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After America was destroyed, 23-year-old single mom Coryn Diaz and her daughter hunkered down with their gunslinging neighbors…and a stud she met once, but hoped to forget. Ever since, their small town has defied looters and mobsters, but now self-made vampires are stealing women’s blood.

Desperate for a way to fight back, Coryn discovers a bizarre plant that gives her a supernatural light power capable of defeating the vampires threatening her town.

Then Hunter Freeman, a church boy battling his own demons, vows to protect Coryn, the beautiful gal who’d ran away from him way back when. But though he’ll fight hell for her and her daughter, he can’t fight his growing desire for the woman he always remembered.

While Coryn battles against falling prey to death—or love, and Hunter wrestles with his past, they must wage war against the otherworldly darkness that threatens to consume them all.

BLOOD THIEVES OF BELLS FERRY

Hunter

The fading sun peeked in on my dash and the radio crackled. I cranked it, my heart doing the same.

“Stay inside.” Static. “There’s—bombing the—fire department on—”

I looked up, my heart jolting. Someone in all black crossed feet away from my truck. I swerved to the left. The truck roared. I looked to the right where the fool had crossed. The open field stretching before the woods lay bare.

“What in the heavens…?”

The radio went dead as I straightened the truck on the road, sucking my teeth. Was I starting to see things now? For sure the radio lit up, but whoever crossed couldn’t have gotten to the woods that fast.

I pulled up to the sheriff’s office/Town Hall, windows down to spare the quarter tank of gas I’ve been maintaining since my last fill three weeks back. Sweat dripped into my eyeballs in the dusky summer sun, but I had to do what I had to do. The world was the Wild Wild West now, and every bit of everything mattered more than ever.

I jumped out and tramped toward the little brick building’s barred-entry, a swing door newly added apparently. Must’ve landed it from Fred the welder down on Big Shanty Road. Nowadays extra security was everything and hopefully this time, the big boss would agree.

The usual waft of soiled garbs hit me like the bricks outside. I kept a straight face as I peeked into the Town Hall on the right. The three middle-aged nurses in worn scrubs tended to the elderly on their cots. No one could get to the hospital an hour out in a car because of the gas situation and even if they did, would it be in operation? We couldn’t be sure with the blackout still cutting off most of the country who wasn’t prepped for it.

I veered left into Sheriff Hanks’ office. He sat at his desk, papers scattered and scribbled on, with head in his hands. His hat lay beside one elbow revealing his sweaty bald top, and the landline phone at the other.

I knocked on the door frame. “Sleeping on the job?”

Hank flinched, but then slowly put on his hat and tipped it. “A man’s gotta get some shut eye sometime, don’t he?”

“Indeed we do, Sheriff.” I stepped inside. “Time to hire some back up. And don’t worry, I don’t need any extra rations or anything. I’m just here to carry the load.”

Hank stretched back, his chair squeaking. “I told you son, me and Tripp got it all under control.”

“Oh, is that right?” I took another step. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you ain’t been wanting to bring me on all this time?”

Hank eyed me cool behind that ‘stache like a man in a poker game anticipating his opponent’s next move. I held them right back. Two years I’ve been in this town and I know a side-stepper when I see one.

Hank folded his hands, slow again, calculated. “Have a seat, son.”

“Nah, I think I’ll stand for this one.”

Hank gave a nod—and a frown. “I checked your file.”

I held my own poker face, though my heart skipped.

“Would you hire you if you was me?”

Poker face in tact, I kept my shoulders straight as I replied, “If I was in the mess our nation is in now, I think I might.”

“Our country may be a mess son, but I told you, me and Tripp—” the landline rang. He snatched it, eyes glancing up like a kid caught stealing a cookie from behind his momma’s back. “Sheriff’s office.” His brow wrinkled and knuckles whitened. “Hello? Belinda? Belinda!” He shot up from his desk and over to the radio by his window where milky moonlight spilled in. He snatched the headset. “Tripp, do you copy?” As he waited, I glimpsed out the window. There was only one Belinda I knew of, but perhaps there was another. “Come on. Tripp, do you copy?”

“Roger, Sheriff.”

“Can you head over to Belinda Cole’s place STAT?”

“Negative. Handling a situation over at Buck’s Grocer.”

I turned and rushed out of the office. So it was Belinda Cole, Remington’s daughter. As I reached my truck, Hank ran after me, holding his hat. I jumped in and Hank threw open my passenger door.

“Where’s your cruiser?” I asked as he clambered in.

“Tripp’s broke down yesterday so he took mine.”

I gave a nod as I gunned it to the Coles’. “Thought you didn’t need me.”

