“Come on, girl,” I whisper, bouncing on my toes. “Come on, come on.”
She finally pees, then darts to the side, grabs her orange ball in her mouth, and trots to me. I give her a scratch behind the ears and crack open the back gate.
Damn it! There are more soldiers down the alley. I jerk back, heart slamming, but Penny’s already out the gate.
"Penny, no," I whisper-yell. She pauses, looking at me with the ball in her mouth and trots back, dropping it at my feet. I reach down and snatch it up. If the soldiers start to drag me away, Penny might try and guard, maybe even attack them. But they have guns and I can’t stand the thought of her being hurt, so I shake the ball at her.
"Get the ball, Penny. Get the ball."
I pull my arm back and throw the ball over the low divider into the ravine. It bounces and rolls down the slope.
Penny hesitates. She looks back at me as if asking, are you sure?
"Go," I hiss. "Get the ball."
She chuffs once, then bounds after it, jumping the thigh-high wire with ease and disappears down the hill.
I exhale hard, hoping it will take Penny a while to get back and that the soldiers will have moved on before she gets her ball and returns. I slip back inside, closing the gate softly and then race back to the house, up the deck stairs, and back inside, and then fly down to the bottom level. The guys’ gaming area is a mess of controllers and empty soda cans that I haven’t had the heart to clean up. I quickly unlock the bottom slider doors to outside in case I have to make a run for it and then cross to the wood-paneled wall beneath the stairs and press the panel seam that blends in completely. Click. The door opens, and I slipinto the storage space. It’s dark and cramped and dusty. The air smells like wood and fabric softener from the laundry room on the other side of the wall. I pull the door shut behind me, but faint light seeps in from the narrow gaps above where the stairs meet the wall.
I crouch down, hugging my knees to my chest, shotgun balanced across my thighs. My heart hammers like it wants to escape from my chest. I force myself to take deep breaths, to calm down, and I slowly start to relax.
Then the door opens. I jerk upright, hands flying up defensively with the shotgun across my chest like a barrier instead of pointed so it could actually do something.
And I freeze.
Grey eyes meet mine. Eyes I haven’t seen in two years and the breath leaves my lungs.
“Mars?”
Chapter 66 - Torrin
We circle the edge of town like we’re sneaking into enemy territory. Which, if the chaos unfolding is anything to go by, isn’t far off.
Knock on wood, we've been lucky since we turned away from the roadblock on the highway. No barricades, no crowds - just empty streets and the occasional abandoned vehicle. Mars' hands are clenched on his thighs, and his head is moving nonstop, checking every side street and alley we pass like he’s bracing for something to leap out.
When we finally roll into familiar streets, that tension hits my spine too. The town’s fucking wrecked. Storefronts are shattered and whole streets of houses are damaged. Smoke’s still curling from the shell of what used to be a coffee shop I took Luna to on lazy Sundays when I was home on the off-season. I hear the growl of a military truck just before it turns onto the street two blocks down, and have just enough time to tuck my truck in behind a delivery van. We both duck, trying to make ourselves less visible.
I hear the squeal of the brakes as the truck stops and I can hear voices as the soldiers get out, but we are too far away for me to make out the words. I take a chance and slide up a little bit so I can see over the dash and it isn't good. The soldiers are dragging someone out of a house on the corner, kicking and yelling. I still can’t hear the words, but I recognize fear when I see it and… shit… I recognize the damn uniforms they’re wearing. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! These soldiers are men my father commands.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw clicks. Of course it’s him. Of course, my father is behind this. When he drank too much, which was pretty much every night he was at our house in town, he would sometimes go on a rant about how if he were in charge, he’d come for this country. He’d rant that Canada was weak, too trusting, too easy. The moon broke and it cracked the door wide open for people like him. Opportunistic bastards with enough force to crush anyone standing in their way.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “We’re ditching the truck.”
Mars doesn’t argue, just nods and opens his door as quietly as possible. I follow him across the seat, and we slide out fast, close the door so it barely latches, and take off across the nearest lawn, ducking behind shrubs and fences. It’s not until we hit the final stretch of grass beside Luna’s place that my heart starts to pound for a different reason. We’re here. I’m finally home, back to her.
Our house looks intact, thank fuck, but there’s another military truck parked further down the street, way closer than I like. Shouts echo from somewhere near the end of the block.
“Shit,” Mars says, eyes wide. “They’re coming this way.”
“Under there,” I bark, pointing at the huge motorcoach parked beside the garage.
We hit the dirt and slide underneath, gravel scraping our skin. The cool shadows under the RV swallow us, the grounddamp and close. My breathing picks up again as heavy boots stomp past.
“Got orders to check every damn house,” one soldier mutters. The accent is thick. Newcastle, maybe, but it’s been years since I’ve been back there to know for sure.
“Just drag ’em out. Anyone gives you lip, break something.”
He sounds casual, and they laugh, like they’re talking about taking out the trash. My blood goes ice cold. They move on, and I start to breathe again, but just barely. My heartbeat is a war drum in my ears and my fingers have dug into the gravel without realizing it. When Mars shifts beside me and starts rolling, I panic.
