive screamed, a sound of surprise and pain. It hadn't been loud, but it would draw an investigation by a patrol if one were nearby.

Their time to deal with the threat had shrunk to almost nothing.

Shifting back on his heels, Casey tugged the man's arms out from under his body. The stranger whimpered as Casey held the man's damaged arm in one hand.

Casey rolled his shoulders, and his pack moved on his back, reminding him of the fact he'd chased the man down without removing it. No time to ditch it now. Not after the man's scream. Casey knew what he had to do and did not like it one bit.

"Can you see what is on the other side of that fence?" Casey asked Fordmyer.

Fordmyer stepped close and peeked through the slats. "Overgrown yard."

"Can you hop it?"

Fordmyer tugged experimentally at the fence. It flexed, and he shook his head.

"Dammit," Casey growled and hoisted the captive to a standing position, making sure to keep him compliant by gripping the broken bone tightly in his hands.

"Find me a fence that we can either scale or enter via a gate and do it quickly."

Fordmyer saluted before pivoting and heading down the alleyway, and Casey tugged his whimpering captive along in Fordmyer's wake.

A few fences down, Fordmyer paused and waved Casey closer. "Here," he said, motioning to the split in the boards.

"Take 'em," Casey said. After Fordmyer had secured the prisoner, Casey shucked his pack, setting it against the boards and slipped through the thin break in the fence.

"Give 'im to me. Broken arm first. Then, take my pack and get the column moving again. I'll catch up soon."

"Got it," Fordmyer replied and began pushing the captive through the hole.

Casey had a moment to be thankful the prisoner was not as bulky as Fordmyer, or he might not have made it through the hole. Casey squared his shoulders and grabbed the man around the forearm, yanking him the rest of the way through and putting pressure on the break.

"Go. Now," Casey barked to Fordmyer over the man's whimpers.

As Fordmyer's steps retreated, Casey forced the man toward the dilapidated house. Stopping at the wall, Casey brought the would-be informant to his knees, twisting the man's broken arm behind his back while he did so.

"I'm sorry," Casey said, feeling sick at what he had to do. Unsheathing his knife, Casey brought it to the man's neck, pricking the skin with its tip. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I hope you will find peace," Casey added, and then he cut.

# Chapter 29

Dawn's first blush had already come and gone before Casey waved Tristan over. Casey shifted Lucy in his arms and nearly dropped her as his muscles protested the movement. What had once been a negligible weight to carry, had grown exponentially harder as the kilometers slipped under his feet. Though he made sure to alternate who held the two youngest so that no one adult felt overtaxed, everyone was tired and needed rest. It had been a long, trying night of jumping at shadows and sidestepping dangers, and although they wouldn't quite make it to his original goal, they weren't too far away from it, either.

"Tell Brice to stop," Casey said when Tristan drew level with him. "We're going to take refuge in that garage over there."

"You got it, Case."

Casey didn't wait for Tristan to get up to Brice before heading to their day's hideout and instead called to Surgeon Armstrong in front of him. "This way," he said softly, leading her across the street.

She veered from the path in front of her and caught up to him quickly. Her defection caught Stanzy and Karsyn's eye, and they too peeled off to follow. Eventually, the whole crew made their way to the outbuilding Casey had selected.

Standing beside the rusted wrought-iron fence, Casey considered the darkened interior of the garage through a broken window. Nothing appeared to move, and Casey figured that was a good sign. They were far from the epicenter of Fort St. Louis, and the only citizenry they'd encountered in their overnight travels were a few drifters such as themselves.

He dispatched all of them.

It pained Casey immensely, but he couldn't have left any of them alive and in a position to tell the Brass of his merry band's location. Casey's hands—much like his shirt—felt permanently stained with the blood of the three men he'd killed to preserve this mission.

A hand landed on his shoulder, disrupting Casey's memories. "Sweep and clear?" Fordmyer asked.

"More like a cobweb find and sputter, but yeah," Casey said, earning a chuckle from those who heard him. "Do a sweep and clear for me."

"You got it," Fordmyer replied, and pushed the door open with a well-placed shove against the dry rotten boards. A moment later, he stuck his head out of the doorway he'd entered. "Clear. Nothing in here but some bugs and an old car."

"Car?" one of the girls exclaimed at the same time as the other yelled, "Bugs?!". Casey felt too tired to parse which one had said which.

"Come see it," Fordmyer said, waving them in. "It's one of those self-driving jobbies they recalled nearly thirty years ago."

Casey shrugged, disinterested, and shifted Lucy in his arms while he let everyone else enter the garage before him. He'd seen a few dead vehicles before, so this one held no appeal.

"Kit?" a tiny voice called, and Casey felt Lucy tense in his arms. "Kit?!"

"Shh," he whispered and entered the room behind everyone else. Lucy nodded and dropped her head against Casey's chest, exhausted. Once inside, he pushed the door closed with his foot and set Lucy down. She promptly ran over to Armstrong and tugged on her sleeve.

Armstrong lowered her ear to Lucy's height and listened. Her lips turned down in a frown as Lucy spoke. She murmured something to the girl and straightened. Casey watched her advance toward him.

"What's wrong?" he asked when she came close enough.

"Bathroom break."

Well, shit, he thought. He couldn't let them leave the garage, they would be too exposed, but finding privacy with nine others was next to impossible. Armstrong's eyebrow lifted when Casey didn't respond. "Working on it," he finally acknowledged. She nodded, content with his answer, and left his side to reassure Lucy she'd have a place to pee soon enough.

He sighed and glanced toward the car. Fordmyer had the threadbare cover flipped up, and Stanzy was touching the hood with reverence. At one time, the vehicle—a _Cocijo_ , by the looks of the hood emblem—probably worked great, but after years of disuse and no tender loving care, the tires had dry-rotted out from under the self-steering electric car the guts had probably rusted out too. Casey's gaze snagged on the cover the prior owner had used to protect the vehicle and an idea formed.

"Tristan?"

"Sir?"

Casey shook himself from his thoughts. He couldn't afford to let his mind wander, too many people counted on him, especially the little girls. He needed to stay sharp. Vigilant. "Bring me that cover," he said, pointing to the one Fordmyer held. "We're going to section off a corner as we did for Katie at the command shed."

"Gotcha," Tristan replied and pulled on the cover opposite Fordmyer. It slipped from Fordmyer's hands, Tristan wadded it in his arms. As the last half slid over the hood, Casey heard a faint rip. The remaining few inches of the cover trailed behind the rest as if it were a tail, providing visual proof it had torn under Tristan's ministrations.

Finished with the task, Tristan joined Casey as he moved to a corner away from the door and searched for some hooks or something sharp to secure the cover to the wall. There wasn't much, but the usual decomposition of the building provided a few pieces of exposed hardware, allowing the two of them to rig up something.

As they finished, Stanzy headed over with a bucket in her hand. She handed it to Casey. "The toilet?" she questioned, presumably to explain why she offered it.

He took it from her. "The toilet," he agreed and ducked around the fabric wall. The cordoned-off corner was tight, and everyone would know what you were doing back here, but at least no one would be able to watch.

_Watch_. That reminded Casey. He needed to cover up the broken window.

Coming out from behind the curtain, Casey nodded to Armstrong, who, in turn, grabbed Lucy's hand and brought her to the restroom.

"Thanks," Armstrong murmured as they passed, and Casey nodded while he surveyed the room.

It was rather barren inside, but there were some shelves along the wall, and from where Casey stood, he could see something coiled on a shelf. Since it didn't move, he assumed it was a rope or maybe a watering hose. Below it was a few boards browned with age.

"You see any nails," he asked Brice and Fordmyer, who stood next to the shelves. After a cursory glance, they shook their head. "Damn," Casey muttered. There went that idea.

Stepping around the car, he joined them and gave the shelves an experimental tug. The unit moved an inch along the floor with a loud scraping noise, and Casey winced. "Grab that side," Casey ordered Fordmyer or Brice. He didn't care who complied, only that one of them did.

Fordmyer stepped over and wrapped his hands around the support. "Next?"

Casey indicated Fordmyer should walk backward with a jerk of his chin. "Over there. By the window," he directed.

With Fordmyer's help, he moved the shelves without making too much noise. Once they set it down, he grabbed their packs and piled them on the shelves. The action satisfied his purpose nicely. Not only were the bags out of the way, but the window was mostly blocked as well.

He turned to the group and noticed Armstrong and Lucy were back from their bathroom foray.

_Good._ Casey had a few more orders to give the group.

"At the risk of stating the obvious," Casey began. "We will need to keep our voices down and our movements to a minimum. No fires. Stay inside. Keep all eating and drinking to a minimum. If anyone is hunting for us—and if they aren't already, then they will be soon—we don't want to lead them here by a careless fire or casual conversation or even frequent visits to the restroom." He paused and ran a hand through his hair. Sweat from the heat and rust-brown flakes of dried blood coated his palm, and he grimaced at the reminder of the men he'd killed.

Stripping out of his blood coated shirt, Casey wadded it up and shoved it in his pack. He then fished a fresh shirt out and then quickly put it on. He'd have to wash the dirty one before he could wear it again.

Turning back to the group, he assessed who to pair with who during the upcoming watch. Everyone's exhaustion was palpable, and Casey regretted it, knowing it would only get worse for the next few days. He supposed that the best way to let everyone else get as much rest as possible would be for him to take on two watches himself. As the leader and presumably the most physically fit member of the team, Casey also ought to take on the two weakest members of the band as his partners.

"Carla and I'll take first and Stanzy," Casey announced. "and I'll do the evening watch shortly before we leave. Tristan? Brice?" He waited for them to acknowledge him. "You guys are next," he said, pairing his most trusted friend with the least trusted member of their group.

"Yes, sir," Tristan and Brice replied.

"Armstrong? Fordmyer? You will take the late afternoon and into the evening." Casey paused to yawn. "Everyone else, get some rest."

As everyone began complying with his order, there was a shuffling of bodies while people found places to lay down or otherwise get comfortable in the stifling heat of the closed-off building, and Casey frowned at the tight quarters.

He wished he'd known that the fancy car had been in the garage. Casey would have chosen somewhere else, but if those decon houses near the settlement had taught him anything, it was not all the citizens had obeyed the mandatory recall all those years ago. All this meant was, he'd have to be more careful picking their hideouts in the future.

As he debated the merits of their currently secured location, Casey's attention landed on Karsyn and Stanzy as Lucy and Trish joined them on the ground.

_Those little girls won't sleep much today_ , Casey thought. And although he knew it would be difficult for everyone else to rest in the hot confined space of the garage, they would have to figure it out. If they didn't, then the crew had little hope in putting some distance between themselves and the Fort.

Casey sighed.

Hopefully, the girls wouldn't be a problem, but Casey had his doubts. Seven and four-year-olds had little to no concept of how to be quiet, nor had they acquired the sleep-when-you-can-skill required by any soldier during a mission, especially not when they'd napped the night away.

He shrugged. Short of gagging and tying the girls up, Casey couldn't do much about it and resigned himself to some level of noise. He hoped they'd given Fort St. Louis the slip and would be safe from being hunted today.

***

Pinching the front of his shirt, Casey plucked it away from his wet chest and pulsed it to build a small breeze. The temperature in the garage had to be close to a hundred. Everyone was feeling the effect of the heat, and severe dehydration would be a concern soon. Casey worried most about the little girls.

He glanced out the window, desperate for dusk and the cooler temperatures it would bring, but it wasn't here yet.

Casey nodded to Stanzy and indicated she should take his place by the sliver of the window he'd been using. "Let me know if you see anything moving," he whispered as he began rummaging in his pack. Finding the small map, Casey pulled it out and stepped over the dozing bodies to spread it out on the hood of the _Cocijo_.

The movement caught Tristan's attention, and he lifted his head from the ground. Casey shook his head, letting Tristan know he could rest a bit longer if he wished. When Tristan stood, Casey shrugged at his friend's desire to give up on sleep and waved him over. Might as well begin their tactical planning.

Tristan knuckled one eye as he came to a stop next to Casey and looked down. Casey indicated a spot on the map. "I believe we are here," he whispered. "We'll go from here"—Casey dragged his finger to the end of the street on the map—"to here," he said, pointing to a bridge crossing the River des Peres. "Once across, we'll stick to neighborhood roads and angle west."

Tristan nodded.

"I'm going to have you take point," Casey continued.

"Sure, Case," Tristan replied.

Casey studied the map for a few more minutes. He wanted to note all the possible hazards and escape vectors available to him should they encounter some trouble. Satisfied, he said, "Wake the others. Have them cycle through"—he thumbed the direction of the hidden bucket—"while I scout outside."

"Yes, Sir," Tristan said, and as he began to do Casey's bidding, Casey made his way to the door. He pushed it open a crack and checked his sightlines.

Nothing moved to the north, northwest, or northeast. Needing to see more, Casey pushed the door open further and checked his nine. The west and southwest directions were clear of movement. Leaving his cover, Casey confirmed the east held no threats before he moved away from the garage.

The fading sunlight provided enough illumination for him to scout the area thoroughly. And as he returned from his circuit, he was pleased to note he'd found no threats. Casey tapped the predefined knock on the garage door, and the others began spilling from the dwelling. The women sighed in relief as they breathed the slightly-less-hot and humid air.

Casey smiled at their reactions. Although he'd refrained from outright sighing his first minute free of the garage, he too had thought the outdoor air almost sweet after spending all day with a bucket for a lavatory and nine other sweaty bodies.

Once everyone was out, and Tristan had given him his pack, Casey addressed the group. "We have a long way to go tonight. I want Tristan to lead. Stanzy," he said and waited for her attention. "You follow Tristan and take notes. You may be in his position soon, and I want you to be ready." Stanzy nodded and shifted her pack on her back. "Now, take Trish with you. Have her walk for as long as possible, understand?"

"Yes," she replied, her tone sure, and she took Trish's hand in hers.

"All right," Casey said, announcing the rest of the column placements. "Let's go," he announced, and Tristan began their long hike for the evening.

***

Their first full night of travel proved more taxing than their initial escape, mainly due to the youngest girls whining and crying as they once again missed their bedtimes and had to catch some Zs in soldier's arms. By the time dawn had turned the night from black to gunmetal gray, everyone was in dire need of some peace and quiet, Casey included.

"T?" he called.

Tristan stopped the column and trotted back to him. "Sir?"

"Bring up the rear," he ordered. "I'm going to scout ahead for a place to hole up for the day."

"Got it."

Leaving Tristan at the end of the column, Casey mustered up some hidden reserve of energy and jogged to the front. "Brice," he addressed as he came alongside the man. "I want you to keep heading southwest on this road. I'll be back soon with a place for us to camp."

Brice nodded and restarted the column as Casey turned down a side road. His foot ached, but he needed to get the crew somewhere safe. Waiting until dawn, like yesterday, would be a bad idea today.

Once out of sight of the others, he slowed his jog to a limping walk. The empty houses and closed businesses appeared in worse condition than the ones further north, and Casey quickly discounted them as unacceptable safe houses. Turning left on a small residential street, Casey spied trees. Not the usual sticking-up-through-concrete ones they'd passed most of the night, but the type of trees one finds in open spaces such as an old park. He kicked up his speed and hustled toward the dark green shapes.

At the tree line, he encountered a waist-high fence of rusted iron, but beyond it, there was nothing but trees, hills, and shrubs. Thank the ever-absent God. He'd found a place for them to rest, provided, of course, that the land inside the fence was sufficient to hide them all from casual observation. He wouldn't know that for sure until they were all inside and had a chance to walk its perimeter.

Casey checked the east. The red glow of the sun was peeking above the horizon. They might not have time to find another place if this one didn't work out. Pivoting on his heel, he jogged back to the group. He waved them to a stop and urged them to huddle closer.

"There's a park up ahead. Brice, Fordmyer, run its boundaries"—as he spoke, Fordmyer handed Trish to Stanzy—"I need to know its approximate size. Tristan?"

"Sir?"

"Do the usual for the interior," Casey ordered, referring to the scouting X shape he employed to find not only the middle of a tract of land but the basic layout of the furthest point from prying eyes.

"You got it," Tristan replied and jogged after the other two men.

Casey offered to take Trish from Stanzy, and she handed over the seven-year-old with a smile and rubbed her lower back. Casey hoisted Trish higher on his hip, and she whined at being bounced.

"I know you're tired," he murmured. "You'll get to rest soon," he added and began leading the women to the park after his men.

Drawing closer, he reaffirmed his pleasure in his find. The burgeoning sunshine illuminated lush foliage dense by several meters. Casey hoped the vegetation density stayed true for the entire perimeter of this park. If it did, then they'd be hidden from patrols no matter where they camped.

Upon reaching the fence, Casey turned west and searched for an entry point that wouldn't hint at their passage to a passing patrol. They were nearing the end of the block when Casey found what he needed.

Pavement.

"Wait here," he said to Trish as he put her down at his feet.

Trish's tiny braids bounced as she nodded, and she resumed her low volume humming.

Barely repressing his shudder at her constant noise, Casey turned and hooked his foot on the lower edge of the fence. He lifted his other leg over, ever mindful of the sharp, rusty, iron tines which, at one time, were both a decoration and a detriment.

"Carla," he beckoned while straddling the bars. "Hand me Trish."

Carla nodded and scooped up the little girl. Casey took her from Carla and put her down on the other side of the fence. "Stay," he ordered, and her lip quivered.

_Shit!_ "Shh. Don't cry," he begged, attempting to modulate his voice, so he sounded less stern. He could already tell it wouldn't work. Facing the women, he motioned Stanzy to come next. He needed someone Trish trusted to comfort her.

Stanzy approached and tried to duplicate his move. Her legs weren't long enough to clear the tines, and the pack on her back unsettled her. Casey grabbed her around the waist to keep her from skewering herself on the fence. He then hoisted her the rest of the way over.

"Karsyn," Casey urged with a wave of his hand. The younger teen gulped but allowed Casey to help her over.

After she was with Stanzy and Trish, Casey looked at Armstrong. Her petite stature would be an issue.

"Hand me your bag," he ordered.

Armstrong slipped it from her shoulders, and Casey lowered it to the ground. "Now, your hands," he demanded. "Put both your feet here,"—he added, toeing the lower rail next to his foot—"and I'll help you over." Her lips turned down in a frown, but she complied without comment. Casey helped her balance as he said, "Step up to the next rail." It took some effort, but Armstrong managed to get her feet where he wanted her, and Casey finished easing her over. Once she hit solid ground, she grabbed her pack and put it back on.

"Lucy's next," Casey said.

Carla had lifted the littlest one into her arms when a masculine scream—which ended abruptly—drifted to them on the breeze.

Casey's head whipped toward the sound. It originated from somewhere inside the park, and he frowned. He had a hard time imagining Fordmyer or Brice screaming for any reason, and he knew for a fact Tristan never made a sound louder than a grunt during a fight.

"Shit," he muttered. Casey supposed one of his men—most likely Tristan—had encountered a drifter and had dispatched them.