“I don’t.” He unholstered his gun and cocked it. “You’re gonna drop me off and keep your butt in the truck, ya hear me?”

I glimpsed at him as I rounded the corner blocks away from Belinda’s. He gave me his sternest look like some kind of angry principal ready to expel a rowdy student. “What’d Belinda say?”

The sternness melted like wax beneath the flame. “She wasn’t sayin’. She was screamin’.”

I hit the gas harder, cutting a hard right through the woods. The truck bounced through the terrain and roared, but this beaten road would get us there in half the time. Less than a minute and we pulled up to the gray two-story ranch house.

“Remember what I said.” Hank hustled out and stalked near the house. He checked out the front door. Locked. He shot the handle off, kicked it open, and disappeared inside.

I clasped my own gun strapped at my waist and spoke. “Praise be to the Lord my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle. He is my loving God and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield, in whom I take refuge, who subdues peoples under me.”

I checked the time on my dash, a quarter past eight. To think I almost didn’t come to check on the Sheriff tonight, but I got this itch that I had to get out of the house. I didn’t know why I had this hope he’d take me on even though he’d turned me down three times since moving here. But now I knew.

I cocked my gun, slipped out of the truck, and followed Hank’s path to the entry. Nightfall muddied the inside. Belinda didn’t have time to light a single candle. I scanned the living area. Then the dining. The kitchen. All sat clear. The back door stood open. I checked it. Nothing tampered, the glass intact. Did she leave it unlocked by accident? Or did she open it to get in the backyard and someone sprang in?

I turned back into the living room then crept up the stairs. The steps creaked beneath my weight. If someone was here, they’d be anticipating me the moment I got into the hall.

Gun raised I kept my eyes and ears as peeled as I could in the dark. Crickets began their chant. The sound aided in masking my movement. I crept into the hallway.

I looked into an empty bathroom. Then entered a bedroom with a twin sized bed. The moonlight let me borrow a sense the room sat vacant. I moved on to the next, a closed door. I turned the knob. Locked. I kicked it open.

The moon’s pale light edged in from sheer curtains by the bed, revealing Belinda lying on her side. I rushed over and set a hand on her. “Belinda, Belinda can you hear me?” I shook. She rolled over, her body limp. I did a quick scan. An LED lantern sat at her bedside. I flicked it on. The dim light revealed Belinda’s twenty-year-old face, eyes and mouth open, as pale as the moonlight.

My gut tangled as I checked her cold neck for a pulse. Nothing. I grabbed the lantern and passed it over her. No apparent wounds or sign of struggling. I did another scan around the floor of the bed. No empty pill bottles. One more scan with the LED of her body. I held the light over her abdomen and arms and drew it closer. Her inner forearm. Two holes like snake bites covered her median cubital vein.

“What in the…”

Shuffling sounded downstairs. I lifted my gun and stalked to the side of the bedroom door, pressing my back against the wall. Footsteps rattled the stairs, no concern of being heard. I tightened my hold. Someone panted as they drew near. I steadied my firearm.

A hatless Hank entered the room. I lowered my gun as he sucked in a breath and said, “I told you to stay in the truck.”

“I think your exact words were to keep my butt in the truck.” I followed him to the bedside. “Belinda’s dead.”

“I know.” Hank wiped his brow with his arm. “I found her here before I heard movement downstairs. Something was down there. All black. It dashed out the backdoor before I even reached the bottom of the stairs. I followed after it, but it was movin’ so fast it looked like a shadow.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “Then it disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“You heard me, boy!” Hank sucked his teeth as he turned away. “At least that’s what it looked like all right?” He unclipped a radio and spoke. “Tripp, you copy?”

“Roger.”

“I need you back at the station pronto.”

“Copy that, Sheriff.”

My heart cranked up like it had on my way over to the Sherrif’s office. That person in black who crossed my truck. Maybe I had seen him. “I think I saw the same thing on my way over to the office.”

Hank lowered his radio. “Say what now?”

“Someone walked right in front of my truck before I got to the office. I swerved out of his path, but when I looked back at the open field leading to the woods, he was gone.”

Hank closed the distance between us like a K-9 ready to strike. “Now you listen to me, Hunter. If you want to help us out, you better stay in line. Not a single outburst or I’ll make you give up every gun you own, you hear me?”

Though a sting of shame poked my heart, it jumped nonetheless. After everything that happened, I knew I needed a break from the field for a while. But things change in two years, people change. Although I hadn’t been active since, I hoped to God now more than ever I was ready for it again because the people of Bells Ferry needed all the help they could get.

My stare found poor Belinda, taken before her time. That sleeping giant in me rumbled and I clenched a fist.

