War. Never ending, constant, raging war. It ravaged the countryside, pillaging and conquering, reigning with supreme power over the elements and man alike. A shadow of doom. A specter of hate, unrelenting in pursuit, wreaking havoc and spilling blood along the soil like a crimson fertilizer.

War led with death close on its heels, the bodies of the fallen left to rot on the forsaken ground, only those lucky enough to secure sympathy were buried in the scorched and rotten earth and given peace. As elusive as peace was, in such a horrific time, only death allowed a break from the monotony. Only death offered any kind of reprieve. A final resting place apart from the horrors of life and the haunting cruelty of the militia.

Destruction ruled the day as chaos became the norm. Chaos bred from the cold and calculating minds of a few men who desired anarchy, who sought to rule the world with fear and intimidation, until only carnage remained. The same self-important men who ruled with an iron fist, pillaging and murdering in their pursuit of endless power.

Logic left the world to be replaced by the consistent and ever present militia. Neighborhoods, schools, churches, hospitals, all obliterated in the name of greed. Even those that remained stood empty.

No one dared to rebuild, not after the militia had taken root. Nothing survived unless it was swept in and chewed in its massive jaws, crunched and broken down, changed and bullied, until all that remained was a ghost of the original, a horrible gut wrenching twisted replica of the truth. A shadow. A ghoul of unrelenting hatred. A specter of rabid night.

The militia was the very hand of death itself.

And yet…

They still met opposition.

The militia beat back the refugees, gaining ground in their air raid assaults, led by General Haden. He ruthlessly hunted them down, finding hidden bases, issuing counter attacks, releasing more bombs on the helpless and defenseless citizens of the state, always searching and planning for the next wave of destruction.

The militia’s reach had extended across the entire fifty states. The agenda of indoctrination or annihilation pushed down the throats of the people. Yield or perish. Fight and die or join and become assimilated. Another face among the masses. Another body to fill their quota, engage the enemy, and pursue their evil agenda.

Rebellion had only been a matter of time. Once the bombers hit the main cities, unleashed by the unpopular president, a puppet of the militia’s demands, the rebellious few had turned in to the massive uprising of the refugee movement. Displaced and nearly murdered, those who survived those horrible days, known as K. D., Kill Day, joined together to fight the militia. It was the single largest, most massive undertaking and unification of freedom fighters in history.

The militia had been unprepared for the backlash. The refugees had formed groups all over the country, amassing and recruiting, saving people from the streets and starvation, giving them hope and promise, giving them an objective. Vengeance. It burned bright in every heart.

Revenge was a powerful ally. It fueled and emboldened the people. It drove past fear and uncertainty, past the hurt and anger, and past the horrendous unyielding painful loss. It surpassed everything, uniting the cause, bringing forth an outcry for justice, a voice that penetrated the doom. A trumpet call that the militia could not control or silence.

How did you fight an idea? How did you stop the vicious monster of revenge? How did you crush the need for retribution when you caused it in the first place? The militia was trying. And they were successful to a degree. The loss of life was substantial. Their desire to wipe out every refugee and insurgent until no one remained to challenge them was their answer.

War. Death. Blood.

Alec knew better than most. He lived it. Daily. A consequence of an ill-fated decision made in haste. But he had a plan. A devious and carefully planned course of action that would assassinate those in charge and eliminate the men responsible for the death of thousands of innocent lives, including his family and Lizzie’s.

Alec leaned back in his leather chair, stretching his arms and placing them behind his head. A small rumble issued through his belly, reminding him of the hour, turning his thoughts and focus back to his beautiful pregnant wife. Oh how he loved her. Adored her. Nearly worshipped her.

Lizzie was a dream come true. An angel in the middle of an ebony and evil night that sought to suck all of the joy out of his existence. She was magical. A glowing innocence and passionate love that surrounded him, grounded him, gave him purpose and strength, and a determination to face anything.

She was like life giving blood when you have a fatal accident, hydrating water in the drying and parched desert, food on the brink of starvation, oxygen when your lungs try to collapse. She breathed life into him. Sustained him. Made him whole.

A tremor ran through him. She was the most exquisite woman he had ever seen. Her beauty made him sink to his knees in submission. Even now, after a year since he found her again, just the thought of her was enough to make him weak with desire, torn between holding and loving her, but above all, a fierce protectiveness rose within his chest. He would protect her, until his dying breath.