He urged Carla closer, motioning her to hurry. She practically tossed Lucy at him and was clambering over the fence on her own before Casey had handed Lucy to Armstrong. Once they were both over, he shooed the group toward the park's innards. "Go deeper. I'll catch up." Casey received varying degrees of agreement, but eventually, older women grabbed the hands of the younger and began traipsing along the path. He watched them for a moment, confirming they obeyed his order before he rechecked his surroundings.

A movement to the west had Casey squinting in that direction. Two figures were jogging toward him, and they were coming up to him quickly. He hastened to finish crossing the fence and slipped behind the bush. He needed to confirm the approaching men were Fordmyer and Brice. From a distance, Casey felt sure it was them, but after that scream, it was better not to assume. A few more feet closer and Brice's flushed face removed any doubt from Casey's mind. He stepped back to the fence and waved them over.

When they arrived, they each took one look at the wrought iron before hopping over it.

"Who screamed?" Brice asked, his breath heaved in his chest. Casey was pleased to see Fordmyer didn't even look winded. Army dentists—though apparently skilled in tactical maneuvers—didn't appear to run as many sprints as CPS sergeants.

"I was hoping you'd shed some light on that problem, myself," Casey replied.

"Wasn't us," Brice said.

Casey nodded and pushed his body into a slow jog with Fordmyer and Brice easily matching his pace. In no time at all, they found the women standing in the shade, patiently waiting. It didn't escape his notice that they'd stayed on the pavement. Casey smiled at them to show his approval but didn't slow down. Instead, he beckoned them to follow as he wound his way into the interior along the trail. He'd go as far as possible on the pavement before committing to making tracks in the grass.

Finally, they were sufficiently deep into the park's interior, and Casey felt secure enough in taking the group off-road. Signaling the group to stop jogging, he gingerly stepped into the grass. "Single file. Careful strides. Fordmyer, take point."

Fordmyer nodded and marched into the tall grass. Casey waited for the last of the women to enter before indicating Brice should follow. After one last look behind him, Casey joined the rest, pushing the grasses back into place as he went.

They'd walked for several minutes, and Casey's unease grew. Where was Tristan? Right about the moment that Casey decided to call the column to a halt to look for Tristan, his friend materialized at his side. One glance at Tristan and Casey's feet stumbled.

Tristan's left forearm had dark red flecks of liquid drying in the blond hairs. His ordinarily warm blue eyes looked shadowed, and Casey could have sworn he saw some brand new gray hairs at Tristan's temples and in the stubble of his beard.

Quietly, Tristan debriefed Casey with, "There's a good restin' spot on the other side of that hill. It has a cutout area, and its base is sandy. It will provide enough shade and a soft spot to sleep for most of the mornin'. We'll have to move around noon if we wish to stay out of the sun."

"Good," Casey replied. "Lead the way."

Tristan nodded and loped ahead until he could take point. They hadn't gone far before they arrived, and it was everything Tristan had said it would be.

Casey did a quick survey of the area. His surveillance didn't yield any answers as to who had screamed earlier.

"Keep everything packed," Casey quietly ordered, setting down his bag. "But sit. Rest. If everything goes right, we'll be here all day."

Carla and Stanzy nodded, weariness clear in their drooping shoulders. Armstrong had virtually ignored him in favor of corralling Trish and Lucy, but at his announcement, she caught his eye. Her gaze flicked to Tristan meaningfully and then back. Casey nodded to let her know he understood her silent admonishment and planned to get to the bottom of it.

Turning to Tristan, Casey whispered, "What happened?" at the same time as Tristan volunteered, "I need your help."

Casey indicated Tristan should continue.

Instead of answering, Tristan dropped his bag and led Casey away. They'd gone a fair distance from the others when Tristan introduced Casey to the scream's owner. The youngish looking man had a fresh new smile across his neck.

He would scream no more.

Casey knelt next to the body, resting his hand lightly on the dead man's heart.

"Rest in peace," Casey offered the corpse, honoring the man's death. Casey shook his head. What had they become?

Five drifters were now dead from his hand and the sixth by Tristan's. Casey's heart ached for the destruction he was causing. If there had been any other way... But there wasn't, or he would have taken it. As it was, Casey wondered if it wouldn't be better for his soul to risk discovery by letting future men go instead of killing them to keep the secret.

He shook his head.

"I know you said you wanted to do it," Tristan whispered, acknowledging the fact he'd gone against Casey's orders to leave all the killings to him. "But, I didn't have a way to keep him subdued for you, and he was runnin' away. I feared he'd succeed."

Casey glanced over his shoulder to look at Tristan, noting in passing, how full daylight had arrived without Casey's consent. He returned his gaze to the dead man. "You did what you had to do, T." After a beat, he added, "Grab his feet. I'll get his hands." As one, they lifted the man from the ground. They shuffled sideways for a bit. They hadn't gone far before Casey called them to a halt. His lips turned down in a frown. He didn't see any other way to do it. To avoid leaving tracks, he'd have to carry the dead man.

Kneeling, Casey grasped the corpse's arm, pulling him off the ground.

"Wait, Case," Tristan said, and Casey lifted his gaze from the dead man to find Tristan staring at him intently. "I killed him, so I should be the one to do it."

Casey shook his head. Unable to voice his heartache. Carrying the deadman was something he had to do for Tristan. A way to make amends. He never meant for Tristan to kill anyone. Casey had always planned on being the one responsible.

"I've got this. You need to help me get him to a good hiding spot, so we don't leave a trail of dead men pointing to our escape route."

"Yes, sir," Tristan replied, falling back on the honorific, possibly to shield himself from his emotional turmoil, or perhaps in displeasure at Casey's insistence, Casey wasn't sure. It didn't matter though, and after a curt nod from Casey, Tristan knelt to help.

"On three," Casey said and began his countdown. On the go, they lifted, and with Tristan's help, Casey managed to get the dead man off the ground. Casey paused a moment to confirm his balance before ordering Tristan forward. Tristan grunted his agreement and turned toward the east. Several hills and valleys later, they reached the wrought-iron barrier.

"Go over," Casey urged. "And I'll pass him to you."

After the exchange, and then the fence hopping, Casey took back the body and said, "I need you to be my eyes and ears. Understood." Tristan nodded, his usual exuberance subdued. After a lengthy walk from the park, Casey pointed and said, "We'll dump him over there and then get back to the crew."

"Yes, sir," Tristan replied, his tone listless and empty.

Casey shook his head, unable to worry about Tristan quite yet. They needed off the streets. A few minutes later, Casey gingerly stepped up onto the back porch of the closest dwelling. The boards creaked under his weight. When he didn't crash through immediately, he took another step and then one more. It was safe enough.

"Open the door," he commanded, and Tristan joined him on the porch to do his bidding. As Tristan held the door for him, Casey marched inside and dropped to his knees a few feet past the threshold. Tristan joined him and helped ease the stiffened body off Casey's shoulders. Casey rubbed at his sore neck with his newly freed hands and stared down at the man he'd carried.

Tristan sat on the dirty floor, crossing his legs at the shins, and tucking his ankles underneath his knees. His breath shuddered in and out, and Casey had to glance at him twice to convince himself Tristan hadn't begun to cry. Casey leaned over and wrapped an arm around his friend. Bringing their foreheads together, he asked, "You doin' all right?" He knew the answer was 'no' since the tension of Tristan's shoulders and the downturn of his lips screamed his discomfort, but Casey felt the need to inquire anyway.

"Not really," Tristan said on a puff of air that sounded disturbingly like a laugh. "I never killed anyone before today." Slowly, Tristan turned his head to look at Casey. The visual was disconcerting with their heads so close together.

Casey righted himself but left his arm around his friend. "I figured as much," Casey answered. One edge of his lip turned up in a smile that was one part humor, one part self-deprecation, and rounded out with some false cheer. "Until last year, I never killed anyone either and now look at me. Eight murders under my belt and probably a few more to go before we're back home."

"How did you do it, Case? How do you not let it eat you up inside? How have you moved past it? I... I... I can't."

Casey let Tristan's statement die in the air as he thought about what Tristan wanted to know. Should he admit the nightmares? How about the tender administrations of Lottie as she tried to help Casey forget shooting Adan between the eyes? Or the fact he barely spared a thought to the men who had beaten him daily on their hike to Fort Twenty-four? And then there was the other night. How could Casey explain to Tristan, that after killing the drifter, he spent a good five minutes barfing into the weeds? How could Casey say, he adopted the task of eliminating their potential informants so that none of his men had to experience the pain of killing another.

In the end, none of those answers fit.

"Short answer," Casey said. "I'm destroyed by it."

They were silent for several minutes. Finally, Tristan asked, "And the long answer?"

Again, Casey had to order his thoughts. "Knowing it's for a reason has helped. First was my escape, and the rest has been to keep others safe. I will keep doing it until there is no reason to kill again." Casey took a deep breath. "That doesn't mean, I don't hope with all my being, that there is no more blood to spill, but knowing our mission," Casey trailed off. _...there would be more._

Changing the direction of his thoughts, Casey continued, "I went into this mission with my eyes open and my heart guarded. I regret taking his life," Casey said, pointing to the man at their feet. And although he had not done the actual slitting of the throat, it had been his mission which caused the man's death, so he vowed to own the murder as his, and to respect the man who sacrificed himself for their cause. "No one should have to die for us, but I couldn't leave him to tell. I know it's not my place to say, but I have to believe—and act on that belief—that those girls out there in the park—matter more than his life did."

Casey squeezed Tristan's shoulder. "It won't ever get easier," Casey said, dropping his hand to his lap. "But know that I don't hold you to blame, and I would have done it for you—gladly—if only to save you from this feeling."

Tristan was silent for several heartbeats. Eventually, he looked up and caught Casey's eye. His expression looked focused, and his lips held a faint smile. "When I left the service, I knew joining you wouldn't be all sunshine and roses"—Tristan pointed to a spot on Casey's shirt, drawing his eye to the dark red smear on his chest—"but I had hoped there would be less blood." Tristan let his hand fall, and his gaze return to the corpse.

Casey allowed Tristan time to commune with the man he killed, but the pressing need to head back to the others overruled his desire to give his friend the closure he so desperately needed. Casey touched Tristan on the shoulder. "We need to head back. You good?"

A thin smile, more substantial than the last, made an appearance on Tristan's face, and he nodded. "Yeah. Let's head back."

"Good," Casey said and rose. His back and knees popped in protest.

Tristan snorted. "You sound like an old man, pup."

Casey grunted in agreement and retreated toward the back door. "I feel like one." After a quick confirmation scan, he stepped out of the house. "Feel like a run?"

"Not really," Tristan said on a sigh, following Casey down the steps. "But I think we ought to."

And with that, Tristan and Casey both broke into a jog. Neither one of them able to go fast for their own reasons, but in short order, they were back in the park and on their way to rejoining the team. Casey hated knowing they'd left for hours without any sort of message sent to Fordmyer or Brice about where they'd gone. Hopefully, the men had convinced the women to rest and had set up a patrol rotation.

When Tristan and Casey made it back to the park's interior, they found everyone gone. Casey spun in a slow circle, searching for a sign from Fordmyer or Brice. "There," Casey said, spying the packs pushed underneath some brush.

As Casey picked up his bag and put it on, he heard two of the women murmuring, their tone carrying on the slight breeze. Casey straightened. It didn't sound like idle chatter. Handing Tristan his pack, Casey signed, _You. Left. Me. Right. Flank._

Tristan shouldered his pack and signed his compliance before he followed Casey's orders.

Slowing his steps, Casey walked silently toward the voices. About fifty feet from the original clearing, Casey entered a copse of trees. There he inched his way toward the women he now identified as Karsyn and Stanzy, who were whispering to each other urgently. When they spotted him, their conversation died, and Karsyn blushed, putting Casey on guard.

She was hiding something, and from the look of it, he suspected Karsyn had been trying to convince Stanzy to escape while no one was watching them. He was pleased to note he thwarted their plans.

"Karsyn. Stanzy," Casey greeted.

"Fordmyer and Brice set up a watch," Stanzy announced, rushing her words. Casey wondered if it were to reassure him of her innocence? "We took the second shift."

Casey schooled his expression. If that was the case, then they needed some lessons in situational awareness. Their observation skills lacked finesse.

To prove his point, Casey lifted his hand to wave Tristan over, and Karsyn squeaked in alarm when Tristan stepped from his cover a mere few feet away. "The group is over that hill," Casey informed Tristan.

"How did you know?" Stanzy asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Simple deductive reasoning," Casey answered on a sigh. As of two days ago, Stanzy had completed almost a year of training. She should know this information already, but since she didn't, Casey would have to explain it to her.

"Fordmyer and Brice knew we would be back," Casey began. "At the time of our departure this morning, it was understood we would have to find some fresh shade sometime in the late morning or early afternoon." Casey used his thumb to point back to the clearing. "Finding my pack and Tristan's at our original waypoint was a signal from them to us. It said, 'We haven't moved far'."

"But how?" Stanzy asked, interrupting his explanation.

"There are too many supplies inside those packs to leave them," Casey answered. "If Fordmyer or Brice were going to abandon my mission while I was otherwise busy, then those packs wouldn't be here. The two of you—or maybe Carla and Armstrong—would have shouldered them."

Casey paused to take a deep breath. "All of this points to the fact you hadn't gone far. From there, it was easy to deduce your location. Brice and Fordmyer wouldn't want to leave the packs far from your next resting spot since that would mean backtracking to get them if we didn't show, plus," Casey said, pointing to the south. "we're heading in a southwesterly direction each night. No reason to find a hideout north"—Casey pointed behind him with his thumb again—"or east," he added, indicating the direction—"if that means you'd have to cover the same ground again tonight."

He let his hands land on his hips. "By process of elimination that limited your potential camp to a few shady spots in one quadrant of the park. From there, it was a quick check of the surroundings and following any trails you may have left behind 'til I found you." He tried to smile, but after his morning, he knew it looked strained. "I heard you talking."

At this admission, Karsyn blush deepened, and she glanced toward Stanzy though Stanzy kept her focus on Casey. He suspected no matter what Karsyn might have said before his arrival, Stanzy wasn't planning on joining her in a bid to get free. She seemed too logical for that.

Casey added, "Sound carries. That's why we shouldn't speak unless required. It's not safe yet."

"I understand," Stanzy replied.

"Me too," Karsyn whispered.

"Good," Casey said. "Please finish your watch. Whoever Fordmyer or Brice set to spell you, is expecting you to be out here looking out for danger. That doesn't change because Tristan and I are back. Got it?" Both young women nodded. "Good," he repeated, beckoning Tristan to his side as they left the young women to their watch.

"They were goin' to run, weren't they?" Tristan asked.

"Karsyn, for sure," Casey replied.

"Not Stanzy?"

"I don't think so," Casey answered. "She's curious about our goal. She wants to know more. But I'd watch Karsyn. I wouldn't put it past her to take one of the smaller girls—or both—and try to make a run for it."

Tristan nodded. "If she begins to act as Momma did, I'll let you know."

Casey snorted. "I knew she'd try something, but never saw it coming."

"You were besotted by some slate blue eyes—"

"—That turned a brilliant green—" Casey agreed, poking fun at his all-consuming love for Greysen.

"—And all that black, curly hair."

"Yep." Casey sighed. He missed them.

Tristan bumped Casey's shoulder with his. "Chin up. We'll see them soon."

"Yeah," Casey agreed as they rejoined the others. _But not soon enough._

# Chapter 30

Lucy's cries grew louder, rising to a crescendo before tapering off and then starting anew.

_Ever-absent, God, she_ has _to stop screaming_ , Casey thought, a bit uncharitably.

Yes, she was four. Yes, she had no idea they needed silence. And, Yes, even though everyone kept shushing her, she didn't understand their peril or was physically unable to hold in her tears.

That kid's cries are guaranteed to draw attention.

The only saving grace to this new mess was the new moon. A minor miracle to be sure, but without its light, the night was the darkest it could be, assuring his band a small measure of security as they walked along the crumbling sidewalk.

Casey figured, if he couldn't see the men and women in front of him, then threats drawn by Lucy's tears wouldn't be able to either.

It wasn't a satisfactory consolation.

He needed further assurance. His best option for silencing the scared and overly tired little girl would give her more reason to fear him than she already had. Casey sighed. It would appear he had no other choice since she'd yet to shut-up.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Casey licked his lips. Tension in his jaw had given him a headache, and he rubbed the stiff joint of his mandible near his ear.

A fresh, agonizingly loud wail erupted from the little girl, and Casey clenched his teeth. Someone stifled her cry, but she'd already done damage. He _had_ to do something to silence her, or she'd bring a whole platoon his way.

Casey unsheathed his knife and nicked his shirt at the hem. Ripping a strip free from around his waist, he swallowed back his unease and self-hatred at what he was about to do.

As he walked, Casey tripped on a root or broken piece of concrete and nearly faceplanted into the pavement on his way toward Lucy. Cursing, he righted himself and stumbled forward two more steps before reaching the adult in charge of the screaming kid.

"This way," he commanded, removing the girl and the woman carrying her from the column.

"I'm sorry," came Carla's whispered reply.

Casey grasped her by the elbow and steered her away from the others. He needed room to work. The urge to apologize sat on his tongue, but he swallowed it back. "I know you are. Now let's secure her cooperation."

_You'll do what you need to do?_ Casey's memory of Noah asked, _Even if that means killing those who get in your way or incapacitating a child to guarantee success?_

_If I have to,_ Casey had assured him. He had hoped he wouldn't have to resort to physical suppression, but in hindsight, Casey should have known Noah wouldn't have pressed if he hadn't expected this very scenario to happen.

"You're not going to hurt her, are you?" Carla asked.

"No," he answered. "Just gag her for a bit." _Man, that sounded worse out loud than I thought it would._ Never mind the fact, he never intended to employ such a harsh method on a child, but here he was, about to do that very action. It reminded Casey of the time he pulled a gun on Lottie, pressing it to her temple, to keep her from running away.

Not his shiniest moment either.

As the two adults found a spot to stop moving, Casey said, "Lucy, honey, I asked you to be quiet. But you wouldn't, and now I have to be mean to you." Lucy renewed her crying to new levels, and Casey could hear the snot bubbling in her nose. _I'm sorry_ , he thought and shoved the strip of fabric across her open mouth. _Ever-absent, God, I'm sorry._ The action made him feel sick to his stomach, but he pressed through the feeling. He had to keep her quiet.

The effect of the gag was immediate, and without delay, Casey quickly tied it off at the back of her head. He trimmed the excess tails. A second one had to go over the first to complete the job, and Casey barely had enough fabric to accomplish the task. Once done, he ran a hand over his hair again and massaged his nape.

"Continue with the others," he murmured, giving Carla a small press to her back. "I'll catch up in a minute or two."

He listened to the sound of her fading footsteps as she hustled toward the others.

Casey leaned forward and braced his hands on his knees. He hoped Lucy would forgive him for silencing her—Hell, he hoped everyone would forgive him for it—but he feared she'd already drawn too much attention to herself and his crew from all her screaming. Casey would wait here to see what had been shaken loose by her noisy passage.