Lord have mercy on whoever—or whatever—took her life because come hell or high water, we were going to find this thing and put an end to it.

Coryn

I’d do this until my fingers bleed—even though I hate blood.

I moved back from an all-fours position on the living room’s wood floors, grasping a polishing cloth, and sat on my calves. The large flatscreen TV still shone black with a “connection error” message in its center. The screen reflected a murky, but nonetheless visible mirror of my frizzed-out curls and sweaty face. Goosebumps crawled along my arms. Six weeks of no internet and no phones. How much longer would our connection to the rest of the world be lost? Did I even wanna see what was going on out there…? And once the generator dried up…

I shifted my eyes and grazed the space. Family portraits of the Barnes displayed black-and-white portraits of parents and great grandparents, while colored ones showcased children and grandchildren. I’d memorized half of Dixie and Gunner’s six “grand-babies” names since she’d shared so many stories about them. Last she heard, her son and his family were hunkered down safe in a cabin they owned in Idaho. But she hadn’t spoken with her daughter and her family in LA since the fall.

Fake daisies adorned every end-table, even the Amish dining one. A giant wooden cross hung above the fireplace, and framed bible verses and smaller crosses decorated every wall. You’d think all the religious stuff would annoy, given the way my parents were, but here in the Barnes’ home everything…invited. With the hot summer, the fireplace hadn’t been lit once, but the whole place just swelled with welcoming warmth…I sighed. Not like my abandoned house next door, aka the in-law suite Gunner and Dixie let me rent for pennies.

Holding her broom, Hope sashayed and twirled toward me, her full-length skirt and silky blonde hair swaying as she danced with the broom she’d named Prince Philip. Stopping at my side, she peered down at the shining floor. “Ooh, I can see your pretty face in the floor, Princess Mommy.”

I chuckled. “And, my little princess, do you—”

“Actually, today I am a queen.”

“I apologize, dear queen. Do you know why I scrubbed these floors so hard they’re shining like marble?”

She tapped her little seven-year-old chin. “Because you’re Cinderella?”

I pointed at my dark curls. “Unless there’s a Cuban version, no, sweetie. I do this because I want to show Mr. and Mrs. Barnes how thankful I am for all they’ve done for us.”

She smiled, showing off her recently pulled front tooth. “I want to show them how thankful I am, too!” She scurried off, sweeping rapidly. “I can’t dance anymore until the ball tonight, Philip, so no more distracting me!”

Smiling, I used the vinegary, lemon scented cloth to wipe the sweat from my face and stretched my legs out in front of me. My knees shone red with specks of blood. But who cared. Raw knees were a small sacrifice in comparison to what Gunner and Dixie had done, taking me and Hope in after those thugs from the Los Daggers gang broke into our house and nearly killed us.

I cringed at the memory. I’d screamed at the top of my lungs, using a skillet to fight off the goons with all my might. Until one of them snatched it from my grasp and held me down while another bear-hugged Hope, telling her to enjoy the show. I kicked so much before the bastard could finally pull my pants all the way off. Gunner showed up with a rifle and all three of the mobsters were gunned down.

I winced. All that blood…I’d thrown up four times within ten minutes. Thank God Gunner shouted at Hope to keep her eyes closed right before he ended the gangsters’ lives then calmly escorted us both out. And thank God she was such a good girl and listened. I don’t think she’d be dancing with Prince Philip if she’d seen what I did…

“Oh my sweet heaven, Coryn, it smells like lemon pound cake in here!” Dixie descended the staircase, her silvery-blonde hair in rollers and her pudgy body in a pink nightgown fringed with ‘fur.’ How she managed to still “pretty herself up” for Gunner was a miracle given the current state of affairs. I don’t even remember the last time I cared about how I looked, even before the recent downfall of America the Great. Oh wait. An image of that guy I’d refused to let myself fantasize about after that last exchange flashed through my mind. I did care about my appearance that day—though I vowed never to visit that church again, and Mr. Handsome Goodie Good was probably thankful for that.

I stood and slung the cloth over my shoulder. “Just a few drops of lemon essential oil goes a long way.”

Dixie reached the bottom and frowned as she stepped into the living room. “Oh, darlin’, you didn’t need to use your good stuff. That could be worth a lot more now, I’m sure.”

I shrugged. “Who better to spend it on?”

“Oh, you stop it. Hold onto that stuff in case your little princess here—”

“Que-ee-ee-een,” Hope sang as she swiped her broom near the giant dining table.

“‘Scuze me.” Dixie continued. “Save your oil in case either of you ever gets sick.”

“Or,” I said, “if you or Gunner do.”

“Ha! Nuthin’ will kill that man except his own courage.”

