“Food’s usually pretty good,” said the woman sitting across from Mercy, her focus on her own tray. The rest of the women ate silently. Mercy pegged Vera as the oldest at the table, and the youngest appeared to be in her early twenties. None of them wore makeup. Hair was worn straight down or pulled back, and all of their clothing had seen better days. They looked content and ate heartily. No one moped or picked at her food.

Mercy had nearly finished her delicious gravy and bread when a piercing siren sounded outside. The mess hall exploded into action. People leaped up from their seats, and the men poured out of the mess hall, boots pounding, leaving their lunches on the table.

What is happening?

Mercy’s stomach churned in panic, and she stood, her right hand automatically touching her side, where she had no weapon. Vera and another woman ran to open a cabinet and yanked gas masks off the shelves.

We’re under attack.

Terror bombarded her as the siren continued its wail of warning. Someone shoved a gas mask in her hands, and Vera hauled her down and under one of the tables. “What is going on?” Mercy hissed as she fumbled with the mask. Her parents had never stocked gas masks, unlike some of their survivalist acquaintances.

“Drill.” Vera slipped on her own mask and tightened the straps.

Relief made Mercy’s hands go limp. Vera grabbed Mercy’s mask and shoved it on her face as the other women huddled under the tables. The hideous black masks on the women, with their built-in respirators and eye protection, made her feel as if she were hiding with a group of huge bugs.

This is insane.

“Where are the men going?” she asked.

“To fortify the perimeter and gates.”

The door to the mess hall opened, and from under the table Mercy watched a pair of heavy boots and camo pants enter. The man closed the door and stood in front of it, his feet planted. Mercy leaned forward to see more of him and saw a rifle held ready.

To keep us in or keep attackers out?

“The drill won’t last much longer,” Vera whispered, her voice muffled through the mask.

“How did you know it was a drill?” Mercy asked as she kept an eye on the figure blocking the door.

“The siren was steady. If this had been the real thing, the sound would have pulsated.”

“Who do you expect to attack this camp?”

“Get your mask right or you’ll get a strike,” Vera told her, ignoring her question. “You’re of no use to the group if you’re dead from poisonous air.”

Mercy adjusted the straps until they fit smoothly around her head. It smelled strongly of rubber. “What’s a strike?”

“Pete didn’t tell you about strikes?”

“No.”

“Three strikes and you’re punished. Strikes are given for missing work or missing the drills. You can also get one at a lieutenant’s discretion for insubordination or just being messy.”

“Who are the lieutenants?” Carleen had briefed Mercy on the group’s simple command structure. Pete delegated to four lieutenants.

Vera jerked her head toward the door. “That’s one right there. He’s in charge of the women during drills.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to have you in charge of the women?” Vera seemed very competent.

Vera’s eyes widened behind her mask’s eye protection, and she slowly shook her head. “You have a lot to learn.”

“I’m trying.”

The siren abruptly stopped, and from the direction of the lieutenant Mercy heard the crackle of an inaudible question over a radio.

“Mess hall secure,” answered the man at the door. He raised his voice. “Line up!”

The women scrambled out from under the table, and Mercy joined them in a straight line before the lieutenant. He was dressed from head to toe in camo and had slung his AR-15 over his shoulder. He didn’t wear a gas mask but walked the line of women and inspected theirs. He tugged on a strap here and there but didn’t issue any strikes.

I think he used to be a cop.

Mercy recognized it in the way his balance was always forward and by the movement of his hands—always up front and ready—and the continuous visual assessment of his surroundings. She wondered what had happened to make him leave the world behind and join this compound. Pete’s group was firmly anti–law enforcement at all levels.

He got to Mercy and stopped, scanning her from boots to mask, and she hoped her mask was adjusted correctly. He was in his midtwenties and reminded her of a blond actor whose name was on the tip of her tongue—she could see him in her mind but couldn’t come up with the name. The lieutenant was a younger version of the actor.

He moved on. No strike.

“As you were.”