She carried his firstborn son. Tears pricked the back of his eyelids and he blinked rapidly to dispel them before they hit his cheeks. Thinking of Lizzie and his baby boy had that effect on him. His emotions ran to the surface and nearly engulfed him. He inhaled a shaky breath.

How many nights had he lay awake, long after she fell asleep, only to watch and observe, to keep vigil over the most precious things in his life? Countless hours he dedicated himself to medical books on childbirth and parenting and pregnancy books. All for her. All to relieve the anxiety and uncertainty she tried to hide from him. He understood her nervousness and apprehension. She did not know what to expect.

Alec was well prepared. He could deliver his son on his own if needed to. He read up on every procedure, anything that could go wrong, every aspect of bringing his newborn son safely into this world. His objective was twofold, to secure the safety and health of both mother and child, and to ensure that no complications interfered with the birth.

Less than nine weeks left to go…

Lizzie counted on him, she relied on him, and she professed her need for him constantly. He knew she was afraid. Alec could hardly blame her for a small amount of fear. He was anxious himself. Seeing her in pain was going to prove his undoing. He could suffer but not his darling Lizzie. Not his beloved. Alec took another deep breath, releasing it slowly. No point in worrying about it now.

A movement out of the corner of his eye made him glance at the large picture window in his office. He thought he heard a scuffle. Odd. This part of the base was always peaceful and quiet. He stood and approached it, his hand falling on the windowsill. Heat from the afternoon penetrated the glass and fell in waves on his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the warmth and then opened them again.

Lizzie would be ready to meet him soon. He pictured her face, her soft curves, her fluid grace, and he smiled.

Lizzie…

His thoughts were cut short by the shrill ringing of his phone. He answered on the third ring.

“Captain Sheridan,” he answered.

Nothing.

Light static as if the wind was blowing in the background. He almost hung up but then he heard Lizzie’s voice.

“Stay away from me,” he heard her say.

Confusion made him frown. “Lizzie?”

“Now that’s not a way to greet an old friend is it?”

Alec buckled over as if someone had hit him in the gut. Oh God, no. Not now.

“I’ll scream,” Lizzie warned.

A deep sinister laugh echoed over the line. “Go ahead. You think that will matter?”

“Alec will kill you if you hurt me,” she warned again.

“I have no doubt his anger will lead him straight to us. Let’s go, and no funny business.”

“Darren, let go of me. Now!” He heard her screech.

“I said move, or you will be sorry,” the menacing tone struck fear in Alec’s heart.

“Lizzie!” He yelled, unable to stop the loud boom of his voice.

“What’s that? What have you done?”

He heard a scuffle and Lizzie cry out, as if in pain. Alec saw red. His hand shook, barely able to hold onto the receiver.

“Lizzie!”

“Alec!” He heard her scream his name, the echo was so loud it sounded as if it was outside his window.

Wait. Was she close?

“Hey lover boy,” Darren spoke through the phone, “come find your little prize. I’ll be waiting. But I would hurry…she’s in a delicate condition.”

Alec swore into the phone, issuing all manner of threat onto his person, but only heard the sound of something breaking and silence.

Horrible, still, aching, frightening silence.

Oh God.

Alec leaped from the room and ran down the hall, past the secretary who stood with her mouth gaping open, and out into the bright afternoon. He ran along the streets, calling her name, looking in every corner and crevice, but she was gone.

Long gone.

Alec collapsed onto his knees and nearly cried out.

No. The single word reverberated in his head. No, not his Lizzie. His ears were ringing, his chest tight, his mind frantic, grasping at the reality that she had been taken.

“Lizzie.” Her name tumbled from his lips in agony.

He stood, his fingers clenched into fists, the nails biting into the flesh, drops of blood sinking in silent drips upon the ground.

“I’m coming,” he whispered, hoping the air could carry the assurance into Lizzie’s heart, “and this time Darren
will
die.”

Alec turned toward home, his steps increasing in speed until he was running. A plan was forming in his head, taking shape with every movement of his body, until he was certain of the actions he would take to recover her.

Nothing would stand in his way.

Nothing and no one.

He smiled, a cruel light entering his grey eyes, casting a silvery gleam in the depths.

God help those who stood in his way.

Alec was done.

BOOK: Midnight Surrender (Freedom Fighters Series Book 2)

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