I shuddered. Gunner’s bravery in killing gang members to defend me and Hope surely could’ve landed him an early grave. He’d even buried all three of the mobsters in my front yard with a handwritten sign that read: No gang-members allowed unless you repent and receive Jesus.

Dixie turned her attention to the TV. “Still nuthin,’ huh?”

I shook my head. “Quiet as always.”

“Good Lord, when will this all end…” She said more to herself than to me. “Time to shut off the generator then.” She swiped the cloth from my shoulder. “And to have us some breakfast. Everyone’s gettin’ too skinny in this house.” As she put her arm around Hope and led her into the kitchen, I trailed close, stomach gnawing on my backbone. So far, gun-slinging men like Gunner kept a lot of bad guys at bay from Bells Ferry, though every now and then a few fearless ones sprang up like weeds to test their fate.

I entered the kitchen, beginning to swell with the bitter-sweet aroma of brewing coffee. I breathed it in nice and slow like I had every day for the past week of living here. No generator and having lost my job as a wedding video editor immediately after the Law Abiders lost the war in Washington to the Freedom Fighters two months ago, hot coffee became room-temperature brews until I ran out of my last few bags then had to resort to tepid tea.

Me and Hope took our seats at the wooden island as usual, while Dixie finished whipping up breakfast. After setting a mug of beautiful, steaming coffee, a plate of four boiled eggs and a few strawberries in front of me and Hope, Dixie sat across from us. “I’m sorry we’re short on strawberries ‘cause the season is endin,’ but Big Mama Nugget and her crew ain’t slowin’ down their egg makin’ anytime soon! You gals could use some extra protein anyhow.” She shook her roller-head. “And you’re supposed to be Latinas.”

I laughed at her gringa, Southern accent. “Only half Cuban. My mom was a white girl like you.”

“Was she now? Then you must’ve taken after your daddy, huh’?”

“Yes, ma’am. My mom used to say, ‘Now I’ll never need to wonder what your father would look like as a woman because I’m lookin’ at her.’”

Now Dixie laughed. “Hey, you did that Southern twang like a pro. Keep it up and maybe people will start believing little Hope here is yours.”

I reached over and stroked Hope’s blonde tresses as she devoured the strawberries. “Sometimes I just let them believe she’s my little sister. Easier than explaining, you know?”

Dixie nodded, her blue eyes sympathetic as she clasped her mug and sipped.

I looked at the gold wedding band on her ring-finger. “Or maybe you don’t.”

Setting the mug down, Dixie looked at Hope, already with clean plate, cooing at the Yorkshire picture on her cup. “Little miss queen, can you please head up to your bedroom and help the princess find her glass slipper?”

Hope gasped. “A barefooted princess! Oh no, she won’t be ready for the ball tonight!” She hopped off her stool and bustled out of the kitchen. As her swift patters up the stairs faded, Dixie focused on me. “That wild bear out there may have managed to keep his parts to himself til our wedding night, but that doesn’t mean I’m a perfect lil angel. My sins may be different from yours, but they’re still sins nonetheless.”

I took a long sip of coffee. Not according to my parents. When they found out their daughter got knocked up by a boy from the Christian private school they’d spent so much money to have her attend, they pulled me out and homeschooled me until graduation. Then they stopped taking me to church when I started showing. They said they’d suffered enough shame to have to hear it from the congregation, too. Though I still believe at least the youth pastor and his wife, Cindi, wouldn’t have been judgmental, especially since it wasn’t like I was proud of what I’d done. But mistakes are still embarrassing, especially to Christians. And maybe God did deem some sins as worse than others.

I huffed. “Wish my parents were as graceful.”

Dixie sighed. “Sometimes, it’s harder to forgive those we love the most.”

I rubbed my mug’s handle, fighting back tears. I didn’t know how to forgive my parents, but what did it matter now, anyway? They’d been dead since the year after Hope was born.

“Darn Satan babies!” Gunner marched into the kitchen, shirtless in dirt-stained overalls and cowboy boots, a sheathed gun in a holster on his hip. “I found another snake near our ‘maters!”

Dixie leaned back. “Did you get ‘em?”

“Ya darn right I did! Knocked his ol’ head off with my ax. Sucker had to’ve been five feet long.”

I looked up at him. “Can you get any braver?”

“Sure can.” He stood behind Dixie and clasped her shoulders with soiled hands. “Ask my girl here about the time her sister called from the bar sayin’ a couple of fools were givin’ her a hard time with payin’ their bill.”

Dixie laid one of her hands atop his. “Don’t start boastin’. You lost a tooth in that fight.”

“Yeah, but they all paid up, didn’t they?”

“Yes, hon,’ they sure did.”