Straining his ears, he listened for any sound out of the ordinary, but all he heard were the usual night sounds like an owl in a tree, or the early cicadas calling for a mate, or even the tree frogs, singing. Casey felt almost confident no human observer was about to investigate the cries of a child when Casey heard the scrape of a shoe on the pavement. Instinct had him wanting to freeze, but Casey forced himself to straighten. He would go around the block and possibly surprise the assailant from where ever they hid.

Casey walked away from the noise, intent on circling to confront the witness, but a new scuff of a shoe behind him had him turn slowly.

"I don't want any trouble," Casey said, reaching for his knife.

"But trouble you have found," the man replied.

Klaxon bells of alarm jangled in his mind, and Casey pulled the knife from his sheath. "What kind of trouble?"

"They are watching," the man continued.

_An ambush?_ Had they been discovered?

"Who is watching?" Casey asked, checking his environment for other threats, not that he expected to see anyone in the middle of the night.

"The sentinels," the man said. "They watch from the sky. All-seeing, as God once was."

Casey gripped his knife tighter in his hand, though he suspected the action was unnecessary to his immediate survival. His foe appeared unhinged. _Kill him or let him go?_ Casey wondered, bringing the knife to the ready in case he needed it.

"Okay," Casey said, drawing out the vowels.

The air stirred as the man drew nearer, and the hairs on Casey's arms lifted in a warning. "They know..." the man murmured. "They know you have a child—these eyeless monsters of the sky—Ya'know? The all-seeing ones?—and they will steal it back when you sleep."

Casey doubted the man's words. No way would he, or any in his party, be caught asleep without a guard. This man had to have lived for too long on his own. He must have lost his mind from the solitude. "It's time for you to go," Casey said, hoping to shake the man from their tail without bloodshed.

"Leave I cannot," the man answered. A shiver of unease tracked down Casey's spine, and his hands grew clammy with sweat, making his grip on his knife a little less sure. "Watch you, I must."

"No," Casey said, interrupting anything else the man might have uttered.

"I must," the man whispered.

Impulsively, Casey lifted his blade to eye level and nearly dropped it again when he encountered unexpected resistance in the form of metal against metal. The metallic scrape of the blades colliding sounded loud in the dark without any of Casey's other senses available to detract from its focus. After Casey's counter, he stepped to the side and rushed in. He sliced the man's neck near his collarbone. Casey followed up the strike, with a stab to the man's gut and an elbow to the back of the man's head. The man grunted in pain, which gave Casey a moment of satisfaction.

Even without sight, Casey had scored a hit.

Immediately following the sensation of success came great regret.

Casey had killed again.

"Now, what do I do with you?" Casey murmured, but left his disposal contemplation for later when he heard someone running toward him. Casey's muscles tensed, and he lifted the knife. Whoever it was, he would be ready.

"Case? Case!"

Casey relaxed, wiped his knife on his shirt, and sheathed it. "I'm here," he answered Tristan's urgent call.

Tristan's steps slowed to a fast walk. "We heard a scream—" Tristan said as he approached, but his words cut off abruptly as he stumbled to his knees with a swallowed cry.

"Careful," Casey said, his tone devoid of emotion, and he spared a third thought for his dispassionate response. It was worrying. "There's a dead man in front of you."

"I gathered that," Tristan's wry response drifted toward him from where his friend knelt on the ground. "Need help with it?"

"Sure," Casey replied. "If you want." The dead man wasn't heavy, so Tristan's help wasn't necessary.

Movement in the dark pulled Casey's gaze as he tracked Tristan's shadow.

"We'll backtrack a few blocks, head east, and dump him in the first yard we find."

"Sounds good," Tristan agreed and collected the dead man's feet. "Sounds good."

***

Casey sighed and draped his forearms over the porch rail of the abandoned building where he, his soldiers, and the women were squatting for the day. He held his journal in one hand and a pencil in the other as he stared off into the distance, thinking, and quietly tapping a rhythm against the book's binding.

Cracking open the book, Casey set his pencil to the paper, ready to record his thoughts even though having a written record of his wrongdoing was dangerous. Sometimes he had to write it down to keep his sanity.

_Four nights ago, I staged the biggest coup of the half-century_ , Casey wrote. _I succeeded in getting two young women and two girls out of the communal homes undetected._ Casey paused to tap his pencil against the decaying wood of the porch railing. _By my estimation, three mornings ago, my crime was discovered. The girls would have either not shown up for work, or two, been out of their beds, causing an uproar of concern over their locations. It is theoretically possible that the Brass didn't know it was a kidnapping at that time. By that afternoon, they would have their suspicions since Armstrong, Fordmyer, and Brice all deflected._

Casey glanced around the area, confirming he was undetected. _Approximately two mornings ago, the Brass would have initiated a localized search for the women and the AWOL soldiers in our band. Assuming they believe Fordmyer the ring-leader due to his poor scheduling of patrols in the weeks leading up to this day, then they would have concentrated their effort's north._ Case paused to flick wood slivers from the rail with the pencil's eraser.

Writing again, Casey said, _So far, this would have all gone according to plan. Unfortunately, that brings me to the stratagems I cannot predict._

He paused to tap his teeth with his pencil.

_Now, yesterday, they would have begun to spread the search out into increased radii. If they are operating under the assumption Fordmyer, Brice, and Armstrong are acting alone, then the Brass would have searched for everyone well northwest of our location. The Brass are not stupid, so believing this was their course of action is ridiculous. They surely would have realized the girls going missing was a coordinated attack between the three soldiers and that the glaring hole in Fordmyer's defenses is a red herring, and they will mobilize additional units accordingly._

He paused in his writing to confirm he was alone. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Casey returned to his text, _And then there is the fact, I had to have missed at least one informant. Not hard to do when you travel in the dark with two crying children and the clomp of untrained boots announcing our position with every step, so it is fair to say that by this morning, at least one message has reached those in charge. There is no getting around it. They will concentrate their efforts in our direction. Hopefully, we will get another night of travel unmolested, though it depends on when I missed the informant, how fast that informant can run, and how motivated they were to tattle to the Brass._

Casey stopped writing and looked up. His last line had been a sobering thought. Casey could practically feel the burn of the ropes tightening the net cast by the Brass searching for him. If everything went well tonight, then his column should get almost to the edge of the old Fort by dawn.

It was a lofty goal for sure, but one that opened them up for more movement and potential misdirection. Casey owned the woods in ways no urban soldier could, and he looked forward to losing them in the suburbs of the old Fort.

Footsteps behind him alerted Casey he wasn't alone a moment before the door to the dwelling creaked open. Familiar forearms dropped into his peripheral vision, and Casey snapped his journal closed.

"Brought you a shirt," Tristan said, offering the dark green t-shirt to Casey.

"Yours?"

"Yep."

Casey balanced his journal on the rail and took the shirt from Tristan. "You know it will probably be coated in blood before tomorrow morning, right?" he asked before draping it over the rail next to his journal.

Tristan snorted. "Yep. Probably."

Reaching behind his head, Casey gripped the neckline of his filthy shirt and pulled it off. He then set it next to the clean one Tristan had given him. The new shirt smelled faintly of sweat, and it itched a bit at Casey's shoulders, but Casey couldn't bring himself to mind all that much. Yes, the shirt wasn't clean, but nothing was, and it did lack splotches of dried blood, so that helped immensely. "Thanks."

"Yep."

They stood together, surrounded by birdsong, sunshine, and dormant conversation for several minutes. After an indeterminant amount of time, Tristan said, "I got the water purifier packs laid out in the back yard. They should finish by tonight."

"Good."

After another lengthy pause, Tristan asked, "Think we can heat some water to make a soup?"

"No. Can't risk it."

Another lengthy span of silence passed before Tristan said, "Disappointin', but I'll let them know."

"Thanks."

"Yep." Tristan patted Casey on the shoulder then pointed to the journal. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

Declining to reply, Casey gazed at his journal and then out to the surrounding neighborhood of dead homes. It was just as well that Tristan had gone inside, Casey thought and cracked open his journal one more time. He needed the quiet time to order his thoughts and to plan their next steps.

***

Thick, dark clouds swirled to the west as Casey put the finishing touches on his journal entry. There was no way for him to know if the storm represented a quick cold front or if it would be something lasting several days. Fortunately, he could tell from the lack of green coloration within their billowing depths that the thunderheads were as advertised.

No tornados.

A relief for him here in Fort St. Louis, but he knew as well as anyone that a simple storm here did not equate to an ordinary storm elsewhere, and he hoped the settlement would be secure.

Of course, thoughts of the camp brought him images of Lottie, Hope, and Greysen. He smiled but quickly schooled his expression. Surely, by now, he had a newly adopted daughter, and he wondered which little girl Lottie took as theirs. Was it Rowan or Emilia? It didn't matter to Casey.

He couldn't think about that now.

With a final glance around the surrounding area, Casey slipped inside to end his shift with the watch. Picking his way across sleeping bodies, he came to a stop in the destroyed kitchen, grabbed a bottle of lukewarm water, and downed the contents. He wiped his mouth with his forearm before capping the bottle and setting it aside. Now ready to finish his task, Casey stepped to the window and signaled Armstrong, who had taken her turn at the watch with him. She left her post and came inside.

"How did it go? Anything?" he prompted.

"No. The back was clear the whole time."

"Good," Casey murmured and dismissed her with a nod.

A few minutes later, Stanzy came through the door, rubbing her eyes and yawning. "My turn?"

"Yep," Casey replied. "But stay inside for me."

"Why," she asked, with a new yawn.

"Storm coming."

Stanzy nodded and found a spot where she could lean against the wall, rubbed her eyes, and look out the window. Casey forced himself not to react to her casual attitude. If they'd been out in the open, he might have reprimanded her, but seeing as they were inside and at the back door, he felt her lackadaisical attitude was permissible.

Leaving her at her post, Casey entered the front room where everyone else slept. Once he identified the humped form that was Fordmyer, he padded over silently and kicked him in the shoe. Fordmyer came awake without the dramatic show Stanzy had displayed.

"Your turn at watch," Casey announced his tone barely above a whisper. "Storm coming. Stay inside."

Fordmyer wiped a hand over his face, his first tell at being awoken abruptly, and got to his feet. Fordmyer nodded his agreement at the orders, and Casey turned his back to find a place to sleep. There were only two spots left for him to rest, and the first wasn't a good idea since Lucy hated the sight of him and would probably cry if she woke to find him near. The other was a tight corner next to Karsyn, but he'd have to sleep sitting up. Casey sighed and made himself comfortable against the wall. Within moments, he was asleep with his head braced against the corner's decaying drywall.

He awoke some indeterminant time later to find Fordmyer hovering over him, a finger to his lips, urging silence. "Sir," Fordmyer whispered. "You need to see this."

Casey nodded and pushed to his feet as quietly as possible.

Together they made their way to the front door where Fordmyer indicated Casey should hold back. Following, Fordmyer's lead, Casey slowed and then inched forward until he could see what Fordmyer saw.

In the street were four men, uniformed and equipped for doing a raid. They were patrolling the road in a standard formation that was typically deployed by a leader who did not feel threatened. It didn't take any brainpower to know who the soldiers searched for, and Casey felt the urge to quip, 'I give you three guesses to what they want, but the first two don't count.' He squashed the flippant remark with effort and glanced over his shoulder to the little girls. Now would _not_ be the time for them to wake.

Turning back to the activity outside, Casey watched as the leader stopped his team to check the street. Casey supposed, the squad leader felt the hairs on his neck and arms lift in awareness of being watched. Casey felt confident that as long as no one moved or made a sound in the house, the men outside would pass by unawares. Casey cast another glance at the girls. For the first time since he had gagged Lucy, he was glad she'd been upset. Her tears made their evening of travel miserable, and probably alerted too many drifters of their trespasses, but it had worn her out so thoroughly, Casey felt sure she wouldn't wake any time soon.

_Wait. Pass. Me. Back. Watch. Alarm,_ Casey signed, telling Fordmyer that Casey would wait until the threat passed before alerting Stanzy of the danger.

Fordmyer signed his understanding, and they both refocused their attention on the men outside. After a tense pause, where the leader spent an inordinately long time staring at their place of refuge, the soldiers moved on, and Casey took a deep breath. He touched Fordmyer's arm to get his attention. _I. Go_ , he sighed, and Fordmyer nodded.

With careful steps, Casey made his way to the kitchen and alerted Stanzy to the danger, but aside from her facial expression of shock, she didn't react.

"Stay hidden. Duck if needed," Casey urged, and Stanzy nodded. Casey left her there to return to Fordmyer. Before he'd even reached the other man, Fordmyer had signaled for him to wait. After several long minutes, Fordmyer waved him over.

"Same patrol?" Casey asked. He could envision an instance where they'd travel one side of the street and then back on the other.

"No," Fordmyer answered. "A second one."

Huh.

There wasn't anything Casey could do about the patrols except stay silent. So, that was what he would do. Bidding Fordmyer a goodnight of sorts, Casey returned to his section of wall, and after getting situated, he slept.

Casey's next conscious thought was of being awoken by a loud noise and one of the children whimpering. He opened his eyes, searching for the source of the tears, and found Lucy pressed against Armstrong's side. The petite scientist had her arm around the little girl and was patting her on the back, presumably to offer comfort. It was horrible of Casey, but he thanked the ever-absent God, Lucy was crying quietly instead of wailing like she had last night.

A flash of light illuminated the room, showing Casey that several others were awake but remaining silent, and he nodded his approval. The crash of thunder from the lightning strike arrived, and Karsyn flinched. Casey ignored her start of surprise and pushed to his feet. He stretched his arms and back before padding over to Fordmyer and Tristan at the wall near the window.

"Anything?" he asked the two of them.

Fordmyer nodded. "A patrol slunk past about ten minutes ago before the storm hit, but I haven't seen anyone on the streets in a while, so I figure they have taken refuge nearby."

Casey agreed with a grunt. "Is your shift over?"

"A few minutes ago," Fordmyer affirmed.

Tapping Fordmyer on the back, Casey said, "Nothing more you can do here. Get some sleep. Send Karsyn to spell Stanzy."

"You got it," Fordmyer agreed and left Tristan and Casey at the window.

The two friends stood, watching the rain as it coated the street in sheets of water. After a while, Casey grew tired. He'd only been asleep for a few hours at most and been awakened twice during that brief time. "Have someone wake me if you need help," he said to Tristan.

"Yes, sir," Tristan replied.

Casey rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and made his way over to his small corner. At least with Karsyn gone, he now had enough room to stretch out. Getting comfortable, Casey let go of all his worries. He was powerless at the moment, but at least the storm would keep them secure for the time being, and that was the thought that serenaded him into sleep for the third time.

When Casey woke next, it was dark. He glanced at the window to see full dusk outside the window. Casey pushed to his feet. Before he made any plans for the night, he decided a debriefing from the earlier watches were in order. He padded over to Brice, who was standing guard at the window. "We clear to leave?"

"Would not advise," Brice replied.

"Explain."

"Every fifteen minutes, a patrol passes by."

"Pattern?"

"No," Brice answered. "Sometimes patrols are eastbound, and then others head west. The frequency varies as do the faces. There are many out there searching. Fordmyer didn't recognize anyone, so they are all from other platoons."

"Understood." Casey rubbed his chin. "Have the storms move out?"

"Not as far as I can tell." Brice pointed to the east and then swung his hand to the west, where Casey spied lightning in the distance. "Seems we're between storms, but more are coming."

"Right," Casey agreed. Though the storms would have provided excellent cover, he didn't fancy trying to avoiding patrols and traveling in the rain, so he said, "We'll stay here tonight."

Movement on the street caught his eye, and Casey studied it. Four soldiers were coming closer, their postures hinted at alertness that had been absent before, and Casey wondered at the change. _It could be as simple as night falling_ , he thought.

_New? Trouble?_ Casey signed to Brice while indicating the approaching squad and asking if their alertness was new.

No.

Casey nodded and watched as the men paused a few homes away and searched the shadows. Eventually, they moved on. Once out of eyesight, Casey rolled his shoulders. "When do I spell you?" he asked, needing a gauge on what the watch schedule would be now that they wouldn't be heading out.

"In thirty."

"Understood," Casey replied and moved to let Armstrong know of her new shift. After talking with her, Casey went to his pack and retrieved the collapsible bucket from the main pocket. After it was in hand, he grabbed the one from Tristan's bag and took them to the back door.

"Anything moving?" Casey asked Carla as he gave the outdoors a cursory look through the window.

She shook her head.

"I'm going out there to get our water. Let me know if you see movement."

"All right," she whispered.

Easing the door open, Casey checked for patrols. It looked clear, so he stepped from the dwelling and onto the porch. Casey trusted that the wood slats of the fence would hide most of the yard from casual observation. If it didn't, then any squad leader worth his salts would notice the standard-issue equipment moving around in the yard.

Hobbling down the porch stairs, Casey quickly set up the two buckets and collected the six water purifying pouches. Finished, he hustled back inside. Hopefully, the storms would replenish the water overnight, and since it came from the sky and not a runoff creek, they wouldn't have to take the time to purify it tomorrow.

When he came back inside, Casey said, "Let Armstrong know your shift is over and then grab something to eat. Keep the girls quiet. There are several patrols out looking for us."

"Okay," Carla replied.

While Casey waited for Armstrong, he refilled everyone's canteens. As Armstrong took over, he advised, "Stay out of sight of the patrols and let me know if the buckets outside get full. I want to collect as much water as we can before dawn."

Armstrong replied in the affirmative and handed him some jerky. Casey murmured his thanks and moved back into the front room, where he spent the next several minutes apprising everyone of his decision and confirming everyone was all right.

Once that self-appointed task was complete, Casey resumed his post at the window where he could watch the patrols and the storms roll by.

***

Casey shook his head as dawn brought a new wave of patrols down their street. If it kept up all day, there would be no way his team could leave tonight without significant risk of discovery. Hopefully, he would identify a pattern in the patrols and then plan around it.

With nothing else to do but his turn at watch, Casey settled against the wall where he made himself comfortable and made a mental note on his enemy's movements the entire time.

***

The scent of unwashed bodies, human waste, and decaying home, perfumed the air and Casey longed to be outside, but he couldn't. There were too many patrols roaming up and down the streets. If anything, it was worse today day than it had been yesterday, and now that night had fallen, Casey had to admit they could not travel without risk of discovery.

He made his way around the room. His quiet announcement, delivered individually, was met with groans of despair. Casey had no answers for them. There was no way he could take ten people from their hideout and get them all to the next safe point without being seen. Maybe if he escorted them in small groups, he could— Casey's thoughts stuttered to a stop and then backtracked.

Small groups!

Casey left his post at the window and went to his backpack. Kneeling, he ignored the soft inquiries cast his way and rummaged around inside the inner pocket for his map. With fingers pinched around the folded edges, he slipped it free and returned to his post by the window where he could read the text in the fading light.

A second later, Tristan joined him. "We leavin' tonight?"