The women pulled off the masks and finger combed their hair, talking quietly among themselves. Mercy fumbled to loosen the straps she couldn’t see, taking a deep breath once she was free. The lieutenant briefly met her gaze.

“Polk!” he said loudly.

A split second passed before Mercy realized he’d called her last name.

“Yes, sir?”

“Report to the command center in five minutes.” He adjusted the strap of his rifle and left the mess hall.

The other women stopped to stare at her.

“Did I screw up? What does Pete want?” Dread filled her chest as the other women all looked away. “Vera?” she asked. “Do you know why?”

Vera shrugged and took Mercy’s mask from her hands to return it to the cabinet. “Probably nothing. Maybe Pete realized he forgot to cover something in your introduction—like strikes.” Her throat moved as she swallowed, and she didn’t meet Mercy’s eyes.

Shit.

Mercy sat back down at the table and considered what was left of her now-cold gravy, bread, and beans. She had five minutes to finish, but it didn’t matter.

Her appetite was long gone.

NINE

Mercy hesitated at the outer door of the command center. Do I knock? She squared her shoulders, turned the handle, and walked into the waiting area to find Chad and Ed. Chad was pacing the small room, his back stiff and his hands restless. Ed leaned against a table, his arms crossed on his chest. The air was thick with tension.

Pete figured us out.

“What’s wrong?” asked Mercy.

“Pete has some questions about some of the stuff from your bag,” Chad answered as he walked over and took both her hands. He held eye contact, and Mercy felt reassurance flow from him. She took a deep breath.

“I didn’t pack anything you told me not to.”

“That’s not quite right,” Ed stated. He hadn’t budged from his position at the table.

“What shouldn’t I have packed?” She ran through a mental list of her belongings and froze on Advil.

Vera’s comments about analgesics.

The commander’s door opened, and Pete appeared. “Polk. Inside.”

Mercy glanced at Chad and Ed. Both were silent. Chad’s gaze was sympathetic and Ed’s emotionless. Inside Pete’s office she spotted her plastic bag of medical supplies on his desk. She’d thrown several pieces from her vehicle’s medical kit into a large ziplock bag. Advil, a tiny bottle of epinephrine, syringes, bandages, topical antibiotic cream, a curved needle, and sterile sutures. Beside the plastic bag lay her favorite Leatherman tool and the XStat syringes.

The syringes that the ATF agent had casually tossed aside while sorting her medical supplies, and Mercy had grabbed back. Eddie’s lifesavers.

Pete moved behind his desk and stood silently watching her. Her heart pounding, Mercy surveyed the items and then met his gaze.

“I’ve learned from Vera that Advil is frowned upon,” she stated. “Is that the problem?”

Pete lowered his gaze to the items on his desk. “I see a lot of problems here.”

Mercy tilted her head. “I guess it could look that way to you. To me these are smart items to always have on hand.” She paused. “Is the Leatherman considered a weapon?”

She’d known there were strict rules about weapons, but she’d never mentally classified the tool as a weapon.

“It has two sharp blades, so yes.”

“I can see how it looks that way. I backpack a lot,” she lied. “It’s an important tool for me, but I guess I won’t have much use for it here.”

Pete picked up the sealed XStat packet. “I’ve heard of these but never seen them before. I find it odd that someone would carry them, even if you are a nurse.”

Mercy would never be without one. A small quiver shot up her spine, and she fought to calm her breathing. Keep the lie as close to the truth as possible.

She looked away from Pete and gnawed on her lower lip. “I came across a hunting accident while backpacking one time. I didn’t know the man—but I could have saved his life if I’d had one of those with me.” She raised her eyes to meet Pete’s gaze. “I told myself I’d never be caught without one again.” She sucked in a quivering breath.

Pete stared at her for a long moment. “Are you often in the position where the people around you are shot?”

Yes. “No—but carrying this makes me feel as if I have my bases covered. I’m a nurse, and I wasn’t adequately prepared.”

“You can’t save everyone.”

“I do my best to try.”

He studied the XStat package. “I’ll add it to our medical supplies, so it will be available. Same with your other medical items. The Leatherman will be confiscated.”