He released her shoulders and slapped his belly. “Now what’cha got for breakfast, darlin’?”

“Eggs.”

“Again?”

“Now don’t you go givin’ me a hard time or it’ll be the same thing tomorrow.”

“All right, all right.” Gunner walked to the stove where the pot of boiled eggs sat and began scooping some out with his dirty hands, making them muddy. “Where’s the strawberries?”

She winked at me. “I gave sweet little Hope the last of the picked ones and I don’t think there’s any more out there.”

“I can go check.” I guzzled the remaining delectable sips of my coffee.

Dixie waved me back down. “Don’t think I didn’t notice these floors. You’ve earned your break, little lady, so just—”

Rapid knocks at the front door interrupted her.

“Stay here.” Gunner unholstered his handgun and treaded out of the kitchen. Dixie and I followed—keeping a ten foot distance. He peered into the peephole then quickly opened the door. Bill, their celery-stick neighbor, rushed inside, his sun-burned face somehow pale and sweating profusely.

“What’s goin’ on?” Gunner asked as he shut and locked the door.

Bill sank onto one of the leather couches like a withering stalk. Staring ahead with unblinking eyes, he said in a trembling voice, “It’s all gone. It took it all.”

“Took what?” Dixie sat beside him.

Like dragging something heavy, his distant, slow-moving eyes landed on me. “Her blood.”

I could feel the blood fleeing my face as if scared off by Bill’s bloody—or lack thereof—announcement.

“Now what on God’s green earth are you talkin’ about, Bill?” Gunner dropped into the armchair across from his wife and Bill while I trembled down onto the loveseat.

Celery stick Bill kept his petrified gaze on me. “She was young…like you.”

My stomach churned. With all of this creepy news and attention, at any moment, I’d vomit red eggs on the guy.

“Who are you talkin’ about, Bill?” Dixie snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Snap out of it so we can figure this out.”

Finally, he took his death-grip stare off of me. “Belinda Cole, ‘bout a mile down by the farmer’s market.”

As Dixie covered her mouth, Gunner clasped his forehead. “Remington’s oldest?”

Bill gave a nod. “Me and Jesse were goin’ down there ‘cause we heard they got more gas, when about a block from the Coles’ place, we saw a big ol’ crowd. People were cryin’ and all shook up. They said Sheriff Hank and Elder Hunter found her in bed last night, white as snow, with two small holes in her forearm. Dr. Johnson went in and said the cause of death was extreme blood loss. Based on the holes, Dr. Johnson said it looked like someone used needles to draw out all her blood.”

A wave of dizziness crashed over me as my heart hammered within my chest. What kind of depraved human being would do such a thing? And to a young woman while she slept? A young woman like me…

As Dixie began to cry, Gunner’s tone softened, but still maintained a certain hardness. “Do we have any idea who could’ve done this?”

“Not a clue so far. But the town is holdin’ a mandatory meetin’ tonight at First Baptist Bells Ferry.”

My heart jumped at the name. The place with that Hunky Goody Good who I stormed away from in the church parking lot. The place I vowed never to go to again.

“We’ll be there.” Gunner clasped his gun’s hilt. “We’ll find that murderer and make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He rose from his seat. “C’mon, Bill. Let’s check around town and make sure everyone’s got their windows boarded up good and the dogs got enough food. We’ll need ‘em.”

Dixie stood and gave him a kiss.

“You wearin’ your gun, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Sure am.” She lifted her nightgown, exposing her upper thigh where a small gun sat in a holster.

“Good.” Gunner turned to me. “Give Coryn one, too.” He and Bill marched out and Dixie wiped away her tears.

I swallowed, my throat extra dry. Whoever this poor Belinda was, the Barnes clearly had a relationship with her. And not to sound like a horrible person, but I wasn’t as sad for her passing as I was scared. I didn’t know her like the Barnes did, or many people living here for that matter. I kept to myself as much as I could. People here always said hi and engaged in small talk, but I rarely ever picked up names—or offered mine. Running away from one small town to an even smaller one sounded like a good idea at the time.

I rose. “Did you know her well?”

Dixie nodded. “Used to babysit her when the Coles were goin’ through a rough time financially, and both of them were workin’ two jobs.”

“I’m so sorry…”

She fanned her face. “This world’s gotten crazier, Coryn. I just can’t wait for Jesus to come back.” She walked toward the stairs and beckoned me. “Let’s get you set up.”

I bustled forward, bumping into the armchair on my way. “I’ve never shot a gun before—or even held one.”

“First time for everything, darlin’.”