"No," Casey said, shaking his head and unfolding the paper. He laid it out in front of him and focused his attention on their current location. His finger traced several paths and pointed to a few destinations before Casey came to any sort of decision. With a hint of a smile, Casey concluded that if he split everyone up into groups of three with explicit instructions on where to go, they could probably escape the noose tightening around them.

"Go get Fordmyer and Brice," Casey whispered to Tristan.

Tristan acknowledged him and went to do his bidding. While Tristan was gone, Casey perused the map a few more times, making damn sure he was right before he spoke his plan to the other men.

Within moments, Brice, Fordmyer, and Tristan returned and found seats around Casey's map.

"What I propose is this," Casey began. "Tomorrow night, we leave in groups of three, staggering our departures, and headed for this location"—Casey pointed to a street less than five kilometers away.

"But that's northwest of here," Tristan remarked.

"Yes," Casey answered, then decided to elaborate, "Heading back toward the Fort is the last thing the Brass would expect. With it, we leave the ever-widening patrol radii, and buy us some time."

Casey paused to see if anyone else would question his choice. When none did, he continued, "I don't like splitting up the group, but our options are limited. Fordmyer, you'll take Karsyn and Trish on this route," Casey added, tracing his finger along the roads. "Brice, you will go with Tristan and Carla in this direction. And I'll go this way with Stanzy, Lucy, and Armstrong."

Casey caught each man's eye before returning his attention to the map. "We'll be smaller targets this way, and each of you should be able to guide the less experienced without much difficulty. Objections?"

No one voiced any, and Casey nodded. "Good."

He glanced out the window to confirm no new threat had manifested in the few minutes he'd been inattentive. "Rest up," he said. "Study the map, and at dusk tomorrow night, I'll leave first."

Casey hoped that once he settled Armstrong, Lucy, and Stanzy in their next hideout, he could scout the path of the others took, keeping it clear of threats and dispatching informants should the need arise.

"Give me one full watch before Fordmyer follows." Casey glanced at Fordmyer and waited for him to confirm.

Shifting his gaze to Brice and then Tristan. "You'll give him a full watch as well before following."

"Yes, Sir," Tristan and Brice murmured.

"Good," Casey said. "Bring any concerns to my attention immediately, understood?"

Another soft round of "Yes, Sirs." Came from the group, and they returned to their tasks, whether it had been resting or some other distraction activity.

Casey resumed his watch. 

# Chapter 31

Kneeling next to his bag, Casey folded flat the portable bucket and tucked it away in his pack. Once secured, he stuffed his water purifier next to it and closed everything inside. Standing, he hoisted the bag to his shoulders and indicated his readiness to Armstrong and Stanzy standing off to the side. They nodded, and Stanzy scooped Lucy up into her arms before joining him by the door. As they drew near, Stanzy pressed to her finger to Lucy's lips, urging Lucy to silence. It was good to see the little girl's nod, but when she turned her gaze his way, he worried she was about to cry.

He stifled his sigh.

Cracking open the door, Casey glanced up and down the street, checking for patrols. He neither heard nor saw anything to cause him alarm. Casey widened the gap and motioned the two women to go through. Once Armstrong crossed the threshold, he let himself out as well and pulled the door closed.

As of that second, they officially had three hours to make it to their destination five kilometers away before Fordmyer left the security of the hideout with his charges. Casey wanted to be back here before that happened.

Taking point, Casey led the two ladies across the street to an obscure walkway he'd found. Casey had seen the strangely drawn marking between the houses on the map, but it had taken a scouting mission outside to understand what they had meant. Now that he knew, though, Casey would utilize these hidden sidewalks as often as possible, for they were the perfect shortcuts between streets, and they offered plenty of cover from roving eyes.

"This way," Casey murmured with a wave as the four of them entered the first gap. Fifty feet later, they crossed the tiny exposed backyards of the conjoined quad before disappearing again at the next two abandoned homes which faced the next street over.

At the end of the walkway, Casey stopped them. He waited at the edge of the homes for several minutes, listening for noises that would indicate a patrol or other form of discovery. Hearing nothing, Casey chanced a glance around the corner to broaden his vantage point. The East was clear. He checked the other direction and confirmed west was okay also.

He stepped from between the two homes and urged the women to move fast to the other side of the road. As Stanzy and Armstrong disappeared into the darkness between the two buildings, he whispered to them to halt. Standing there, on the other side of the road, Casey mirrored his observation from moments before.

Nothing moved.

Excellent.

"Go to the other side and wait," he ordered and felt the puff of air blow past him, indicating the women had moved despite his inability to see them. On the other side of the homes, he squeezed around them to check the area.

"Keep quiet and very still," Casey urged. "I think someone is coming."

Attention forward, Casey strained to hear any sound. Several tense moments passed, but just as he felt comfortable in deeming the area safe, he heard the soft scrape of boots on pavement.

"Check around back of that house," a deep voice ordered. "Make sure no one's hiding in the yards back there."

"Yes, Sir," a younger voice acknowledged, and Casey swallowed hard. His hand dropped to his gun, and he thumbed off the holster's latch so he could get the weapon free.

"You too," the original voice commanded.

"Yes, Sir," another voice said in response and Casey palmed his firearm before pressing himself against the wall

_Turn_ , he signaled and waited as Stanzy, her hand over Lucy's face, and Armstrong tucked their heads down and toward the brick dwelling. He hoped if a patrol leader casually looked down their specific walkway, then the women would be hidden by the shadows, and as long as they didn't move or have the ambient light reflect off the whites of their eyes, then they all should be fine.

As the seconds ticked by, Casey counted his breaths and praying to the ever-absent God that Lucy didn't choose this moment to cry. Casey didn't think he'd be able to overpower four soldiers should their location be discovered.

A moment later, two uniformed and armed soldiers appeared in front of them. The soldiers' weapons were out, but not up. They were focusing on the street and front yards in front of them.

Casey turned his head toward the women and the backyards. He made sure to do it slowly. Quick movements, no matter how shadowed by night and tight spaces, would be easily spotted, yet, Casey needed to give the threat the back of his head as camouflage.

Maneuver complete, he waited, heart pounding, the scent of hot bodies, fear, and brick invaded his nose, and his fingers tightened on the grip of his gun as he fought to control the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It made his hands shake and threatened his carefully controlled breathing.

"Anything?" the first voice called.

"No, sir," a third man answered.

Casey wasn't positive, but he thought their voices were a few feet further away. If so, then once the other two soldiers rejoined the squad leader, Casey and his team would be free to move on.

Several minutes later, Casey had his answer when the other two soldiers walked down the street following behind their commanding officer.

Casey exhaled slowly.

Close call, but they appeared to have made it.

Peeking around the corner, Casey confirmed the soldiers were several houses west of his location. He checked the street to the east, and it was clear of any patrols. If the first group turned the corner or moved an additional block away, Casey would move, but until then, they needed to hold fast.

It took forever, but eventually, the squad had moved away sufficiently, and Casey urged the two women and the child to hustle across the street. As new shadows closed in around them, he had everyone pause while he assessed the current threat level.

Once confident they'd truly made it, Casey motioned everyone to proceed. They walked several blocks northwest in this manner before the between-home sidewalks ceased to exist. It didn't matter. The four of them were over two kilometers north of their origination point, and Casey felt less concerned about darting down the streets from corner to corner. The Brass were heading south and west of their original location and not northwest to where their new hideout existed.

Two hours and twenty minutes after the first patrol passed them, Casey brought Armstrong, Stanzy, and Lucy into the new sanctuary. The women, finding secure spots to relax, collapsed inside.

After dropping his bag next to Armstrong's along the wall, he walked over to her. "You all right," he whispered to Armstrong as she held Lucy in her arms.

"For now," she replied, her hand pressed Lucy's head to her chest.

Casey nodded and curbed the impulse to brush the blonde hair off Lucy's cheeks. Turning to address Stanzy, he asked her the same, and after an admonishment to be quiet and rest, he left them.

Stepping from the security of the yard, Casey had to duck down and wait as movement a block away caught his eye. A lone figured stumbled out into the street before weaving back toward the sidewalk. Casey conjured an image of the map and mentally recalled the hideouts distance to the epicenter of town and any surrounding ancillary buildings. He couldn't think of anything relevant and wondered if one, the stumbling figure was intoxicated, maybe recently left an unmarked bar, or if the person was an unstable drifter.

Faint, off-key singing, drifted down the lane, and the man stopped walking. Casey couldn't be sure, without getting closer, but he'd be willing to bet the man was taking a piss.

The next question demanding an answer was should he eliminate the potential threat coming down the street or leave him in the hopes the figure hadn't spied Casey. In the best-case scenario, Casey thought, holding still would be best. The ambient dark concealed his shape, and if he didn't move, a vagrant might mistake him for vegetation.

Opting for less bloodshed, Casey held fast in his position, and the soldier drifted off. Once the street was free of informants, Casey stood, shook out the muscle kinks in his legs, and began his long trek back to the original hideout. He had no hope of catching Fordmyer before he left, but he could meet up with the man and his team before they'd gone too far.

Casey spent extra time scouting the surrounding area of Fordmyer's path. Casey purposely circled the three of them twice before signaling his presence and joining them. The rest of their travels had been uneventful, and Casey left them at the yard of the new hideout to do his duty for Tristan and Brice.

Following the route the two would take with Carla, Casey encountered a lone figure. Casey crept along behind them, making sure to stay hidden, yet close enough to determine if the person was the same vagrant Casey let pass him by earlier. Casey assumed it was since the man in question was singing the same off-key song softly to himself.

Unexpectedly, he staggered to a halt, and Casey paused, hunkered down to make sure his silhouette blended into the shadows.

The man stopped singing.

"Dammit," the man muttered and listing to the right before catching his balance. "Fucking patrols," he groused at the same time as a voice boomed, "Halt."

The command caught Casey by surprise, and he jerked, immediately berated himself for moving. He was practically in the open, not more than twenty feet behind the wayward soldier. If the patrol glanced his way, had seen him twitch, then they would find him.

Not even a second later, the unsteady man took off running, darting toward a row of houses west of Casey's location. The man's first few steps were jarring and disjointed, and Casey thought for sure he would faceplant into the pavement. Luckily for him—and Casey—he managed to keep his feet under him and picked up speed.

"Halt!" the patrol leader ordered, and Casey smiled as the four soldiers tracked the man fleeing the scene. "By order of the United States Army, you are under arrest!" the patrol leader yelled.

When it was evident the drunk would not comply, the leader cursed. "Pullman, Claxton, bring him in," he ordered, and two of the patrol leader's men chased after the drunk while the CO and the remaining soldier followed at a slower jog.

It didn't take long for Pullman and Claxon to tackle the suspect to the ground. They pinned his hands behind his back, cuffed him, and pulled him upright, before presenting him to their CO. Casey smiled. He couldn't hear what the leader was saying, but he'd given a few talking-tos in his day, so Casey had a good idea what the leader said.

Casey knew something else, as well.

The four patrolmen and the runner were quite busy, and now was the perfect chance for Casey to slink into the shadows. He couldn't flee the scene—they would see that level of movement—but he could take pains to make himself a smaller target and escape their notice.

Shifting his weight backward, Casey inched himself into the shadows until Casey could hide behind some bushes near the house where he'd first stopped. There he waited for the activity to decrease. Several minutes later, the arrest was complete, and the patrol marched away with their prize. Casey waited a full five minutes before assuming it was safe enough to move.

Twitching his gaze around, Casey confirmed no new movement. Standing, he inched across the street and through some yards toward the path Brice and Tristan would take. A few streets later, he saw them.

As Casey watched, they scanned the area for threats before moving. Tristan was clearly in point—Casey could recognize his friend's gait anywhere—with Carla tucked between his position and Brice's at the rear. Now that they were on the same side of the street, Casey signaled his presence and joined them.

"Trouble?" Tristan inquired.

"Some," Casey answered as he acknowledged Carla and Brice with a nod. "A drunk was apprehended a few blocks from here, but other than that, the way was clear."

"Good," Tristan remarked. "Want to take over?" Casey grinned, and Tristan snorted. "They're all yours," he said and stepped behind Brice as he quietly handed over control to Casey.

After a quick confirmation of the power exchange, Casey led them away.

An hour later, as dawn turned the world from black to dark gray, they arrived at the new hideout. Bringing them inside, Casey took a quick inventory of the room. The little girls were zonked out on the floor near their respective handlers and said handlers stared back at him dully. After six nights of tense running or hiding, everyone looked wiped out. Casey rubbed his shoulder. The tight knot at the base of his neck was giving him a headache, and his ankle throbbed.

_No time for that_ , he scolded silently and continued into the room. Casey had to mince his steps to disguise his limp. Coming to a stop behind Fordmyer, he tapped the man on the shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"I need to speak with you," Casey murmured. "Meet me in the kitchen," he added, pointing to the dented stove.

"You got it."

Casey joined Fordmyer after grabbing his map. "So, we are here," he said, indicating a spot south of the main patrol line. As a former CPS Sergeant, their current location should be familiar to Fordmyer. His ex-platoon patrolled the area due north of their position by two kilometers and the Forest Park initiative.

"We need to get here," Casey added, pointing to a location west of the old superhighway. "Can you tell me what type of obstacles we'll face if we go this way?" he asked as he ran his finger along his proposed route.

Fordmyer whistled softly between his teeth. "Adventurous."

"Unfortunately," Casey agreed. The only way he could see his band avoiding the outer patrol rings would be to stay as close to the epicenter as possible. As someone once said, and all of Casey's strategy text book's pointed out, if your enemies know where you are, then don't be there.

"We have five more nights of travel before we can make the old highway. What I need from you is for you to tell me about all the illegals between here"—Casey reiterated with a jab—"and there"—he slid his finger along the border. "I ran into a revealer here," Casey added, indicating where the patrol apprehended the drunk. "He came from somewhere close—he was too intoxicated not to have—but my knowledge of the black-market State-bars and State-runs is limited." Maybe it had been something he said, or it could have been his intense conversation with Fordmyer, but it was as Casey mentioned the black-market bars that Tristan and Brice arrived with questions in their eyes.

"What do you want to know," Tristan asked.

Instead of answering, Casey stabbed his finger onto the map in the general location of the Dregs and tapped. "Hidden threats like the State-bars, need to be avoided. Can you tell me where any of them are?"

"Well, I don't know all of them," Brice began. "But if you avoid, here, here, and here"—he added, marking the map—"then you shouldn't encounter any off-duty soldiers looking for some off-duty fun."

"I know of these," Fordmyer said, doing his part to inform Casey of potential threats.

When he finished, Casey gave Tristan a look, his eyebrow raised in inquiry.

"Don't look at me," Tristan said. "You know I'm like you on this. I don't know anythin'."

Casey sighed. "All right," he said dismissively. "Go get some rest. I'll hand out path assignments tonight."

The men acknowledged him with grunts, yeahs, and a mock salute before moving off, and Casey shook his head.

Returning to his task, Casey planned the next few days of escape.

***

Soft, feminine voices intruded on Casey's sleep, and he woke to determine the issue and whether he needed to intervene. Keeping his eyes shut, he feigned sleep as he listened.

"It just started, Kit," the voice said. "I don't have anything for it! What am I going to do?" the voice continued. _Karsyn_ , Casey identified after a sleep fogged moment. "If I'd known I was being kidnapped, I would have packed a few things, like my cup."

Her cup? Why would she be missing a cup? They had canteens.

"It couldn't be helped," Armstrong replied. "We couldn't let either of you know what was coming, or you might have given us away."

"But now I have nothing for it," Karsyn whined.

For what, Casey wondered. It didn't make sense. He and Noah had thought of everything. They had plenty of food, water. Maybe Karsyn was upset about the lack of clothing changes? But that didn't sound right either. Cups did not equal dirty clothes. Besides, wearing dirty clothes sucked, but not enough for this level of complaining.

"I brought replacements," Armstrong said. "For the four of you. I think Carla brought a few as well in case the others need some too."

"You did?" The relief in Karsyn's voice was disproportionate to Casey's known facts. "Oh, thank the ever-absent God!"

"They need to be sanitized, though."

_Sanitized? Okay, time to wake up,_ Casey thought as he decided not to be 'asleep' any longer. Rolling over, he opened his eyes to see Karsyn and Armstrong with their heads together.

"What's going on? What needs sanitizing?" Casey asked at the same time, as Armstrong said, "But we do have them."

Both women turned to look at him as one, and Karsyn's cheeks flushed red. "You tell him. I can't," she muttered.

Casey rubbed his eyes and finished sitting up. "Tell me what?"

"Periods."

Casey's eyebrow twitched up in confusion. "Huh?"

"She has her period," Armstrong repeated, dragging each word out.

He glanced at Karsyn then back to Armstrong, not comprehending. _She has her—Oh! Er._ Casey felt an answering blush bloom on his cheeks. He had _not_ thought of that. Noah probably hadn't either.

"We need to boil water," Armstrong said.

"You can't."

"We don't have a choice," Armstrong replied. "Without it, you could jeopardize their reproductive health. I lack the equipment needed to take care of them should that occur."

Casey scratched the back of his neck, remembering how Lottie had handled the same situation for the past several months. "What about cut up shirts or blanket strips?" He'd be willing to sacrifice one of his—except those were dirty—or the one on his back, but that one was Tristan's spares, and he had no right to offer it.

"Are they sanitized? Or, hell, even remotely clean? Do you have some unused thing tucked away that bag of yours?" Armstrong glared.

"Uh," Casey hedged, but the response was futile. Everyone knew he had Tristan's only extra shirt on his back and his two bloodied ones in his bag. Fordmyer and Brice had one shirt in their packs in addition to the one on their backs, but Casey knew those shirts were as dirty as the ones they wore. The two soldiers were rotating their shirt usage in a vain attempt at prolonging the time between washings, but Casey knew it wasn't helping.

They smelled.

Everyone smelled.

"Didn't think so," Armstrong said, scowling. "We need to boil water. We need to do it now. You have no choice."

Casey turned to scan the room while he thought. He didn't know much about their reproductive cycles, but he did know Armstrong was right. "Fordmyer?' he called, pitching his voice to reach the other man without being too loud.

At the call, Fordmyer stood and came over. Crouching, he asked, "Yeah?"

"On a normal patrol day, how often does this section of town get searched?"

Rubbing his chin, Fordmyer gave Casey's question some thought. "We're about four kilometers south of the Park, correct?"

"Yep."

"I only had the north end patrolled once a shift," Fordmyer answered. "Most threats to the Fort's security were closer to the park. No one out here but drifters and retired soldiers. Typically, they keep to themselves and don't cause trouble."

"Is it safe to say that if there were a scent of fire on the air with no visual flame, your men would have left it alone?'

"Probably," Fordmyer replied. "No value in hunting down and returning drifters to Base unless there's an alert out for someone specific."

Casey nodded and dropped his gaze to his bent knee. Their danger in discovery lay in being fugitives, and _not_ in someone finding the fire itself.

"Okay. Get Brice and Tristan up. We'll need all of us on watch while Armstrong takes care of an issue." At Fordmyer's assessing look, Casey barked, "Make it happen." After a pause, Fordmyer nodded and went to do Casey's bidding.

