Page 8 of Echos and Empires
Seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness, stretching into an eternity as Liam remained frozen in place, every muscle tensed for flight or fight. His mind raced, a dizzying whirlwind of worst-case scenarios and contingency plans. If he were discovered, would he be able to talk his way out of the situation, or would the damning evidence of his trespass be impossible to explain away?
As the seconds stretched into minutes, the suffocating silence of the records room slowly settled back into place, broken only by the thundering of Liam’s own heartbeat. The immediate threat of discovery began to recede, a retreating tide that left him shaken and unsteady in its wake. With a shuddering breath, he forced his rigid muscles to relax, the adrenaline slowly leaching from his system as he fought to regain his composure.
Steeling himself against the lingering unease, Liam pushed away from the wall, his determination reignited by the close call.
As the first rays of dawn began to filter through the cracks in the records room’s walls, Liam knew that his time was running out. The answers he sought still eluded him, tantalizingly close but forever just beyond his grasp. With a heavy heart, he began to gather the scattered files, his mind already racing ahead to thenext step in his investigation. The truth was out there, waiting to be uncovered, and Liam knew that he would not rest until he had dragged it kicking and screaming into the light.
The burden of his discoveries was a tangible presence, a weight that pressed down upon his chest and clouded his thoughts. The knowledge he had uncovered was a double-edged sword, a truth that both empowered and terrified him in equal measure. How could he possibly shoulder this responsibility alone, the fate of the island resting squarely upon his weary shoulders?
With a final sweep of the records room, Liam extinguished his flashlight, plunging the space back into a brightening darkness. The musty air clung to his skin, a reminder of the secrets that lay buried within these walls. As he picked his way through the gloom, each step was a battle against the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him.
Retracing his steps through the compound, Liam’s senses remained on high alert, the fear of discovery still a palpable presence in the back of his mind. The once-familiar paths felt alien in the pre-dawn light, the shadows taking on a sinister edge as he navigated the twists and turns. Each rustle of leaves, each distant birdcall sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins, a reminder of the dangers that lurked just beyond the periphery.
As he neared the perimeter fence, the first tentative tendrils of dawn began to paint the sky in hues of pink and gold. The sight was a breathtaking contrast to the darkness that had consumed him, a promise of new beginnings and fresh starts. Yet even as the light grew stronger, Liam couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that clung to him like a second skin.
The walk back to the house was a blur, his feet carrying him forward on autopilot as his mind raced with the implications of his discoveries. The files he had gathered weighed heavily in hispocket, a physical reminder of the secrets he now carried. With each step, the burden seemed to grow, a crushing weight that threatened to drag him down.
The door looming before him was a barrier between the world of secrets and the sanctuary of home. His hand hovered over the handle, frozen in a moment of indecision as the weight of the night’s revelations crashed over him like a tidal wave. The files in his pocket seemed to burn against his skin, a tangible reminder of the burden he now carried.
With a deep breath, Liam let his hand fall to his side, the decision settling over him like a leaden cloak. He would keep his secrets, at least for now. He would bear this cross alone, a silent guardian standing watch over the fragile peace they had carved out for themselves until he was absolutely certain they weren’t safe here.
FOUR
The rhythmicthunkof the knife against the cutting board provided a soothing metronome as Bash chopped vegetables. He found solace in these mundane tasks, the simple act of preparing a meal for his family providing a momentary escape from the chaos of the world outside. Yes, it was stable on the island, but it still wasn’t what he’d deem a normal life—but very close to it.
Steam rose from the pot on the stove, filling the air with the comforting aroma of his unit-famous stew. It had gotten the gang through many long trips with limited supplies before they met Emma, and it had quickly become a staple on nights he did cooking rotation since finding safety.
As he worked, Bash couldn’t help but think about what could come next with such a peaceful existence. Against all odds, the unit and Emma had not only found something incredibly rare, they made it work.
The relationship shouldn’t have worked for Bash. Not just because he’d lost Brooke, but because the man he’d been before the bombs would have killed another man for touching the woman he loved. Now it provided him with peace and comfortknowing there were five of them who would move heaven and hell to keep her safe.
Not that we’re great at it, he snorted, the knife aggressively chopping through a carrot.
An oddly familiar, but still unfamiliar sound broke through his thoughts. It reminded him of Ranger when the poor dog had to vomit. The sound came again, louder this time.
Bash tensed, the knife stilling in his hand as worry spiked through him.
Emma. Not Ranger.
His instinct was to rush to her immediately, to gather her in his arms and soothe whatever made her sick. But he hesitated, not wanting to overreact. People got sick, it happened. It didn’t necessarily mean anything serious, and pouncing on her while she was puking likely wouldn’t make her happy.
And yet, Bash couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his gut. Emma hadn’t been sick a day since he’d met her. She didn’t complain about discomfort or even her fear often. Even when struggling with what happened with Marcus, she’d never complained until he pushed her during a training session. If she was gagging audibly, it was possible she was struggling.
Assuming it’s not Ranger, you moron. That dog ate everything, including what he shouldn’t. He could be wrong about who it is.
Another gag, this time followed by footsteps, very human footsteps, was all the confirmation he needed that it was Emma.
Setting the knife down, Bash turned off the stove and moved swiftly toward the living room. He tried to tamp down the concern that rose like bile up his throat, but it was a losing battle. When it came to Emma, Bash’s protective instincts were always on high alert.
He pushed through the archaic swinging door. She wasn’t in the living room, but the telltale sounds of more vomiting camefrom around the corner, setting him off to find her before she got sick alone again.
He found her in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet, her curly brown hair falling like a curtain around her face, blocking her expression from his view. Bash’s heart clenched at the sight. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to take on her discomfort himself. But he knew Emma—knew she hated to appear vulnerable. So instead, he leaned against the doorframe, taking on as casual a pose as he could, even as his eyes searched for a way to see her past her hair.
“You alright?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
Emma looked up at him, her hair shifting out of her face to reveal her striking hazel eyes were watery and rimmed with red. She tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice raspy. “Just felt a little nauseous, that’s all.”
Bash wasn’t convinced. He knew Emma well enough and knew she would downplay any illness or injury. It was one of the things he loved about her, her strength and resilience. But it also worried him, the thought that she might be suffering and not let him help.