She reached the top of the stairs and led me through the narrow hall, passing the bathroom and me and Hope’s bedroom, where she danced again, this time with a bed-sheet draped around her chest like an oversized gown. My stomach knotted as we reached the last door on the right and traversed into Dixie’s bedroom.

“I don’t think I’d be able to…kill someone,” I said.

Dixie strode to her closed walk-in closet and opened the door, revealing half a side with clothes and another half with a wardrobe. “When you and your daughter were about to be killed, did you defend yourself then?”

As she removed a key from her bust and unlocked the wardrobe, I looked over my shoulder toward the hallway. When that gangster had his tatted arms bear-hugging my helpless Hope, rage swelled through me from my toes to my forehead. I swung my skillet like a sword and would’ve done whatever it took in order to save my baby girl’s life… but that pan only stalled the monsters at best. Then Gunner came and did what I maybe never could.

Dixie opened the wardrobe. Four rifles hung in the middle, three handguns on the left, and two shotguns on the right. A shelf beneath them carried various holsters and smoke grenades.

“Whoa,” I breathed. “You guys sure you’re Christians?”

She snickered. “The Bible says God put authorities in the government to bear the sword, to act as avengers who carry out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer. Now the authorities have been overthrown, who’s gonna defend the innocent and helpless?” She grabbed a pistol and handed it to me. “We are, that’s who.”

I swallowed and gave what I was sure had to be a pathetic and unconvincing nod. She was right, I guess…

“That’s a semi-automatic,” Dixie said. “Easy to shoot, easier to hide than some of the others. And it’s locked and loaded. Just take off the safety right here, cock it, and you’re good to go.”

I held the weapon in both palms like it were a baby bird fallen from its nest. “But what if Hope gets to it?”

She snatched a thick, black waist belt. “This is a belly band. Tuck that in here, and make sure to wear it all times.”

“What if she hugs me and finds out I’m wearing it?”

“You tell her it’s not a toy. Guns are not safe to mess with, and only Mommy can touch it.” Dixie closed the wardrobe and locked it. “She’s a good girl, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but—”

She pointed at the boarded up window above her giant, leopard-print bed. “Aren’t there worse things to worry about out there? You heard Bill.”

I shivered, his words haunting: “She was young…like you.”

Dixie continued. “Between gang-bangers, violent drunks, desperate folks, and now these blood thieves, it’s find a way to defend yourself or die at their ruthless hands.”

I bit my lip and lifted my shirt. While Dixie strapped the belly band around my abdomen, I said, “I just wish there was, I dunno, a different way to defend myself.”

She finished stuffing my new pistol away. “Pray about it.”

“Pardon?”

She shrugged. “Jesus said ask in my name and you shall receive. So, ask him if there’s another way you can defend yourself. Who knows, maybe you’ll become a swordsman or somethin’ else instead.” Without any more bizarre advice, she walked out of the room as if…leaving me to do just that. To pray. Now…

I laid my hands against my still-knotting stomach. It tightened more. I hadn’t spoken to God since after I told my parents I was pregnant at sixteen. I didn’t even know if he was really there or not. He let me fall for that douchebag who managed to convince me I was his dream girl that he planned on marrying someday, blah, blah, blah, then had the jerk’s kid!

Hope.

My heart stung. Though her father was an absentee pig, she wasn’t. She was an angel…How something so sweet and beautiful, and precious could form from the sperm of that con-artist was nothing less than a miracle. I glanced up at the crown-molding ceiling and sighed. Even though I’d messed up massively, maybe Hope was proof that there was a God who at least was benevolent sometimes…

My stomach twisting and heart racing again, I inched toward Dixie and Gunner’s bed. Slowly, I sank to my knees and propped my elbows on the soft mattress. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in. “Hi…if you’re there. I know it’s been a while, but I guess desperate times call for desperate measures, right?” I forced a laugh. If God was real, he’d totally know how fake that was. But maybe he wouldn’t care. Or maybe he’d roll his eyes at the friend who hadn’t called in years. “I’m sorry. You know—if you’re real—that I was never good at this. I guess I’m just so visual it’s kind of hard to pray to someone who’s invisible. But whatever. I get it. Faith is trusting in what I can’t see so here I am.”

Tears began to swell in my eyes. “I feel so lost. And so scared. I never imagined this country—my home—would become this ridiculously unsafe wasteland. And the things people are doing to each other…what they almost did to me and Hope.” Now the tears flowed from my eyes like a leaky faucet. “How am I supposed to raise my daughter in this world? It’s bad enough she’s had to grow up without a father and grandparents. It’s always been just me and I feel like I can’t protect her anymore. It’s out of my control and I’m just so scared of losing her…” I crossed my forearms and nestled my face against them. After a minute, I remembered the whole point of this was to ask that bizarre question Dixie suggested I take up with Jesus. But desperation and confusion don’t leave much room for pragmatism.