Turning to address Armstrong, he said, "Give me a few minutes to find a proper location where we won't burn a house down or risk discovery. In the meantime, ready what you need."

"Got it," Armstrong replied. "Thanks."

Casey grunted but otherwise did not reply.

***

Tasked with a potential disaster, Casey slipped from the hideout on a quest to locate an inner room which, one, wouldn't burn, two, would remain undetected during the said fire, and three, if detected, wouldn't jeopardize everything he'd accomplished to date. Confirming no one was watching him or his hideout, Casey left the porch for an abandoned home across the street.

After looking in several, Casey chose the house on the corner. Returning to the hideout, he sidled up to a sidewall and surveyed his surroundings. Several moments later, two figures turned onto the street, thus rewarding Casey's paranoia. As they passed by, Casey bit his tongue in an effort not to tsk. The two men hadn't even glanced around under the vague semblance of situational awareness though it was clear they were on duty. Once they had moved on to another street, Casey climbed the stairs to his hideout and went inside.

He nodded to Armstrong as he entered and then called Tristan, Brice, and Fordmyer over. "I'm going to take Armstrong to the house on the corner. You three will keep watch and do whatever is required to keep the women safe. Understood?"

The three men agreed.

Good.

Before he could return to Armstrong, Tristan touched his forearm, delaying him. "Yeah?" Casey inquired.

"I assume this is a quick trip, but if there is even the remotest chance you can wash your shirts"—at the mention of his clothes, Casey glanced at his bag in the corner where he'd left it earlier that morning—"take them and do it."

He agreed with Tristan in principle, but it wasn't possible. They didn't have a lot of water and wouldn't be able to replenish their supplies until later tonight at the earliest. Casey shook his head, returning his focus to Tristan. "I'll clean them soon," he said, thinking of the future creeks they would cross. "But not now."

Tristan released Casey's arm. "All right," he murmured.

Casey tried not to sigh. "I know it's tough right now—"

Tristan raised his hand, stopping Casey mid-sentence. "—Go. Get Armstrong taken care of. I'm fine."

_Yeah, right_ , Casey thought but chose not to voice, and instead, he rejoined Armstrong at the door. "Ready?"

She nodded.

Casey looked out the window. Not finding anyone, he eased the door open and expanded his surveillance. Exiting the home, he motioned Armstrong to his side. Together they loped across the street, reached the targeted yard, and hustled up the porch stairs where they paused inside the threshold to catch their breath.

When they were no longer winded, Armstrong asked, "Been meaning to ask. What happened to your foot?"

Casey looked down, lifting each foot in a quick inspection before returning it to the floor. He didn't see what she meant.

"Your limp," Armstrong clarified.

_Oh._ "Hurt it last August. Never quite healed."

"I see." Armstrong's attention shifted from Casey's feet to the room at large, and Casey stepped passed her.

"We'll use the basement," Casey said, leading the way to the lower level. "I already collected some flammables. You have the cooking pot and other things you need?"

"Yes."

"Good," Casey remarked. He opened the door to the basement and moved down the stairs. "Watch your head at the bottom."

His warning earned a chuckle from Armstrong. "If it's short enough for me to hit my head," Armstrong said. "Then, you probably had to crawl."

Casey snorted. She was right. "Sorry, trying to be helpful."

Armstrong patted him on the shoulder. "I know."

At the bottom of the stairs, Casey walked toward the supplies he'd left at the wall. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his solar-powered lighter and flicked it on. The electric coil's spark cast a dubious amount of light, but it was enough, Casey found the pile. He kicked it toward the far corner of the room while Armstrong followed in his wake. It wasn't until they both stopped, that he realized she'd been collecting leaves, papers, and other assorted small kindling type things from the area around them.

"Here?" she asked.

"As good as anywhere."

Kneeling, she set to work building a fire while Casey continued to hold the lighter-turned-torch high enough for her to see.

"Okay," she said. "Light it up."

While Armstrong tended the blaze, Casey emptied the canteens into the bucket. He finished his task at about the same time as Armstrong finished hers, and they worked together to stabilize the pot of water over the small flame.

As the water heated, he turned to Armstrong, and they asked in unison, "How are you holding up?" He laughed. "You first," he urged.

"I'm all right. Tired. You?"

"The same," Casey answered, staring at the fire.

He wondered how Lottie, Greysen, and Hope were doing. Was Lottie feeling better? Had she been able to potty-train Greyseng? Was his beautiful daughter, Hope, rolling over yet? A soft smile graced his lips as he thought about his daughter. Were her eyes changing color? Would they be Lottie's brown or his hazel? What about her hair? Would it stay blonde or turn light brown, like his? He couldn't wait to find out.

After an indeterminant length of time, Casey broke the silence. "Do you have any kids?"

Casey watched out of the side of his eye as Armstrong shook her head. She leaned forward to check the water, which Casey could see from where he sat. It bubbled but had yet to boil.

"No. No kids," she said as she sat back on her heels. "It's one of the reasons I was able to become a surgeon instead of staying a State-worker. You know as well as I do that the successful breeders don't go on to get careers in the Army, and the ones who managed to donate fertilizable eggs, end up in the State-runs to capitalize on the slim chance they'll conceive while there."

Armstrong rechecked the water, clearly agitated. Sighing, she glanced at Casey over her shoulder. "I'm probably one of the most barren women you'll ever meet."

"Did you want to have a child?"

Armstrong blew a non-existent strand of hair from her forehead. "No?" She shook her head. "Maybe. I don't know." She sat back down. "Regardless, it wasn't to be. I'm sixty-one years old. My chance has come and gone."

Casey drew up his knees and looped his arms around them. He didn't know what to say. After a lengthy pause, Casey volunteered, "I never really thought about it before Lottie."

"Your wife?"

He glanced at Armstrong before nodding. "I'd recovered pregnant assets before—usually dumb kids—you know, stupid mistakes?—trying to outrun their fate." He returned his attention to the fire.

"I never gave them a second thought. And then one night in August, while training a bunch of recruits how we patrol our baited traps, we found her."

Casey smiled, remembering the night. "She was terrified and stank worse than a room full of fugitives," he said, trying to make light of their deplorable conditions. "She tried to run that first night—and several nights after that. I guess, at first, I admired her spirit. It wasn't the first time I'd felt the stirrings of injustice, but it was the biggest one." He turned to look at Armstrong again. "Usually, once an asset was under my control, _none_ of them fought their fate. They all, kinda, gave up."

Armstrong nodded.

Returning his attention to the flames, Casey poked at the fire under the pot to keep the coals in the right place.

"Then Lottie had Greysen," Casey said, his throat growing raw with his suppressed awe at Greysen's birth. Casey cleared his throat. "I never held a baby before—let alone a newborn—and the little tike promptly stole my heart." He chuckled softly. "His birth was only a week or so after I reclaimed Lottie, and I hadn't quite made that leap treason yet, but looking back, I know exactly how close I was to those dangerous words that night." He took a few deep breaths, remembering. "If you asked me then, I would have only admitted to thoughts of leaving my post, never the mutiny I performed later. Water's boiling," he said, interrupting his story.

Armstrong plucked something out of her pocket and dropped it in the water. It didn't look like a cup to Casey, but what did he know about these things. Continuing his part of the conversation, he said, "But then the time came for me to turn them in, and I couldn't do it. Greysen was mine. I set them up in a woefully small campsite where Noah lives, and you know the rest."

Poking at the floaty blob, Armstrong nodded. "Noah's kept me informed to the best of his ability, but he didn't let me know all those details."

"Why did you get involved," Casey prompted while she tended the sterilization process. "Besides the demotion," he added, remembering their earlier conversation from weeks ago.

Armstrong sat back onto her heels. "I'm not sure what _I_ can do," she said. "I'm not a medic. I'm not an FCO. My FAR specialty was research. But I do know some medicinal doctoring, and since I can't do what I love and I might as well apply this training to the settlement. It's not like Noah'd be able to suborn a fully-integrated FCO or FAR. They'd never leave their work. _I_ wouldn't have left my work, but it left me," Armstrong trailed off. She stirred the water.

Glancing over her shoulder, she clarified, "That doesn't mean I don't find the situation of segregation and forced breeding programs acceptable. It only means that what I love was within the status-quo, and I wouldn't have wanted to stop."

Casey nodded. He could relate completely. If it hadn't been for being discharged, he'd probably be at Fort Sutton right now.

"Okay," Armstrong announced, fishing the weird plastic thingy from the water, and dropping it into a small open case. "This is done."

"Excellent," Casey replied. "Head on up and wait for me at the doors. I'm going to put this fire out."

"You got it," Armstrong replied and laboriously climbed to her feet with a groan. "These old bones hate the floor."

Casey chuckled. He knew precisely what she meant.

# Chapter 32

Four kilometers later, Casey called the column to a halt. He ushered everyone into an abandoned building while he scouted for a more comfortable place to hide for another hour or two before full dark.

Spying a likely place right next to a creek, Casey angled to peek inside. Movement—the soft shuffle of feet—had him retracting his head from the door and his body pressed against the wall, minimizing himself as a target. He waited for two heartbeats—ten—twenty-five—but no one sounded an alarm nor came to the door to threaten him directly.

Debating his options, Casey struggled to find the correct solution. Should he go in with a gun drawn, ready to fire at the slightest movement, or should he leave this hideout for whoever was already inside? If he left it, then he needed to find someplace else, or, Casey amended, he could give up the hunt for the time being. It wasn't as if the current hideout was unacceptable, only uncomfortable. Besides, if the occupant inside this building was human, then they probably didn't know who had been looking in. Casey's uniform identified him as a soldier, albeit an off-duty one, but his silhouette hadn't given anything else away. It would be safe to assume the occupant wouldn't go running off to the authorities.

_Let them live, then_ , he decided. He'd killed enough.

Glancing at the creek and then around the surrounding area, Casey frowned, painfully aware of his exposed status. He gave the hideout one more longing look. He hated to leave it. With his mind made up, Casey returned to the group, signaling his arrival before entering the old building.

"Find anythin'," Tristan asked as Casey came inside.

Casey shook his head.

Tristan shrugged. "This place works. We'll be fine."

Instead of responding, Casey wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt. It felt a hundred degrees inside, and he was glad they wouldn't be here long. "Have everyone fill their canteens," he ordered, thinking ahead to their night of travel. "We'll fill the purifiers in the creek when we cross it."

"Sure thing," Tristan said.

Leaning against the jam, Casey stared outside, his mind wandering. They'd been phenomenally lucky the past few days, something he hadn't expected, not with them this close to the center of Fort St. Louis. Casey hoped their good fortune would hold for a few more kilometers, at least. If it did, then they would be past the main thoroughfare and into decayed suburbia where drifters were scares and patrols were scarcer. After that, they could expand their transit length to the twenty kilometers as he'd initially planned.

"Everyone's ready," Tristan said at his side.

Casey repressed his start of surprise with difficulty immediately berating himself for his inattention. "Good," Casey replied after a heartbeat or two. "Have everyone get what rest they can. We'll move out as small teams at full dark."

"Yes, Sir."

***

Pleasant surprises awaited Casey that night. For one, each team walked a full four kilometers further than he initially allotted. The group also managed to disguise their passage by traveling in a creek most of the way. Lastly, their luck held when he found a small park with a pond at its center, and the light of dawn found everyone eyeballing the water with greedy eyes.

Knowing there would be no way to forestall the pond's usage without a full mutiny on his hands, Casey addressed the team. "Eyes on me," he commanded. Once he had everyone looking at him, he continued, "I know the water looks inviting." He made a display of sniffing his pits. "But in the grand scheme of things, our stench can wait. What I'd like us to focus on first are life preservation activities. We need to secure enough drinking water for today and, if possible, stock up for tonight. Can I have you and you"—he said, pointing to Karsyn, then Stanzy—"take a few minutes to top off and set out our purifiers while Carla and Armstrong collect your laundry. Fordmyer. Brice. Give Tristan your dirty clothes," Casey said, shifting his focus to his friend. "And I'll rinse the dirt from them."

Scratching behind his ear, Casey paused to reflect on his decision to do everyone's laundry. The offer wasn't due to his charitable nature. In truth, he figured it would be the epitome of unfair if he foisted the job of cleaning his blood-covered shirts onto someone else.

Waving away a fly buzzing around his head, Casey added, "While I do the laundry, I want the men to take time to get clean." He put a hand up when Armstrong opened her mouth. "Before anyone can think this means I'm giving the men preferential treatment over the women, please consider this reasoning. I'll be there washing everyone's clothes—we need as much time as we can get for drying the garments so that two loads can get done enough for nightfall. Otherwise, you'll be sitting around in your underwear, and I assume this isn't optimal?"

The women shook their heads.

He went on, "I also assume you would prefer not to bathe where I can accidentally see you in your birthday suits?"

When Armstrong's mouth snapped shut, he mentally congratulated himself on guessing her objection correctly.

"Glad that's settled," Casey said.

Pausing, he debated the merits of having a warm meal and clean bodies. Other than the potential drifter at the old warehouse last night, they hadn't encountered a soul, so it would probably be safe enough to have a fire for a warm meal as long as it was small.

"Tristan?"

"Sir?"

"When finished cleaning, can you begin a smokeless fire and prep a soup for us to eat around mid-day."

"You got it, Sir," Tristan replied with a huge grin.

Casey smiled back. Returning his attention to everyone, he added, "Standard camp rules apply. Keep noise to a minimum and try to rest as much as possible. We have another long night coming up, and I want you all raring to go."

The group murmured their assent and drifted away to their tasks. While the girls readied the drinking water, Casey went to his bag to retrieve his bloody shirts.

With a grimace, he pulled out the garments. They crunched as he shook them flat. Logically he'd known neck wounds bled a lot, but in practice, the amount of blood each man had lost had been staggering.

Taking the shirts, his underwear, and his extra pair of pants down to the pond, he dropped them into the water. While they soaked, he stripped down to his boxers and added the new garments to the pile. After a few minutes, he fished his first shirt out and began scrubbing the stains with his fingernails. The discoloration from the dried blood refused to come out.

A fresh pile of laundry dropped from the sky, landing next to him on the ground with a whoomph, and Casey glanced up to find Armstrong standing next to him. "Here," she said as she offered him a small bar of soap.

"Thanks," he said, taking it from her, surprised at her generosity.

He'd wanted to pack some of Lottie's cleaning herbs but feared they'd get lost or take up too much room. Casey had reasoned that no one ever died from being stinky, but not having enough food or water would definitely kill.

"It's my only bar," she said. "so try to make it last long enough for my bath. Okay?"

Casey nodded, and as she left, he sniffed it. It smelled floral and probably had cost her a small fortune at the market. He returned to his task, attacking his shirt with it.

While he worked, he kept a loose watch on the camp and the park boundaries. He'd never been here before, but he knew where they were on the map. They were two kilometers east of the old super-highway and about four kilometers south of where he'd entered the Fort with Tristan—Casey paused to tally the days—nearly a month ago.

Holy shit! Had it been that long?

If so, then it was almost July. This time last year, Cameron had come into his camp with a summons from Green, and his life had gone pear-shaped in a hurry.

He chuckled and shook his head to dispel the depressing thoughts. Casey was doing a service for his country regardless of if his superiors saw it the same way. Setting his clean shirt aside in the grass, Casey moved on to the next. An hour later, Casey had washed all the clothes, and all the men, except for himself, had finished bathing.

Standing with a groan and several popping joints, Casey collected the bundle of wet half-folded clothes and made his way to the group sitting under a tree. As he drew near, he smelled the soup, and his stomach roared in response. Tristan happened to be close enough to hear it, and he laughed.

"Hungry?" Tristan asked.

"Very."

"Go get clean so the women can, and then we can eat," Tristan ordered as Casey handed Tristan the pile of wet things.

"You got it."

Turning on his heel, Casey left Tristan to sort out the drying process. As he walked back to the pond, he opted to bathe in his underwear. At the pond's edge, Casey stepped into it, and the muck squelched between his toes. It was like stepping into a bath warmed by the fire but with more mud, sticks, and algae between his toes. The water, though cooler than the air around them, was not particularly refreshing.

Casey shrugged and waded out farther. There was nothing he could do about it, and it would be sufficient for getting travel stink from his pores.

At about mid-pond, Casey submerged himself completely. Returning to the surface, he pushed water from his eyes and quickly scoured his skin with his fingertips. After a quick rinse, Casey returned to the bank, where his freshly cleaned toes once again turned dirty as he squished in the mud.

Bending down, Casey sloughed water from his legs.

"Our turn?" Armstrong asked, drawing Casey's attention.

Casey quickly checked that his underwear covered all the necessary parts before righting himself and stepping aside for the women. "All yours," he added with a flourish.

Armstrong snorted, and as Casey left, he heard the unmistakable sounds of people shedding clothes.

Returning to the men, he parked himself between the tiny fire, the bushes holding wet clothes, and the view of the pond.

"Eyes away from the ladies," Casey barked in warning though none of the men appeared remotely interested.

"When they get back, and everyone finishes eating, we'll set up a four-point watch. Fordmyer and Brice, you'll share guard duty with Carla and Armstrong. I want each corner of the park under surveillance, in a male, female, male, female orientation. Carla has little experience being on duty and even less guarding an open space. You are posted at the corners across from each other to spread the load during your shift. We'll trade off every two hours until nightfall. All right?"

The grunts from his men sounded tired and lacked enthusiasm. "In another day, we should be free of the main threat posed by being so close to Fort St. Louis, and we should be able to transition from nighttime travel to daytime." That announcement was received more warmly.

Tristan shuffled closer, "You think it's wise to do that?"

"At this point, yes," Casey said. "I don't see why we can't switch to daylight travel after we cross the highway. We'll have to have a watch each night and no fires, but we won't be any more at risk then as we are now, or maybe even less, Missouri is a big state, and the Brass can't watch it all."

Tristan didn't reply, but he did relax. He glanced past Casey to the pond where the sound of childish laughter drifted toward them. Casey shrugged. He hated how he had to curb the little girls' playtime for the last few days. They needed relaxation too. Besides, they weren't that loud, and Casey didn't fear discovery.

"One more night of travel," Casey repeated, "And then we're in the clear."

***

_Shut-up_ , Casey chanted silently, uncharitably, and glared at the top of Lucy's head. The little girl was inconsolable, and he didn't think that gagging her would do a damn bit of good. She was well and truly fed up with hiking at night and wanted _everybody_ to know about it. The only consolation was how far from Fort St. Louis they'd come, having crossed the old highway early that night.

"She's tired of travelin'," Tristan said, joining Casey at the back of the column. "We all are."

"And the carefree day at the pond didn't help," Casey agreed. Regardless, her screams of frustration were knifing into his brain, and he wanted to throttle her.

"I have a suggestion," Tristan said softly.

His tone and his words caught Casey's attention. "What?"

"Wolf's."

"Wolf's?"

