World War III has
erupted on American soil.

Seventeen-year-old Jadzia’s life will never be the
same again.

Chapter One

Jadzia

 

I grasped one of my trembling hands with the other. Get it together. Do not look at the clock again. Mr. Jenkins has only been gone a few hours. He’ll be back soon enough. I sucked in a deep breath. Held it. Exhaled. Didn’t help. Nothing could take my mind off Ryker.

I leaned against a tree in the middle of the woods, southeast of Huntsville, Texas. We set up camp here last night, and I hated it already. I preferred the abandoned house we hid in for the last week. The summer sun beat down through patchy leaves, and I mopped my face with the bottom of my shirt.

Ryker. Everything came back to him. And the gaping hole he left when he got himself arrested, in Houston last month, to buy me time to escape. I rubbed my chest right above my heart. The spot where the ache never quite seemed to ease. Why Mr. Jenkins hoped to gain info from these increasingly unhelpful meetings was beyond me. I ran the palm of my hand along the rough bark at my back to distract myself. Didn’t work.

General Hayes always gave Mr. Jenkins the same line: “Your son is being treated well and is in good health.” Never anything about when or even if they would release Ryker.

Mom and I were all for storming the prison and busting him out. Heck, even Cassie supported us. And we never agreed on anything. Ever.

“Here.” Cassie walked over, her platinum blond hair swinging in its ponytail, and handed me a water pod.

I slowly reached for it. Suspicion crossed my face. She rolled her honey brown eyes. “It’s not poison, you know.” If I wasn’t so thirsty I’d have punched her in her smug little face. But whatever. I took the pod and bit down. The warm but refreshing liquid burst in my mouth. I sighed. “Thanks.”

Mom crossed the small campsite with a laser-rifle slung over her right shoulder. “You do realize it’s not her fault you keep exposing your left side, right?”

Cassie smirked.

Five weeks. I’d put up with this crap for a little over five weeks. I sucked in a deep breath and spoke through clenched teeth. “Fine. Let’s go again.” I stepped away from the tree, hands ball into fists.

Cassie waved me away like I was nothing more than a gnat. “I’d love to beat you up more. But you aren’t worth it. I’m getting lunch.” She turned her back and started to walk away.

I grabbed the middle of her ponytail and pulled. Hard.

She let out a cry and stumbled back. “What the—” She faced me, arm pulled back, fist ready to fly.

“Enough.” Mom wedged herself between us, shoved us apart, and kept one of her hands on Cassie’s shoulder and one on mine.

Cassie pushed away Mom’s hand. “One of these days, I swear I’m going to kill you, Jadzia.”

I scoffed. “I’d like to see you try.”

Mom shoved us farther apart. Her gray-blue eyes blazed. “I am so sick of running interference between you two. It’s exhausting.”

Cassie dropped her gaze and unclenched her fist. Her face now a mask of innocence. “Sorry, Mrs. Mills. I was just trying to defend myself.”

Oh, gag me. Cassie’s poor me act made me want to puke.

“We’re done practicing.” Mom looked back and forth between us. “You two need to stop fighting with each other and work together as a unit. One day you might be all each other has and you’ll have to be able to depend on and trust each other.” She pointed across the clearing where our packs loaded with food sat. “Cassie, go get lunch. Jadzia, give her five minutes to clear out, then you get something, eat on opposite sides of camp.” She looked at me. “I swear this is worse than refereeing you and your brother. And he’s six.”

My heart squeezed at the thought of Jonathan. Been so long since I’d seen his chubby cheeks or his little smile. I leaned against the tree again and slid to the ground.

Mom took the laser-rifle off her shoulder and set on the ground next to us. She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll see him again soon.”

I nodded and flicked my wrist to open my PCD, trying to ignore the clock on my home screen and the fact only an hour passed since I last checked the time. “Maybe I could hack the signal and call him.”

She shook her head. “Don’t. Not until Michael comes back from his meeting.”

I studied Mom’s face. Lines that hadn’t been there six months ago, when the war started, crisscrossed her forehead and wrinkled her eyes. These months weren’t easy on any of us, and the last five weeks must have been especially hard on her. Leaving Jonathan with our aunt and cousin in some government run safe city while she came to find me. Having to choose to be with one child over the other? No parent should ever have to make that choice.

She kissed my cheek. “You want some lunch?”

“I guess.” I stood and started toward our packs.

The sound of a familiar Hover-engine filled the clearing. My heart rate went through the roof. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. Even in my sleep. Military grade Hover-jeep.

My wrist vibrated again. Carina? Nope. Brent wanted to know if I’d give him a ride home. I told him to meet me by my Hover-bike. His house wasn’t too far out of my way. I couldn’t say no. Especially now.

I threw my school stuff and projection book in my bag and stared at the Holo-screen.

“Jadzia.” Mrs. Ladd didn’t even look up from her Holo- pad. “You can go.”

Finally. I ran to the parking lot. Brent stood next to my bike, still and glaring like he expected something to come at him. I glanced over my shoulder.

The world looked normal. Trees budded, flowers poked their heads up out of the ground, and a few birds flew over our heads. Not a cloud in the sky. Shouldn’t it be pouring or at least dreary or something? Nature didn’t know the threat we were under. I launched myself at Brent. He held his arms open, then folded me into his chest.

His breath ruffled my hair. “We’re going to be okay.”

The sob I’d been holding back broke free, and he tightened his grip.

A sound louder than anything I’d ever heard before ripped through the afternoon. Every muscle in my body tightened, and my light hold on Brent’s waist became a vise grip. He dove to the ground, shielding me with his body. I wasn’t the only one shaking. The sound faded. We scrambled to our feet.

“What happened?” I pulled a twig from my hair.

He pointed toward the city. A cloud of black smoke rose in the distance. “We have to move.”

My legs refused to work. He gave me a gentle shove. “Downtown is under attack. Let’s get somewhere safe.”

I threw my leg over my bike and Brent settled in behind me. My mind whirled. Somewhere safe. Where on earth were we safe?

I had to get to Mom and Jonathan. I pressed the starter pad. The bike roared to life and I took off so fast we almost dropped onto the pavement before I balanced us out.

“Sorry. Sorry,” I yelled over the sound of the engine. I gunned the bike, and we flew toward Brent’s house.

By Heather Kreke

I am not a morning person, at all. So coffee is usually the first thing I’m after in the morning.

After I’m caffeinated, I help my husband get three kids off to school.

Once the children are gone, I sit down at my computer and start working on the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writer’s Conference blog. I’ve been their blog manager for the past three years, and I coordinate with the contributing authors, schedule the posts, and create images for the posts.

After I’m finished with the blog, I check my emails and answer anything that needs a response, then I move on to my social media, scrolling through Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, posting for the day.

After social media posts are handled, I check in with my other two Musketeers from the Blue Ridge Readers Connection, an origination that connects readers and writers. We talk plans and responsibilities for the week. If it’s my week to man the inbox, I take care of anything that needs attention.

My next task is to edit, brainstorm, or offer resources to other writers who need help or looking to improve their craft.

Once that’s over, I get to work on my own stuff. This usually involves staring at a blank screen wondering what the heck I’m doing.

Okay, I can’t write this with a straight face anymore.

These are the things I do in a typical day, but it is nowhere near this organized or purposeful. I wish I was this put together, but usually I start doing something, and the washer finishes. By the time I switch the laundry, I completely forget what I was doing. I start something else, get a text, and three hours later I wonder why I’m on Facebook looking at cats. Then a deadline creeps up, and I do six hours’ worth of work in about thirty minutes.

All in all, my writing day is insane, and full of interruptions, but somehow it works.