Dolores stalked toward the Captain of the Watch and his right-hand man, stopping before she was too close to the tall men. At five-foot-three, she was clearly feeling a size disadvantage. Her fists remained clenched. “You had no right.” She glanced around. Probably realizing they had a growing audience, her usual public face reappeared as she fake-smiled, fooling no one. “We can’t just change the rules because you feel sorry for people.” Her strident voice seemed more strained despite her usual faux-pleasant tone. Good. The captain was getting to her.
“The Council voted to consider entry on case-by-case merit and had agreed not everyone who showed up at our gates would get to stay. You went behind our backs to post your new policy,” said Captain Wilson. “It’s not our regulation. It’s not what we’d agreed on.”
Dolores’ expression smoothed, clearly switching tactics. “Of course, this poor family can stay a day or two if they’re in immediate danger, but then they’ll have to go.” Her tone was polite, but a small twitch gave away the fact that even this concession made her look like she’d swallowed something vile.
She was used to getting her way and trampling over everyone. Cam resisted better than most as he’d been closer to their old neighbor than his mother, who’d been busy with his three younger brothers.
The gathered crowd murmured. Several people shook their heads, their arms crossed.
Dolores Montgomery wouldn’t get her way this time.
The captain strode past Cam, squeezing his shoulder on the way. Captain Wilson shook Bryan Clark’s hand. “I’m Captain of the Watch, Luke Wilson, and this is my sergeant, Kory Walker. I believe you’ve met.”
Bryan introduced his family, including his granddaughters, Julia and Lauren. “You folks need time to freshen up and have a bite to eat?” The captain’s piercing blue eyes swept between Cam and the Clark family. “Or Medical?”
Bryan shook his head. “I’d appreciate it if we could get this sorted sooner rather than later. If we can’t stay, we want to get as far away as possible before dark and our limited fuel runs out.” The women moved closer together. A few tears escaped the younger girl.
“Sounds fair,” said Wilson. “Johnson. You guard their truck. Nobody touches anything. For now, they’re guests.”
“Yes, sir.” Dave Johnson nodded before positioning himself in front of the truck.
“Everyone is welcome to attend the meeting in thirty minutes,” said the captain. “The full Council will be in attendance.” He and Walker exchanged a glance.
The emergency meeting had probably been pre-planned as a contingency, plus the outer gate guards thirty miles out may have informed the captain in advance about the truck’s arrival, even if Tower 1 hadn’t been included in the communication. Cam broke out in a sweat. There was more to this than a simple difference of opinion. Like lightning, it struck. This was a coup.The council would use the Clarks’ arrival to force an election, and the mayor would lose.
Chapter 2: Lissa
Six years earlier…
Lissa woke to the morning rustlings of the small, furry buddies curled next to her, letting her body absorb more of their warmth before getting up in the chill. She stroked one cat then the other as her eyes adjusted to the dim light entering the dingy apartment. In the back bedroom, someone coughed. She fumbled for her pack near her head. Heaving a sigh of relief that her only possessions, other than what she wore, were safe, she glanced at her cats. One was black and one tabby, both staring back, one set of amber eyes, the other almost copper.
She reached under her lumpy pillow for her sturdy shoes and swung her stockinged feet to the floor. She jiggled the largest holes away from her big toes, positioning them for maximum coverage. Her thermal socks wouldn’t last the coming winter. Maybe she should scrounge for another pair or two of Icebreakers today. The surrounding neighborhood was picked clean, so she’d have to range farther afield, which meant sneaking past the soldiers beyond the refugee center, the ones stationed around the perimeter to discourage looting in the abandoned city.
Rising early allowed her to use the lone bathroom before the other twenty-seven people who currently shared the one-bedroom apartment. Plus, two cats. Unlike most of the cramped accommodations at the Denver Refugee Center, there were norats in 6B. The rat poison had long-since run out, so she’d given her cats free rein to hunt.
Taking her pack, Lissa used the toilet, splashed with cold water from the sink, and washed essential areas, missing the days when she could linger under a hot shower. Afterward, she combed her dark blonde hair and braided it with deft fingers. She brushed her teeth and tiptoed back to her cot. Old sheets strung on taut wire separated one bed from another, making narrow walkways between rows of army cots.
From her pack, she removed the cat harnesses and readied their leashes. Her stomach growled. The refugee center no longer provided much in the way of meals, though there might be oatmeal at midday. One steady meal she didn’t have to supply and the comfort and safety in numbers kept her living there despite the overcrowding.
She slung her canteen across her body, tied her shoes, and took stock. Pack, cats, jacket. Nothing else to take. The saggy cot and scratchy wool blanket belonged to the army.
Lissa tugged on her warm jacket and whisper-whistled for Mira and Luna. “Out,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. Both stood, stretched, and jumped off the bed. Mira twined around Lissa’s feet, her black body round and sleek. Luna rubbed against Lissa’s hiking shoes, butting her striped head along the laces.
Whoever thought pets would have it rough at the end of the world hadn’t counted on the survival skills of felines. They’d become half feral, allowing only Lissa to touch them. Perhaps they sensed the growing, desperate hunger in the others.
She whistled again, and both cats sat on the dirt-encrusted laminate flooring by her feet, staring at her without blinking. Beyond the curtain, her nearest neighbor groaned and flipped over on his cot and let out a loud fart. On the other side, Mr. Singh’s snoring stopped. Shit. She needed to get out beforesomeone complained about her noise. With a glance toward the nearest sleeping compartments, she fastened her cats’ harnesses. There’d been attempts to steal the hunting cats more than once, but they’d eluded all attempts at capture. Still, best to keep them close inside.
She inhaled, the ripe body odor pervading the crowded apartment, which was potent this morning. With the cooler fall weather creeping in, she’d hoped it would reek less than it had in the sweltering summer. No such luck. She probably smelled just as awful as the others living in the apartment complex, each unit now home to several dozen individuals.
In the far corner, beyond the flimsy curtain and two beds over, the Anderson baby started to cry. Lissa heaved a sigh as the Yu baby across the room joined in, then another further away in the back bedroom—thin, hungry cries in morning concert. A mom murmured in a low voice, and someone else swung their feet to the floor. Time to go before 6B became a cacophony of tears and frustrated voices laced with desperation. She couldn’t concentrate when everyone was awake. How much more of this could she take?
She’d been at the Denver Refugee Center since the second week after the asteroid strike. In the beginning, she’d hoped her husband might show, but after sixteen months with no news, hope had dwindled. While she at least had a roof over her head, the constant presence of people was often too much. It might be better to be alone.
Daypack on, leashes in hand, she hurried down six flights of gloomy concrete, the only light entering from the hallways at each level, the heavy doors propped open. At the bottom, Lissa crossed the shabby lobby now devoid of decoration. Everything had been stripped and repurposed—another sign of the current society, where art and luxury were outdated.
A tall shadow lurched off the wall, followed by three others near the column by the front entrance. Mr. Blackburn and his sons. Shit. The opportunistic jerks were early today, perhaps waiting for her.
“If it isn’t the rat girl. Where you going, Rat Girl? Don’t you need to pack?”