"Yes," Tristan replied. "Let's take a detour to Wolf's. We'll stop for a few days. Let her play with the kids there, and we'll all get our systems back on daytime schedules. We'll have food, drink, showers." Casey scratched behind his ear and then rubbed his nose. Possibly sensing Casey's capitulation, Tristan added, "We're only a full day's travel away if we turn south now."

_Wolf's?_ The idea had merit, but it would be impossible to sneak ten people past Fort Ridge. Yet, Wolf had indicated they could use his home as a resupply station if the need arose, and that need was here.

Casey scowled at Lucy again.

She chose that moment to look up from Stanzy's shoulder, where she'd had her face buried for the past hour, and her gaze landed on Casey. Unable to school his expression fast enough, he noted when she registered his hostility. Her eyelids scrunched closed. Her bottom lip quivered, and her face turned red a moment before she wailed out her frustration and fear.

Casey slapped his palm across his face and slowly let it slip down to his side.

"Stop here," Casey ordered, raising his voice so the rest of the column would realize he meant them and not the child throwing a tantrum.

He shrugged out of his bag and fished out his map. Casey spread it open and angled it to the moonlight. With nearly a quarter of the moon in the sky, he could read the text if he tried hard and didn't get in his own way of the limited light.

"Turn left," he called to Brice at the front of the line. "When you get to a T intersection about two kilometers down the road, stop there. We should be able to find some shelter adequate for the rest of the night."

Brice acknowledged Casey's order, and the entire crew resumed their march. Once Brice reached the streets in question, Casey sent Fordmyer and Brice off to find a good hideout. When they returned, they lead everyone to an old store with missing windows. Everyone stepped inside and shuffled their way deeper into the store where the floor no longer showed signs of elemental decay. Wearily, they sat, making themselves comfortable.

Casey stepped between them and the window. "I propose a vote," Casey began. The words felt odd on his tongue after days of assuming command, but that wasn't how the settlement worked, or, at least, not how he _wanted_ it to work.

"We can split into two teams. The first lead by Tristan and comprising of Fordmyer, Armstrong, Trish, and Lucy, which I will call team one. I'll lead team two." He paused and glanced at everyone, assessing the expressions on their faces, which he could marginally see. "Team one will detour to a site run by an ally. Here team one will rest for a few days before continuing to the settlement proper. My team—team two—will have to backtrack a bit to disguise the trail of team one. This will add some days to our mission but are vital to our success. I suspect the Army will discover our hideouts. Surveillance and tracking are inevitable. That means we can't head straight to my camp west of here. I can't jeopardize their safety for the sake of a few days of travel."

"Why can't we all stop at this friend's camp?" Karsyn asked. "Wait 'til it's clear to move forward?"

"For the same reason," Casey answered. "Whoever is following us would be lead straight to our friend. They have enough trouble with the ARA as it is. I don't want to add to it. If we split up, we might be able to buy everyone time by misdirection."

There were some quiet grumbles from the group. Casey felt compelled to add, "If we don't split up, then that means everyone has to do a misdirection mission. We physically cannot head straight to the settlement. So, either we all head the same way, or we buy the youngest amongst us, a few days of respite before finishing the mission. I'll let you think on it for a few hours, and we'll vote at first light."

"I can vote now," Carla said from her post at the back of the group.

"I can, too," Stanzy added.

Several others replied in the affirmative. "Okay," Casey said. "What's the verdict? Raise your hand if you want to stay together?" He snorted when no hand lifted into the air. "Split up?" Everyone responded with some form of a raised hand. "Okay. Tristan and Fordmyer? At first light, you take your group south. The rest of us will go north."

"Avoid the farms."

"Thanks for the reminder. We'll angle west more than north."

"Should be good then," Tristan replied.

Casey nodded and smiled.

With luck, Casey would be home in two—maybe three—weeks.

***

Thunder rumbled in the distance as Casey made his way up the narrow-ass stairs from the once-finished basement. The house he'd found as tonight's hideout was surprisingly stable. The modest one-story rambler boasted several perks, one of which was the stairs to the walkout basement. Then there was the sturdy plastic-composite porch that branched off a ground-floor kitchen that still had useable counters. Lastly, the living room—though you wouldn't want to sit on the furniture—had plenty of room for beds. All in all, the house was perfect for their needs.

At the top of the stairs, he found Carla and Brice whispering in the kitchen as they both worked on cooking a meal for the team. Casey snorted in amusement at the tiny fire in the old steel sink. Leaving them to their task, he spied Karsyn on the back porch setting out their purifiers. Lastly, he found Stanzy in the living room, staring at a painting.

Casey stood silently at her side, looking at the artwork. It was rare to find anything like it in the world. How it hadn't fallen off the wall yet was anyone's guess. Why the owners had felt the need to keep it instead of handing it to the museums for preservation when the nation put out the recall for things like this some sixty-some-odd years ago was a mystery to Casey. One he would never be able to solve. That didn't detract from the beauty of the piece, though.

"I can't imagine what it would have been like," Stanzy said, breaking the silence. "Ya'know? Owning something like this"—she waved her hand at the artwork—"Owning cars, and comm devices, and living with only your families—or even by yourself—and not with some random bunkmate assigned to you at the whim of some unseen person in charge." Stanzy paused. "Tell me about it, would you? About this settlement? About why was I to die?" She turned to look at Casey, and he met her gaze evenly. "We have time, right?"

He nodded once and returned his attention to the image once again. From his peripheral vision, Stanzy focused on the painting as well. It was during this reflection, as he stared at the crisp painted lines, the metallic embellishments, the sense of accomplishment from the subject of the piece—an Asian woman dancing, costume swirling—Casey told Stanzy everything he knew. He even told her about the crisis and how it came about, reasoning that since Armstrong was now AWOL, it wouldn't matter if he shared that information with the people he needed to be calling family. "And that is what I know," Casey said, wrapping up his story.

Stanzy was quiet for several beats while the thunderstorm grew outside. "So you weren't lying back in that alleyway. I would have eventually met my birth mom at this secret facility, huh?"

"Yes. But only if you conceived without medical intervention."

"Karsyn too?"

"All of you would have. Lucy's a special case. She would have never gone into the main facility since she's a priority _white_. A female born of a mother who naturally conceived and had a girl."

"Karsyn needs to hear all this," Stanzy said, turning to face him fully after their long chat in front of the painting. "She wants to run away from you. She thinks she has a chance, now that there are only the two of you available to stop her." Casey bit back a sigh. He'd expected her to bolt ever since he'd found them with their heads together that second day. The day Tristan killed his first man.

"She wants me to come with, but I told her no, and after what you've just told me, I'm glad you came and got me out."

Casey patted her on the shoulder. The action a cross between fatherly affection and comradery.

"Okay," he agreed readily. After a long pause where he heard thunder rumbling, Casey said, "It sounds like the storm will be here soon, and she won't be able to hide outside much longer. Why don't you send her in, and then see if dinner is ready?

"Okay," Stanzy replied and left him in the living room where he resumed his contemplation of the painting of a dancing woman.

***

Lottie rubbed her stomach and eyeballed her bucket. Did she need it? Her tummy gurgled unpleasantly, making her breathe shallowly through her mouth to calm her roiling belly. She swallowed hard. The back of her tongue tingled, unpleasantly hot, saliva flooding her mouth, and she tasted metal.

Ugh, maybe it's cancer.

"It's not cancer, sweetie," Nyah replied. Great, Lottie'd announced her thoughts aloud. She glanced at Nyah as Nyah said, "You're pregnant. It's morning sickness. Really, really, bad morning sickness, to be sure, but morning sickness, none the less. You'll be better once you're out of that first trimester."

"When will that be," Lottie grumbled. If she counted the days from her last night with Casey—assuming that was the night the pregnancy happened—then she'd be two months along already. Except, her symptoms had manifested before he left, which meant? "I've got to be getting close to that twelve-week mark," she said.

Pressing her hand against her abdomen again, Lottie could feel the hard lump of her uterus under her fingertips. She knew that feeling. Anyone who'd ever been pregnant before, new it as well. It was unbelievable. Pregnant? How could that have happened?! Well, Lottie knew _how_ it happened, but that didn't make her feel any better.

She groaned but returned to her task.

Plucking a handful of fresh green beans out of the collection basket, she began snapping the ends and discarding the waste in the fire. The raw beans landed in a bucket of water to soak. "I wonder if Casey is on his way home by now." She wished that was the case. She missed him and could use his help.

"I don't know," Nyah said, adding her handful of green beans to Lottie's before getting a new set. "I guess it would depend on how fast they can move with little kids. I can't imagine they can go far—"

A soft woof from Theia caught their attention, and they both looked to the dog at Lottie's feet. Theia had her head and ears up, staring at the east path. No one except Wolf, ever came from the east—well, maybe Casey returning from Fort St. Louis would—Lottie whipped her gaze around the camp and spied Grey playing with King by the recently cleared section of their field. He had a twig in his hand and was crouched near a tree stump, digging happily in the dirt.

Lottie's shoulders drooped. Grey showed zero interest in the path, so that meant whoever headed their way wasn't Casey. But it wouldn't be Wolf either. He'd been at their camp the other week helping with the garden and collecting his share of the processed meat.

Theia woofed again and stood.

Okay, now Lottie was curious.

Theia wasn't trained as a guard dog like King and Attila were—she was a breeding bitch—so the fact King was unaffected by the same sounds as Theia meant the person on the east path was on King's 'approved human' list. Lottie wondered who it could be.

"What is it, girl?" Lottie asked, feeling stupid voicing the question to a dog. As if Theia could answer! But, Lottie always seemed to find herself doing that. "Is it a threat?" Theia glanced her way and then back to the path. Theia took a step forward.

"Is it Noah?" Lottie asked.

Theia woofed again, and her tail wagged. _Yep. Probably Noah._ A second later, Lottie spied Attila on the clearing border, slinking toward the path with a growl in her throat and a threat clear in her bared teeth.

Huh.

Lottie glanced at King, who acted as if no one were coming, to Theia, who looked ready to greet the stranger with a happy bark and a few licks, then to Attila, who quivered with menace.

"Maybe," Nyah said, drawing out the word in a half sing-song. "We should investigate that. Here, let me help you up, and then I'll go find one of the guys working at the supplies pile."

It was a good thing all the homes slotted for decommissioning were down. Lottie now had a full settlement of souls at her disposal for this unknown and potential threat. Not to mention, it made everyone's workload more manageable, which helped Lottie's stress and eased her gathering duties. She suspected Noah and Javier were out checking for deer dens or other edible animals, which would explain their absence now when Lottie needed them.

Lottie nodded and offered her hand. Once standing, she shuffled over to where Hope and Rowan rested. The two little girls lay practically intertwined. Hope's pale blonde curls—a trait she must have inherited from Casey since Lottie's hair was straight—fanned over Rowan's dark blonde, almost brown, super curly, super soft locks. The two were barely four months old but had already figured out how to clasp each other's hands and hold tight. Lottie hated to admit it—they did look adorable cuddled together, besties practically from birth—but it did scare her to have them pressed so tightly together when they slept. In the end, though, it was easier for Nyah and Lottie to keep a close watch on the slumbering pair than to try to keep them separated.

Lottie stood next to them protectively and called to her son, "Grey? King? Come here." Grey and King looked over at her summons. Grey clambered to his feet. She would have picked the girls up and carried them to the settlement's shed but didn't see the point. King didn't think the visitor a threat, so Lottie decided not to either.

"'Kay, Mommy!" Grey yelled as he ran over. His black curly hair bounced with each step, and King nipped at his heels. Grey squealed in delight, and Lottie smiled. The adage 'a boy and his dog' now made sense. Grey and King were virtually the same entity!

"Mommy?" Grey asked, coming to a halt next to her.

"I want you to stay near me for a bit, okay? Stay with Mommy?" The tone of her voice must have alerted him to the seriousness of the request, for he nodded and promptly plopped his dirt-covered thumb in his mouth.

As one, they turned to face the east path. Grey loped one arm around her knee and buried his face into her thigh while Lottie braced herself.

A short time later, a sharp, warning bark sounded in the distance, and a man's voice answered. The sound was too far away to identify, but he didn't seem alarmed. That made the visitor, if not a friend, then not an enemy, either.

The quiet snick of a gun, checked, and barrel returned, drew Lottie's eye over her shoulder, and she saw Mason with Nyah walking toward her.

"Know who it is yet?" Mason asked.

"Nope," Lottie replied. "But Attila's on the trail, and the alarms haven't sounded, so either he's good at fooling our dogs and our early alerts, or we know him."

"Him?"

"Yeah, I heard a man's voice say something to Attila when she barked a warning."

"Ah." Mason didn't say anything more. Instead, he kissed Nyah on the lips before marching off to the east path.

While Mason was checking on the threat, Lottie and Nyah tended their babies. Pretty soon, Theia warned them of someone's arrival. Leaving Hope on the blanket, Lottie stood and spied Mason through the trees, and a second later, she identified the camp's guest.

Cameron?

Lottie's knees felt weak, and she had to sit down or risk falling. "Oh, ever-absent, God," she whispered. Cameron had been in Fort St. Louis as an intermediary for Casey and the settlement. He would wait and listen to determine the success or failure of the mission. His post on the west border of Fort St. Louis, gave Casey easy access. The fact he was here at the settlement meant Casey had sent him with a message requesting help.

And if Casey hadn't sent him? Well, that wasn't good. Cameron had dire news from Fort St. Louis.

Her heart pounded. The blood rushed behind her ears, giving the world a soft whoosh, whoosh sound which drowned out all but the sharpest of words. What if he was dead? Her hands flew to her belly. What would she do with three babies?

Someone trapped her cheeks in their hands and brought her attention back to the world. "You okay?" Mason asked. Lottie pressed her hands into the dirt to sit up and rubbed her fingers over her eyes.

"What happened?"

Mason half-chuckled, half-snorted. "I asked you first."

"You did?"

He nodded. "You okay?"

Lottie patted her body to be sure, but other than a little woozy, she felt fine. Shifting her weight to get her knees under her, she stood. Nyah joined her and looped her arm around Lottie's waist as Mason helped her on the other side. They brought her to the central fire and helped her ease down to one of the stump-turned-chairs.

Cameron took a seat next to her.

Nyah placed Hope in her lap and joined them on Cameron's other side. Mason slid behind Nyah and rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Tell me," Lottie demanded. She could picture it easily, Casey dead, or arrested, or pinned in a standoff, and worst of all, never, ever coming back.

"Do you know where Noah is. Or Javier?" Cameron asked.

"What?" Lottie asked, breathless. "What is it? Tell me! What's wrong? Is Casey all right? Please?" Lottie asked, the questions leaving her mouth almost quicker than she could think them. "I have to know."

Cameron shook his head. "They need to hear this too."

"Then tell us twice," Lottie urged, desperate to know. "Is Casey... Dead?"

"No," Cameron replied, his eyelids widening, calling attention to the whites of his eyes. "No! Nothing like that—or—at least, I don't _think_ so."

"Tell me? Please?" Lottie begged, her voice cracking.

Cameron glanced at her, then Hope in her arms, and to Nyah and Mason. His shoulder's drooped, and he took a deep breath. "Okay. I left as soon as I heard. The IRT is after him."

"But we knew that," Mason said, and Cameron shook his head.

"I don't mean the ones sent by Fort Twenty-four. I mean, when he stole those girls from Fort St. Louis, the Army pinned a brand new squad just for his capture."

Lottie pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart raced under her palm, and sweat trickled down her back.

"A new squad?" she repeated the same time as a familiar voice spoke from behind her, "They mobilized quickly."

Noah stopped behind her, his hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed.

Lottie gripped his fingers as Cameron countered, "No, I think this was in the works from before Case's escape last summer." As Cameron spoke, Javier entered the circle around the fire. He found a seat and motioned Nyah to hand Rowan to him. He took the infant with a smile and turned his attention to Cameron.

"But regardless," Cameron continued. "The IRT was dispatched the day after the generals learned of the girls kidnapping. Casey's going to need help—if it's not too late already—no way he'll be able to avoid the IRT."

"Huxley was successful in retrieving the girls," Noah stated.

Lottie wanted to groan in dismay. Couldn't Noah see that Casey was in trouble! Noah needed to leave _right now_ to help! Fingers tightened at her neck, keeping her from shifting restlessly.

"Yes. The girls went missing on a Friday night a little over two weeks ago," Cameron answered the non-question.

"And, Huxley is still at large?" Noah asked.

Cameron swallowed audibly and nodded.

"That is good," Noah replied. "What of his accomplices? Fordmyer, Brice, and Armstrong?"

Cameron shook his head. "I don't know. Never heard their names before now. Who are they?"

"Good," Noah remarked, seeming to have not heard Cameron, but that was Noah's MO. Most of the time, when he ignored answering or randomly changed the subject, it didn't bother her, but today Lottie didn't appreciate it. She wanted to know what happened and she wanted to know it right now!

"What reclamation tactics have the generals ordered?" Noah asked.

Cameron's lips thinned as he thought or maybe silenced his frustration. After a moment, he answered, "They focused west of the Fort at first. By the second day, they hadn't found him, so they switched to the north where they noted a break in patrols. The third day they had an informant, and that is when they dispatched the IRT."

"Where did the generals focus their search on that third day?" Noah asked.

Cameron huffed a breath out forcefully. "They dispatched the IRT, Noah! You need to go and help."

"Where did the generals focus their search that third day?" Noah repeated.

"Damn it! Aren't you hearing me?" Cameron barked.

"Yes," Noah answered. "I hear you, but leaving without all the information is pointless and will potentially jeopardize the mission to aid Casey's escape. Now, tell me, where did the generals focus their search on that third day?"

Groaning, Cameron replied, "South. The turned south, in ever-widening patrols, four times an hour. The last known coordinates of Casey and the girls were from a park south of the Fort, but that is where the path turned cold."

"Path?" Noah inquired. "You mean where the informant's information became stale?"

Shaking his head, Cameron said, "No. I mean, that is where the string of dead soldiers stopped."

Lottie covered her mouth, softening her gasp.

Cameron continued, "Three soldiers were found dead a few blocks apart and following a southeasterly path toward the river. The last body was found several blocks from the park in question. The only reason they suspect the park was a hideout is due to a small toy they found. It was a favorite of one of the little girls back at her commune. She always brought it with her when she went to the infirmary."

"What else," Noah prompted.

Cameron shook his head. "Nothing else. The park is the last known location. The day I left, the Brass thought he was nearby and that they would have him by nightfall. For all I know, they do. I left immediately for here but had to take a few side-steps to avoid the patrols looking for him."

"What are their search patterns?" Noah asked. "Have you heard which method they were using?"

"A radial pulse."

Noah nodded. Lottie assumed that method made as much sense as any other one. The generals had a better chance of pinning him down by sending out several squads at ever-increasing distances from the center and have them stagger their searches at irregular intervals. From an aerial view, Lottie knew it looked a bit like a bullseye target, where each of the target's colored bands would be a platoon of soldiers, split into small squads, and ordered to search within their section. Casey would be pinned for sure since each area would coordinate their timing between patrols and probably moved in opposite directions.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she dashed them with a thumb.

She'd never see him again!