“If there’s some other way I can defend myself and Hope, and anyone else who may need it, some way that doesn’t involve guns—or swords—can you please show me? I want to be able to help, but just…I don’t know…differently.” With a final sigh, I wiped the tears from my face and finished my terribly ineloquent prayer. “In Jesus’ name, amen.”

A knock sounded by the doorway. Dixie stood in the hall, smirking. “Gunner’s gettin’ on my nerves about the strawberries. Still wanna go check that patch so you don’t have to see him get his butt kicked?”

“Sure.” I hustled to my feet, the snug belly-band a super uncomfortable reminder that I was locked and loaded, and strode from the bedroom. I stopped outside mine and Hope’s room. Now she swayed slowly with her princely broom. I opened my mouth, but quickly closed it. With what happened to Belinda and all of this increasing madness, I didn’t want Hope outside—at least until the murderer was caught…

I hurried downstairs, snagged a bucket, and stepped out into the vast backyard. The mid-afternoon sun shone bright and high on the green farmland below. I think Dixie had said she and Gunner owned ten acres of land. Enclosed by a barbed-wire fence, the barn stretched to the left, the “small” crop field to the right, and the garden straight ahead.

I walked through the pathway of blueberry bushes and eventually reached the rows of barren strawberry plants. As I scoured through the leaves for juicy red goodness, I glanced over my shoulder at the forest. With long, snaking roads enshrouded by dense woodland and only smatters of clarity along the rolling hills—and being home to one of the darkest cities in the state—the beautiful countryside of Bells Ferry was the perfect place for predators to stalk.

I breathed in a trembling breath. I hated this…fear. But in the country’s current state, it was inevitable, like a chronic cancer. It could fade for a time, or even seem to disappear, but then after believing you were okay, it’d spring up again worse than ever. Because the truth was things weren’t getting better.

President Moore’s tight face and hardened eyes etched themselves in my mind. He’d barely gotten into office. The country was a near-perfect split on the vote I chose to sit out on. Leading up to the election, both sides spoke of the other as enemy number one. Riots continued to breakout everywhere from college campuses to grocery stores.

Bells Ferry kept it peaceful because most everyone here was on his side. They believed he would fight the ‘moral decay’ and kick out the career politicians. And he did. That’s really when all hell broke loose. You’d see politicians getting dragged out of their homes. Videos came out of trafficking rings backed by big namers in our government. The horror stories of children…

I shuddered. It was like a giant boiling cauldron that had been pushed over. The White House was stormed by the Freedom Fighters who wanted Moore gone, and the Law Abiders came swarming after them. Thousands and thousands of them. The military did their best to fend them off, but in the end, they evacuated the president while the White House got trashed.

Simultaneously, shootouts and street fights ignited all over the states, and sleeper-cells came crawling out of hiding.

I trembled more as visions infiltrated my mind of TVs displaying the massacre and live streams of people dropping like flies at whizzing bullets or getting blasted to bits by grenades. It felt like watching a gruesome war movie directed by Mel Gibson, but it wasn’t a movie. It was real.

Then the blackout hit.

To this day we don’t know if rebels caused it or if the government itself put everyone in darkness to help abate the madness.

I shook my head. You’d hear of people in other countries who have dictators as leaders, like in Dad’s country, Cuba; or terrorists running the government, and how they’re able to just raid people’s homes and businesses, hacking at them with machetes, even kids participating in the brutality, and it just seemed so…impossible. But America proved that you didn’t need to be a third-world-country to partake in such tribal-like violence. You just needed enough hate.

Something pricked my hand. I recoiled, a thick bubble of blood on my index finger. A smudge of purple bordered the cut. I peered into the plant. In the midst of it, a thin, violet stalk with a thorny tip stood. I frowned as I carefully clasped the stem and plucked it from the ground. Gently, I rubbed the rough exterior between my fingers. A spark ignited at the thorny tip. I gasped as the flame rapidly spread to the stem, but not because it burned, but because…it didn’t.

I poked the fiery plant. Nothing; just flickering brightness, like an illusion. Or maybe a hallucination? Did Dixie spike my coffee with some crazy whiskey concoction or something? I did take her advice to pray, which was something I never did. But I did it because I’d been desperate for something, anything besides my current reality. Desperate for a spark of hope, for change. Or maybe I’d snapped and become schizophrenic; all the fear finally got to me and like, broke my brain or something.

Coryn. A thought penetrated, dousing my own frantic ones.

I froze, eyes still on the unreal, heat-less flaming stem in my grasp.