"And they are focusing south, you said?" Javier confirmed.

Cameron nodded. "South."

"He's not there is he," Javier said as he shot Noah a quizzical look across the fire. Lottie craned her neck to see what Noah thought, but he kept her from twisting fully by rubbing shoulders.

"No, he isn't," Noah replied, and Cameron tossed his hands in the air in evident frustration.

"What do you mean," Nyah asked, but Lottie thought she might know."

"He's west, isn't he?" Lottie inquired.

"I suspect so," Noah answered. "I'll head to Wolf's. If Casey defied their expectations, which I suspect he did, he'd send some—if not all—of the girls to Wolf's for a day or two of respite."

"But what if he doesn't show," Lottie asked.

"I'll know in a few days, and if some of them make it to Wolf's, then he'll make sure they get to us."

Lottie nodded. She didn't think he was right. Her heart told her Casey was in trouble, and until he walked into the camp, unharmed, that is what Lottie would believe.

She hugged Hope to her chest and realized Grey wasn't at her side. Where was he? Her back tightened, ready to jump to her feet, but a hand kept her down.

"It's early, yet," Javier remarked. "I'll pack and go today."

"No. I will," Noah replied, pressing his fingertips into her collar bone. "Grey is fine," he whispered in her ear. "That is what caused your tension, yes?"

She nodded.

"He is behind us playing."

With a shuddering breath, Lottie's shoulder's drooped, and her prior tears slipped past her effort to stem them. Noah, possibly sensing her distress, or maybe only knowing what she needed, helped her to her feet and aided her across the camp to where her son play in the dirt. Noah picked him up, earning a squeal and a delighted "'Ampa!"

"I think your Momma needs some cuddle time, can you do that for me, Grey?"

"Yes, 'Ampa," Grey replied.

Noah chuckled, and with Grey in one arm and Lottie on the other, the four of them went back to her tent. Once she was settled inside with her two babies resting beside her, Noah said, "He is fine. I will help bring him home."

Lottie nodded, too weary to question his assertions.

"Rest now, Child," Noah said.

And that was the last thing she remembered hearing.

# Chapter 33

The clearing, surrounded by large deciduous trees, was disturbingly perfect. A small fire ring was already made at the center, surrounded by a space big enough for three or four travel tents. About a hundred feet away, at the edge of the glen, was a small stone house. The roof had caved in on one side, but otherwise, it looked in stable condition. Casey moved toward it, intent on inspecting it for security reasons.

Breathing deep, Casey noted the wet earth smell and the faint scent of decayed leaves over the more noticeable odor of new fire coming from the pit behind him where Carla worked to get a blaze established. Ducking his head, he went into the ruins where he confirmed nothing threatened him or his party.

Casey patted the threshold of the dwelling and smiled, thinking that Lottie would have loved the ambiance of this campsite. Casey blamed her early friendship with Wendy for Lottie's love of quaint looking ruins. Turning back to his exploration efforts, Casey walked a short distance away, and at the bottom of a small hill, Casey found a trickle of a stream. Noting its location for later, Casey continued to wander around. He would send Brice for water from this runoff creek when Casey got back to camp.

Hopping over the creek, Casey limped his way up the hill. His cane thumped rhythmically in the dirt as it aided his balance. At the top of the rise, he found something interesting. There, carved into a stump was a note: 100m w; Gates camp #6.

Could this be a note from Javier and his mission to follow Lottie to Gates? Casey figured it had to have been him. Why would one of the ATR leave such a detailed summary, calling out the secret facility so brazenly?

Casey grinned. If this was Javier's note, as Casey suspected, then Lottie _had_ been here. She might have even gathered water from that very creek. Lottie had seen the ruins, maybe made up stories about it. The knowledge of the shared experience—even years apart—made Casey's chest warm and his heart lighter. She'd weathered the storm of that mission and came back to him. He couldn't wait to see her again and share this experience with her.

Glancing around, Casey decided to head south around the camp. Javier probably left more location notes, and Casey was curious enough to try to find them. Besides, the three ladies in the field were safe enough, even if Brice was with them.

Casey frowned. He would have preferred Fordmyer or Tristan with him, but the distribution of the women in any other configuration was impossible. Finding Wolf's lodge if you hadn't been there, was more difficult than simple instructions could convey. Not to mention, if Wolf found two soldiers with some kids sniffing around his camp, Wolf wouldn't hesitate to apprehend them regardless of Lucy and Trish's presence.

Nope, the mission required Tristan's involvement. Not only did Tristan know the way, but the little girls liked him.

Casey sighed and shook his head.

Leaning his weight on his cane, Casey continued to make his way around the camp. Nearly to the opposite side of the first marker, he spied another one. This note was roughly identical—the only difference being the cardinal direction listed as east and not west.

As he read the sign, the hairs on the back of Casey's neck and arms lifted, and he shifted into a crouch. Something was wrong. It felt like the air held a charge as if a thunderstorm approached. The birds had quieted. The squirrels no longer romped in the woods.

Something hunted in the trees.

Carefully, Casey scanned the woods. Nothing moved. Nothing so much as twitched. What had he felt?

Casey set his cane on the ground and drew his knife. Holding the hilt, so the blade rode along his forearm, Casey shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, steadied his breathing, and concentrated.

Eye-level movement caught his attention, and without shifting his head, he slid his gaze to what stalked near. To his surprise—and apparently, the dog's as well—Casey came face to face with a large German shepherd.

The dog had a distinctive dark patch of fur over its eye and had a tattered right ear as if torn by a freak accident with pruning shears.

"Pebbles?" a voice called.

_Pebbles?_ Casey thought in dismay. Pebbles was one of Noah's dogs trained and tasked with hunting him.

"Pebbles?" Casey whispered, and the dog yipped softly in affectionate greeting. _Holy shit! It is Pebbles!_

And she was stalking him!

Casey's fingers tightened on the hilt of his knife to combat the sweat on his palm.

The IRT was here, at this camp, for him.

But that meant Karsyn, Stanzy, Carla, and Brice were in danger. Casey needed to leave, but at the same time, he needed to get back to the camp to warn them of the impending danger, yet he couldn't move. If he so much as twitched, the IRT would be on him.

What if the IRT had already found his camp?

It didn't matter. Casey could not coexist with the IRT. The mission would fail, and his apprehension a guarantee.

He swallowed hard.

There was only one thing he could do.

Time slowed as Casey's hand steadied. His breath paused, and his muscles tensed. Casey found serenity and clarity within himself. He had one chance to succeed, one opportunity to take them by surprise and win.

As the first IRT soldier inched into view, Casey waited for his moment. Right as the IRT passed in front of him, Casey sprung, landing on the soldier's back, unsettling him and bringing them both to the ground. Purposely, Casey landed beneath his target, and before the soldier could transition from surprise to action, Casey spun his knife in his hand and slit the IRT soldier's throat.

He'd barely cleared the soldier's neck before he threw his knife at the next IRT soldier coming to check on his comrade. The blade caught the man in the shoulder. The location of his strike had been better than Casey'd expected. As the soldier stared at the knife in surprise, Casey kicked him in the knee. The soldier went down with a crash and a curse.

Wiggling out from under the first IRT soldier, Casey yanked the knife from the second IRT's shoulder and silenced his scream of pain with a slice of his blade to the man's neck. Arterial spray splattered Casey's face and chest. In less than half a minute, Casey'd downed two IRT, a feat he'd only managed because of surprise. Casey refused to delude himself on his win. He felt the first IRT soldier's muscles while pinned beneath him. If Casey had thought, even for a second, that he'd win a hand-to-hand battle against the IRT, he would be sorely mistaken.

A hot raspy tongue brought Casey out of his reverie with an abrupt jerk. He barely had time to redirect his knife as he swung it through the air toward the perceived threat. The lack of resistance made Casey spin away from Pebbles in a dizzying display of ineptitude and the antithesis of athleticism. Casey dropped to his knees and readied himself for the next IRT threat.

After several long minutes of silence, Casey suspected the other IRT were back at camp. Slowly he stood, waiting for a shout or movement or something to indicate an impending strike when none came, he shrugged. He hated to leave this spot if there was any hope of catching the other two men unawares, but it didn't seem like the others weren't coming any time soon, so he might as well go hunt them down.

Casey signaled Pebbles, giving her Noah's often used sign for returning home, and she took off toward the clearing. Casey frowned. If Pebbles associated the current camp with home, then she had already been there.

Following the dog, Casey walked behind her at a slower pace.

In no time at all, Casey was upon the camp where he found the three women sitting cross-legged at the fire and Brice face down in the dirt, with his hands bound behind him, and two IRT soldiers milling around the camp.

Casey's gaze swept the group once more and found Brice staring back at him. Casey nodded once. He didn't know what he had tried to convey, a sense of comradery? A simple, I got you, or a more complex, I'll take out one, you get the other, but whatever Casey's nod had said, Brice agreed with it.

He was all in.

On one breath, Casey had been a silent observer, on the second, he'd readied his knife for throwing by pinching the blade between his fingers, and by the third exhale, he'd thrown it. The IRT standing next to the tent flap dropped to the ground. His hands wrapped around the hilt of Casey's knife, which protruded from his belly. The IRTs comrade from across the camp took one look at his friend with the knife wound and launched himself to the side and crawled to put the fire between himself and Casey's location. Casey, for his part, spun and crouched behind the tree to minimize his silhouette in case the ambulatory IRT soldier chose to return fire.

Daring a peek, Casey quickly glanced around the clearing, noting all the changes. Brice appeared to be on the ground, but he now had his knees under him. The three girls had dogpiled on top of each other, and the IRT soldier had disappeared.

Probably behind the first large tree he reached, Casey thought.

Stalemate.

Casey didn't dare shift his weight and give away his location, no matter how much his ankle may hurt. His cover was too sparse. Throwing his hunting knife had cost him the distance he would have needed for getting away. He grinned. But what a shot!

Drill Sergeant Myer always said, 'In the event, you are throwing darts, skip the eyes and heart. Go for the gut. Ribs deflect, and the eye is too small of a target.' Casey had never expected to need that advice, but he was thankful to have it now. That training meant that the IRT soldier currently sheathing Casey's knife with his innards wouldn't survive the trek back to Fort St. Louis. He'd die in transit with septic wounds.

Unfortunately, Casey still had to deal with the last IRT soldier.

Casey swallowed back a chuckle. Man, he loved hunting, and his next opponent would be savvy prey. Casey knew his only chance at a takedown would be by using his gun, but he didn't want to risk the collateral damage. Instead, Casey figured he'd draw the man out and toward Brice. A classic, well-timed stumble, would be all Casey needed to either get far enough away to lure the IRT into the woods where Casey had the upper hand or the tackle would succeed. In the end, the result would be the same. The IRT would die.

Casey took a deep breath and stood.

No gunshots.

Spinning around the tree, Casey took off toward the ruins at the north end of the camp. Soft footfalls followed, but a moment later, there was a shot, and an 'oomph', then a thud. Casey pivoted and ran back toward the altercation, hoping Brice had succeeded in knocking the man down but prepared for the worst if he hadn't. As he came nearer, he found Brice laying on top of the IRT, locked in a struggle for dominance.

Bending, Casey unhooked Brice's knife from its sheath, barked, "The side!" not caring which direction Brice chose as long as he moved out of Casey's way. And with a graceless drop, Casey fell to his knees at the IRT soldier's head. One cut later, and he'd finished it. The fourth IRT soldier was dead.

Sitting back on his heels, Casey surveyed the damage. Three IRT dead by slit throats, and the last lay a few feet away whimpering. Casey glanced at him and sighed. As much as he wanted to skip killing the IRT, Casey couldn't risk him finding his way to Fort St. Louis. Casey had to do it.

Pushing to his feet, he took Brice's knife with him.

Casey knelt by the man's head and said, "It's not personal" and dealt the final strike. "Find peace," Casey added as the man gurgled his last.

Returning to Brice, Casey said, "Give me your hands."

Brice rolled to his stomach, and Casey heard the clang of metal against metal. "Just a second," he told Brice. A knife wouldn't work on handcuffs. Casey needed the key. Returning to the first man who'd died, Casey searched his pockets.

"There are others," Brice whispered. "Hunting for you."

Casey shook his head.

"I saw them go into the woods," Brice argued. "They know you were around."

"They are not a threat," Casey muttered, checking the keyring he'd found.

Brice stuttered some form of response, but Casey couldn't determine what he'd said. Instead, he replied, "Look, I took care of it." A pause, then an 'ah-ha' from Casey when he found the right key. Releasing Brice, Casey asked, "The girls cuffed or bound?"

"Bound," Carla said.

Casey nodded, confirmed Brice was fine, before moving off to help them.

As he knelt to cut Carla's bonds, Brice followed. "What do you mean 'took care of it'?"

Casey finished freeing Carla. She brought her hands together so she could rub her wrists. Casey shifted to Karsyn, and he helped her up. Careful to avoid the trail of sick she'd made, Casey put a knife to her ropes and sawed through them.

"It means there are four less IRT on our tail," Casey said, answering Brice.

"You killed all four!" Brice exclaimed.

Ignoring Brice, Casey finished with Karsyn's ropes and moved on to Stanzy's. "There's a creek up that way,"—he said, pointing over his shoulder and to the east—"enter the woods and walk about fifty feet. You'll see it at the bottom of a ditch. Help her get cleaned up," he added. "We have some time to do laundry, so take a few minutes to wash your clothes."

"Good. You need it." Stanzy said, pointing to his chest, and Casey looked down.

He blinked and blinked again. There was blood everywhere. It was up and down his shirt and dripped from his forearms. He glanced back at the camp, where he noticed the carnage for the first time.

Uh, had he done all that?

"Will there be more?" Stanzy asked, pulling Casey's attention from the slaughter behind him.

"I don't expect so," Casey replied, pieces of the battle came back to him in short snatches of memory. There had been dogs. Noah's dogs. Pebbles. He'd encountered Pebbles. He whistled. Two dogs materialized from the tree line and bounded toward him. Casey rubbed the tops of their heads when they came to a stop in front of him. Pebbles and Falcon. Noah would be pleased to have them back.

"I know there are other IRT squads out there," Casey remarked, answering Stanzy's question. "But I don't expect we'll encounter them any time soon."

"Good," Stanzy said, as she tugged at Karsyn's arm. "Come on," she urged Karsyn. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

"Okay," Karsyn whispered.

As they left, Brice stepped close. "You killed them all?"

Casey glanced at Brice, and then to the clearing, there was too much death and too much blood. They couldn't stay here. His shoulders slumped. But, they couldn't leave yet, either. He'd have to bury the dead well away from this glen. Too many future soldiers would use this camp, and someone would find the bodies.

"Go grab one of their arms," Casey ordered. "Help me drag them into the woods."

"All of them? All four?" Brice repeated.

"Yes," Casey answered as he walked toward the first of the dead IRT. Fatigue tugged at his thoughts and his limbs. Now that everyone was safe, all Casey wanted to do was sit down and rest. Maybe take a nap. "Now, go grab one. We have to get rid of them. Preferably before the women return."

"How did you kill four IRT? They're unstoppable."

Casey glanced back and found Brice standing where he'd left him. Casey waved him over. Brice took a tentative step forward and then another before halting.

"How?" Brice asked.

Sighing Casey said, "It doesn't matter how well trained you are if your enemy can surprise you—ambush you, as I did them—then, I don't care how good you are, you're going to lose. Now, get over here and help me get rid of the bodies. I can't do it alone." Brice visibly gulped but walked with Casey.

At the first deadman, Casey leaned over to grab the corpse's wrist and discovered a knife still in his hand.

Casey paused to study it. The hilt wasn't right for his knife.

"It's mine," Brice whispered, jolting Casey back into awareness. He gave Brice a jerky nod and then wiped the blade on his pants. He returned it to Brice handle first.

Now, where was his? Casey found it in the IRT soldier's belly.

"You'll want to oil it," Casey told him as he retrieved his blade from the dead man at his feet. Casey cleaned it quickly and shoved it into the sheath on his hip. "Let's get this done."

Brice didn't reply but instead grabbed the other man's arm. The two of them dragged the bodies into the woods and stopped where Casey had downed the other two. Dropping the wrist he held, Casey staggered over to the tree where he'd hid during that first ambush and sat against it. Pebbles joined him a moment later. Glancing up, Casey noticed Brice staring at the pile of bodies. His already pale face, a bit more peeked around the edges.

"Four?" Brice whispered. "No one gets one let alone four."

"It wasn't magic," Casey said on a sigh. "It was luck. Pure. Unadulterated. Luck." Casey scratched behind Pebbles's ear. "Pebbles found me. I had only enough time to recognize her as one of Noah's dogs before I had to launch an attack." Casey pointed to the first man he'd killed. "When I dropped the first IRT, his buddy came in close to investigate." Casey pointed to the man with a broken knee joint. "Without that element of surprise, I never would have succeeded." Casey shook his head and returned his attention to Pebbles.

"I'm good in the woods—track or stalk with the best of them—but in hand to hand, I'm lacking. I'm too short, and I haven't had enough practice. If the IRT had known I was there, they would have caught me for sure."

Casey took a deep breath, patting Pebbles one last time, and pushed to his feet.

"I'd like to get them a couple of hundred meters from our camp. Help me with that, and then go keep the women safe, would you?"

Brice gulped but nodded. "Four," he whispered, his statement trailing off, and Casey rolled his eyes.

***

Lottie sat at the edge of her garden alone with her thoughts and her bucket. Her babies were back at the settlement with Nyah.

Leaning back, Lottie rested her weight on her hands and stared at the bright stars. The night was cloudless and quiet, not a single puff of air stirred the leaves, yet it sounded as if a steady breeze was blowing through the corn.

"Did you know you can hear corn grow?" Lottie asked though she didn't know why she spoke aloud. No one was in the garden with her. "That's what that rustling noise is."

"No, I didn't," came a masculine reply.

Lottie whipped toward the sound. "Javier? Is that you?"

Javier chuckled. "Yep," he said and materialized at her side.

"You're back! Did you find Casey? Is he here?"

He sat beside her and wrapped his fingers around hers. "No, I didn't find Case."

Lottie's shoulders slumped, and her free hand went to her belly, where the tiny life grew.

"But I did find Tristan," Javier added.

Lottie straightened, her grip tightened around Javier's. "You did! Is he okay? Did he bring the girls?"

Javier chuckled. "I found him coming from Wolf's with some extra food, Noah's lover, Fordmyer,"—Lottie's eyebrow twitched up at that news—"Surgeon Kit Armstrong—a petite black woman who used to do scientific research back at the facilities, and two little girls." Javier stood, pulling Lottie up. "Lucy, the youngest, and looks like she could be your daughter. She is so pale and blonde. And then there is Trish, the slightly older black girl, who hums to herself incessantly and cries when the sun goes down."

"And the others?"

Javier shrugged. "I guess they're with Case somewhere north. Noah's going to try to find them." Javier guided her forward.

"Wait," Lottie said. "My bucket." She couldn't leave it here. Any amount of movement would set her stomach off, and she didn't like making messes on the paths where others walked. After retrieving it, she rejoined Javier, and he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Still not feeling better?" he asked.

"No," she replied and pressed her lips tight together. If she kept talking, she was sure to lose her supper on her shoes.

"You worry me, Huxley girl."

Lottie nodded, hoping he would feel the motion since she didn't dare speak.

"Your hands are skin and bones," Javier added. "You keeping anything down?"

Lottie shook her head. She did, but not much, and that concept would be too hard to explain as they walked.

A few minutes later, they entered the camp proper. Several people were up, milling around, helping, or hindering the newcomers. Lottie smiled as she spied the two little girls, sitting wide-eyed at the fire while all the adults bustled around them.

One woman—Kit, Lottie determined—knelt by the two girls' sides and offered them mugs of something—probably water. Teas would have taken longer to brew.

Lottie used Javier's support to join them. She eased herself down next to the girls and smiled at Kit. Kit's eyes widened, and her expression grew grave. "Are you Lottie?"

"Yes," Lottie answered, wondering at the concern she saw in Kit's gaze.

"Come with me," Kit barked, standing.

Lottie's brows furrowed. "Why?"

"I need to talk to you. Now."

Lottie gulped back bile from both her morning sickness and her unease. She flailed her hand toward where she'd left Javier and found his arm. Pulling herself up, Lottie used his strength to follow Kit away from the hustle and bustle of the central fire.

"What's going on," Lottie asked.

Kit rounded on her and demanded, "Are you pregnant?"

Blinking, Lottie stuttered, "Y-Yes."

"Thought so," Kit replied, took a deep breath, and looked Lottie straight in the eye. "You're going to die."

# Chapter 34

"What?!" Lottie exclaimed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Kit said. "You have a son, who isn't Staff Sergeant Huxley's—"

"—Casey," Lottie corrected.

"—child. You were ill, but not badly. Then you had a little girl who is his, biologically."

"I had a still-birth between them," Lottie interjected.

"Huxley's?"

Lottie shook her head. "No. Artificial Insemination back at Gates," she replied, thankful for the darkness which hid her flush cheeks.

Kit nodded. "Were you sick with your daughter?"

Lottie shook her head again. "No, no sickness at all. It was weird. I felt too good. I thought I'd lose her at any moment."

"And this one?"

Lottie indicated her bucket with a small shake of her hand. "Sick all the time no matter what I do."

Kit nodded again as if what Lottie had said made perfect sense. "It's OI disease."

"What?"

Kit tapped her finger against her lips. "Have you ever heard of the Rh factor?"

"No."

"Preeclampsia?"

"Yes," Lottie said, trepidation creeping into her tone.

"Well, it's a bit like both illnesses smooshed together," Kit replied. "You get the high blood pressure, headaches, nausea, protein in your urine like preeclampsia. Then you also have the antibodies your body makes against the OI. Those antibodies end up targeting your baby's blood just like the Rh incompatibility factor does, which in turn makes you sick. And, like the Rh factor, this illness doesn't manifest until you've birthed one healthy baby with the OI enzyme."

"Wait," Javier said. "Are you saying Hope made Lottie sick with this OI enzyme, but this next baby of hers is the one that may kill her?"

"Hope?" Kit inquired.

"My daughter," Lottie answered.

"Ah, yes, I forgot," Kit replied with a wave of her hand. "Yes, exposure happened during that pregnancy and subsequent birth," Kit said, addressing her answer to Lottie instead of Javier. "Now every pregnancy you have, where Huxley is the genetic father, has the potential to kill you—or, if not die, then to be seriously ill to the point of death. Your baby is safe—along with any others you would have—but you are not. The OI enzyme attacks the mother, not the fetuses. If you survive this pregnancy— _If!_ —it has to be your last. Another one will probably kill you."

Lottie squeezed Javier's forearm, and she glanced up at him.

"In fact," Kit continued, pulling Lottie's attention back to her. "If you were in Fort St. Louis, your surgeon would have already given you an abortion. Of course, if you were in Fort St. Louis, you would never have been paired with Huxley in the first place. The medical staff checks for this and would have ruled him out as a potential donor for you long before he could impregnate you."

Kit shook her head and returned her focus to Lottie. "If it weren't for the fact you don't have the medicine required to do it successfully, I'd recommend you terminate this pregnancy."

Lottie swallowed hard. There were herbs she could take. Things she could do. "You sure I will die if I don't miscarry?" She'd often felt like it these past few weeks, but until this moment, she'd always talked about it in jest.

"Yes."

Tears grew in Lottie's eyes and spilled over. She'd been heartbroken when she lost Grant. To know she'd have to terminate this baby that she carried, felt impossible. Lottie glanced at her tent where Hope and Grey slept. They needed her more than this unnamed baby she carried, did. Lottie nodded. She'd collect the required herbs in the morning. She had to live for them. "I can collect some herbs in the morning."

Kit blinked. "Are they guaranteed to work? One-hundred percent?"

"No," Lottie admitted. "If used in the first week or two, there is some semblance of success, but I didn't know I was pregnant until a little under a month ago."

Kit shook her head. "Don't do it. It's too late."

"Uh," Lottie hedged, confused. Shouldn't she risk it regardless? Isn't that what Kit had just said?

"You don't want to introduce congenital disabilities. The fetus is healthier without your meddling."

Kit nodded, and Lottie wondered if Kit nodded to herself or if it was in a poor attempt at reassurance. "You're to be on bed rest the rest of this pregnancy. You are to do nothing. No activity. No movement. No camp needs. Nothing that makes you feel sicker than you already feel. Everyone else will have to take up your tasks. Your only job is to grow that baby and survive. Understood?!"

Lottie glanced at Javier, and he inclined his head once.

"Okay," Lottie replied. She felt small and helpless.

"Good," Kit announced, collecting Lottie in her arms and steering her toward the fire. "Let's get you settled. Where's your tent?"

***

Casey stood at the top of the hill and gazed south and to the east. Home. Maybe as early as a week. He couldn't wait. He'd march the team hard. Nothing could stand in his way now.

"Ready?" he called over his shoulder.

"Ready," came the party's reply.

With a smile and an animated step, Casey took point.

***

Lottie dipped her feet into the river and watched as Kit played in the waist-deep water with her son. It had taken some creative arguments, but luckily the scientist's intense desire at keeping Lottie healthy could be tempered with a few well-placed words. Mainly, Lottie's tent was stifling hot, even in the shade, and she needed time outside, or she'd die of heat exposure. Hence the visit to the river for swimming and lazing about.

Admittedly, Lottie felt better since Kit's arrival. The surgeon watched her steadily, plied her with the tastiest morsels, and prepared her the most easily digested sustenance available to them. Lottie hadn't gained her lost weight, but she had at least stabilized the loss.

Her new baby grew within her womb even as Hope thrived outside of it. Truthfully, Lottie had worried she'd lose either or both, but with Kit's help, Lottie felt sure Hope would survive even if she didn't.

Lottie shifted Hope in her arms and brushed her cheek with her fingers. Hope's eyelids lifted in that lazy, post-nap way, and eventually, she turned her blue-on-their-way-to-brown eyes to her mother. Hope smiled and cooed.

"Hey there," Lottie murmured, nuzzling Hope's nose with her own. "Have a good nap?"

Hope blew a raspberry, and Lottie smiled. Hope was so pretty, and Lottie could see a bit of Casey in her face as she grew.

A squeal drew Lottie's gaze, and she grinned at her son as he launched himself into the water again. He was almost three and already swam better than anyone she knew.

"You doing all right, Huxley girl?"

Lottie nodded and turned to answer Javier as he settled on the dock next to her. "As well as I can."

He brushed some hair from Hope's forehead and looked to Kit and Grey playing.

"You think Noah's found Casey yet?" Lottie asked.

"Dunno," Javier replied. "Hope so. I don't like how long it's taking."

"Yeah. Me neither." Lottie sighed and refocused on the middle distance. Her soul ached with loneliness. She missed Casey more now than she had while at Gates. She wanted to share all the latest news about Hope rolling over, or Grey being potty-trained, or the new little one she felt move last night.

"Wish I could tell you all will be all right," Javier said.

"I know," Lottie answered and hugged Hope close.

***

Darkness shrouded Casey's team as they settled into their current camp. With a signal, Casey deployed Pebbles and Falcon. Their patrols of the campsite were a welcomed addition to the stress of nightly watch duty. With their arrival, Casey had relented on the all-night watch, confident the dogs would guard them faithfully in the darkest of night.

"How much longer?" Karsyn asked with a yawn.

Casey glanced over. Every night he half expected to wake and find her gone, but each dawn she proved him wrong. "I don't know really, but five days seems right, maybe less."

"Good," she said again. "I'm tired of hiking."

He chuckled. They all were. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you later for your watch."

"Okay," she agreed and padded away toward the small fire where Carla and Stanzy were resting.

Casey returned his attention to the dark horizon.

"Soon," he whispered. "I'll see you soon."

***

_Home,_ Casey thought, grinning to himself. He was home!

The fading light made it difficult to see anything clearly, but that didn't stop Casey from searching for Lottie. He couldn't wait to see her. Nervous fingers gripped the sweat damped hair at his nape. Where was she? Where was Greysen?

"Are we going in?" Stanzy asked behind him.

"Yes," Casey replied as he looked at the small settlement. It bustled with activity. A baby lay on a blanket near Grace and Katie, who were cooking over the fire. Someone—Casey thought it was Ally—called to them from a tent back near the butcher station, and Katie replied. On the other side of the field, Casey saw movement in the smokehouse. A small child with black hair came barreling out, screaming, "Daddy!" at the top of his lungs.

There's his little boy!

Everyone's head turned his way, and he limped into the clearing trailing the rest of his team like dust from a comet. Casey hustled toward Greysen. He made it less than ten feet into the clearing before Casey stopped cold.

Lottie stepped out of the smokehouse—if you could call what she did 'stepping'—it looked more like Javier carried her. Casey took a hesitant step forward. "Lottie?"

A huge smile grew on her lips as she came toward him, her face gaunter than he remembered, and she walked with a slight limp? His eyes swept her form. She was sickly thin. What in the hell happened? Why had she lost so much weight? She looked positively skeletal.

Stopping in front of him, Lottie murmured a quiet "Hi."

"Hi," he replied automatically, his eyes drunk her in.

Ever-absent, God, she was so thin. Casey's hands fluttered about her frame, unsure of where to put his hands but needing to touch her all the same. Finally, he settled for grabbing her by the shoulders. She slipped from Javier's embrace and leaned in to wrap her arms around him. After months of missing her, the close contact felt delicious but highlighted exactly how emaciated she had become. Everything but her stomach—which happened to be hard and full—felt dangerously underweight to him.

"Are you all right?" Casey asked.

Lottie nodded. "I am now," she replied, lifting to tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips. She kissed him like there was no tomorrow, and with how skinny she was, Casey feared for that reality.

Pulling away, Lottie grabbed his hand and put it on her belly. Erratic pressure from within greeted him, and Casey's eyes grew wide. The only other time he felt anything like it was when Lottie was pregnant with Hope.

His gaze found hers.

Her smile creased the skin around her eyes, and she nodded at him.

"Yep," she announced. "You're a daddy, again."

# Epilogue

Casey stood outside his tent in the falling snow and held the small, squalling bundle in his arms. "Mercy, look," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "It's your first snowfall."

The rasp of a zipper behind him, had Casey shifting to the side. He held out his hand to Lottie as she exited the tent with Hope on her hip, and Greysen tucked around her thigh.

"Feel that, Hope?" Casey asked as a flake of snow landed on his first daughter's nose, and she swatted it away with her chubby hand before shoving all her knuckles into her mouth.

"That's snow," he added, his grin threatening to crack his cheeks. Casey wrapped Lottie in his embrace and ruffled Greysen's hair.

Casey turned to face his camp.

They all made it.

Every last one of them.

His family.

THE END

Note from the author: Hi, this is M Findley with an author request. If you enjoyed my story, please consider leaving a review with your favorite retailer. And, since all my novels are a _Pay What You Think It's Worth_ , please consider buying me a coffee at Ko-Fi/mfindley.

Thank you!

# Glossary of Terms

Discipline - Distinction - Laymen's term

USA-AAE - Anatomical Agility and Enhancement - Architect of PE Equipment

USA-AHC - Agriculture and Husbandry Cultivation - Farmers

USA-ARA - Asset Recovery and Acquisition - Draft Dodgers Police

USA-ATR - Asset Translocation and Retention - Facility Guards

USA-CPS - Civilian Protection Services - Police/Fire

USA-EDD - Extermination and Division Distribution – Butchers

USA-FAP - Fetal Asset Preservation - Guards

USA-FAR - Fecundity Analysis and Remediation - Scientists

USA-FCO - Fetal Conservation and Obstetrics - Ob/Gyn

USA-HAC - Humo-logical Analysis and Conservation - Dentists/Doctors

USA-IOR - Intervention and Ordinance Reconciliation - Lawyers

USA-IPD - Innercommunication Preservation and Distribution - Messengers / I-Comm soldier

USA-IRF - Infrastructure Restoration and Fabrication - Construction Workers

USA-IRT - Individual Reclamation and Translocation - Assassins

USA-LPD - Logistical Provision Distribution - Cooks

USA-MAD - Munitions Analysis and Distribution - Weapons Specialist

USA-PCE - Perimeter Control Enforcement - Border Police

USA-PGD - Power Generation and Distribution - Electrical Workers

USA-RAC - Resource Analysis and Compilation - Spy

USA-RTC - Regemental Textiles and Clothiers - Textile mills, Tailors

USA-UTR - Unit Translocation and Retention - Prisoner transport

USA-WCD - Waste Collection and Disposal - Trash

USA-WDC - Water Distribution and Conservation - Waterworks & Conservation

USA-ZAC - Zoological Analysis and Conservation - Veterinarians
Women at Sandra and Horton Gates Research Hospital

Alison (Ally) Hiltonhead

Amelia Sulivan

Ashely Linstrom

Cleo

Dawn Masterdon

Debbie

Dora

Erma Lyn

Greysen (Grace/Maddy) Towensend

Gwen

Jackie Smith

Judith (Judy) Rufensen

Kaylee

Kelly

Lillian (Lily)

Lisa

Margaret (Maggie) Bradford

Marybelle

Meghan

Natalie Ort

Nyah Stenet

Sandra Rockinelli

Sariad (Sadie) Schneider

Susan

Valery Riggari

Zoe Wodson
Casey's Old Roster

Staff Sergeant Casey Brennerman Huxley

Corporal Lincoln Curtis Joplin

Private Adan Dillon Fox

Private Brandon Victor Gillespie

Private Ethan Gage Hood

Private Hong

Private Jaesen Clemens

Private Javier Dwight Hearst

Private Julian (Jules) Santana Torres

Private Matthew (Matt) Bartholomew Coden

Private Paul

Private Teo Wendell Michaelson

Private Tristan Louis Bell

Private Tyrone (Ty) Gilespie

Private Wade Bethesda

Private Wu
Settlement Players

Casey (Case) Brennerman Huxley

Charlotte (Lottie) Lindbergh Forrester

Tristan (T) Louis Bell

Julian (Jules) Santana Torres

Javier Dwight Hearst

Jaesen Clemens

Wade Bethesda

Paul

Brad Leon

Alison (Ally) Hiltonhead

Greysen (Grace/Maddy) Towensend

Zoe Wodson

Nyah Stenet

Katriona (Katie) Regina Tam

Hunter Stenet (D)

Maxwell (Max) Bradford-Hiltonhead

Cody Hiltonhead

Dexy Wodson

Sophia Tam (D)

Olivia Tam (D)

Greysen (Grey) Huxley

Grant Huxley (D)

Hope Huxley

Mercy Huxley

Private Noah Finnessey Ives

Surgeon Kit Peters Armstrong

Civilian Protection Services Sergeant Leslie Fordmyer

Humo-logical Analysis and Conservation Specialist Michael (Mike) Brice

Carla Bradley Alois (Wolf's wife and Felicia's mom)
Six-Flags Pack

Gabe (Wolf)

Amos

Branden

Conrad (Connie)

Corbin

Dan

Dillan Flynn - Elly and Amo's son

Doug

Eileen (Elly) Kistler-Flynn

Felicia - Wolf's daughter

James

Jasper

Jewell Mai's daughter

Kevin

Kistler Flynn - Elly and Connie's son

Larson

Mai

Mason (M)

Matt

Michael

Mick

Mike

Otto

Paula

Renee Dunken

Taylor

Tyler

Weldon
Other Key Players

I-Comm Private Cameron Busch

Agriculture and Husbandry Cultivation Captain Emilio Kenzie

USA-UTR Private Diador

USA-UTR Private Lanford "Lanny"

USA-UTR Private Jenkins

USA-UTR Private Stewart

Constance (Stanzy) Harper Ulrich (Rescued Girl)

Karsyn Baily Murry (Rescued Girl)

Trisha (Trish) Raynerson Waldemar (Rescued Girl)

Lucian (Lucy) Gunther Gladwin (Rescued Girl)

Rowan (Rescued Girl)

Emilia (D) (Rescued Girl)

USA-RAC - Ayers - Sheepdogs

USA-RAC - Drake - Cows/Pigs

USA-RAC - Hopkins - Horses

USA-RAC - Ross - Goats/Sheep
Historical Years of Note

2056 - First Female President Piatek elected

2059 - Shipment of genetically created influenza virus received in Seattle Washington

2084 - Last General Election President Rionach (female)

2093 - The Five Star General election enacted

2113 - Scientist finally isolate the cause of the fertility crisis; population so reduced the country begins a systematic shut-down of all resources; preservation of key things enacted

2125 - The Great Female Conscription Compromise Act AKA Female Protection Act enacted

2149 - The Dynasty Act AKA Orphan Policy enacted

2163 - Asset Acquisition and Preservation Act AKA Female Segregation enacted

2232 - Agriculture and Husbandry Cultivation Captain Emilio Kenzie elected as President

2233/2234 - Civil War

# Acknowledgments

Wow. Thank you! We made it through Part Two!

I'd like to thank my family and friends for their encouragement while writing this story. I'd especially like to thank Misti for all her help with my grammar questions. I'd also like to thank coffee. Without coffee, this book would never have happened.

Additional thanks go out to Heli, Abby, Anna, Whitney, Cindy, Eve, Terra, Hank, Misti, Sarah, Catherine, Pat, Adrianna, Travis, Duff, and Cordell.

Thank you all so much for making this dream come true.

# About the Author

Mana likes hopping rocks on the Black River and playing with her imaginary cats. She lives in the US and keeps herself busy with family and friends, all of whom have been supportive while making this dream come true.

# Contact Me

If you enjoyed _The Five Star Law part 2: Acquisition and Preservation_ , please leave a review or buy me a coffee at Ko-Fi/mfindley.

Thank you, and I'd love to hear from you.

Email: mana.findley@gmail.com

Facebook: http://on.fb.me/15IArWp

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/mfindley

# Other Works

M. Findley also writes as Samantha Nolan or Gabriella Webster.