You are not alone. And you will see greater things than this.

The purple stalk stopped burning. It wriggled and curved as a snake would, then coiled around my wrist like a triple-banded bracelet. I gawked at my new piece of super weird jewelry. But then, somehow, despite how much wilder this day kept getting, something odd and foreign happened within, calming my pounding heart. Peace…

I looked up as clouds rolled over the sun and without another thought, I spoke words to the sky that I hadn’t uttered since I was a kid. “What do you want me to do?”

Hunter

Murmurs of worried women and pissed off men mingled in the old Baptist Church. They swelled up to its high ceiling. Colored light flooded in through the stained glass on the throng below, mostly white fifty-somethings and older, and only two black families including Dr. Johnson’s. Every pew sat full, with folks lining the walls and crowding aisles. But at this point, there were much greater threats than breaking the fire code.

“I can’t believe some folk!” a short lady with thick glasses and puffy hair like a husky’s screeched as I nudged through toward the stage. “Sucking peoples’ blood like a darn vampire! Must be on drugs of some sort to pull that one off, I tell ya.”

I forged onward past the woman who hadn’t got all her facts straight. Dr. Johnson confirmed someone used needles to draw out Belinda’s blood. But that still didn’t answer the question about how the suspect was able to move the way Hank described and the way we’d both seen him disappear. We’d get to the bottom of it, but for now, we needed to get a move on this meeting before more rumors spread like gangrene.

Pastor Mitchel Sligh stood behind the podium on the risen platform. Pink-faced, but fully present as always. And Mrs. Sligh, as I called her even though she’d been my mother-in-law, flanked his left, proper and pronounced as usual in a silk top and red heels. But I couldn’t blame her. If looking good made her feel better about the situation then let it be. The more normalcy we could maintain in this jacked up world, the better. And behind them stood Sheriff Hank in what appeared to be a back-up cowboy hat.

I mounted the stage and my old dad-in-law turned his pink face to me then came a bear hug. “Thankful you’re back in action, son.” He let me go, then Mrs. Sligh followed suit and chimed in, “We need you now in this fight more than ever.” As she released, I posted on Mitchel’s right. This was my hometown now, and I’d do everything I could to keep it safe. I scanned the crowd. Rex Ellington and his wife Lauren Miller and her sons, Ryan and Miles; Bill Bailey, Gunner and Dixie Barnes, and next to them, a familiar face jumped out at me and my heart did what it did the last time I saw her: race.

Her pretty browns looked around, her curls a mess as she held the hand of another familiar face, that sweet little blondie of hers with a pair of headphones on. Then the brunette raised her eyes—up to me.

***

Coryn

I squeezed Hope’s hand as my stare landed on that undeniably hot, dark-haired, green-eyed church boy—whose face I also never wanted to see again. I ignored how my heart quickened then focused on Hope. She hummed softly in her own little world, rocking the headphones of my old CD player. I used two of my last five AA batteries. But protecting her innocent mind from the nightmarish words surrounding us was worth it. Gunner and Dixie stood to my left, conversing with Bill and a few others.

“You heard somebody got the blood sucked out of her?” A woman with glasses and a silvery afro said to another similar haired lady who replied, “Some people got demons in ‘em, Maryann. How else can you explain such depravity?”

Demons. A phrase I’d started hearing more often after the whole pregnancy scandal. Mom would enter my room and pray against the demons who had, “enticed me into fornication.” She just couldn’t accept that no one but Eric himself had lured me into his twin-sized bed with his good looks and bad-boy charm. And that I chose to sleep with him because he alone influenced me to—and I was dumb enough to think he’d only love me more after I gave him my virginity. But alas, guys love sex, but they don’t always love the girl giving it to them.

I inched to my left, using the fluff-ball hair of one of the gossipy friends as cover. I’d noticed the probably late-twenty-something-year-old hunk both of the two times I’d visited this building and, thanks to Hope, he also noticed me…

“All right settle down, folks!” Pink, piglet-faced Pastor Mitchel clapped his hands. His Martha-Stewart wife clapped along with him, though she didn’t seem half as composed.

Slowly, the anxious chattering calmed and once again, he opened his mouth. “Now I know we are all very upset about what happened to the poor Coles’, but we’ve got to focus on amping up the security around here and it’s got to start with our bravery, not with our fear.”

The room quieted all the more. Despite his exasperated appearance, he carried a strong determination that demanded attention. And the guy had been raised a preacher’s kid so that passionate voice was built in—or engrained. His eyes spotted the Barnes. “Gunner Barnes and Bill Bailey already got a team of men to put up barbed wire on all the fences and are done boarding up most of the windows. We got our nightly watchdogs, Rick Riley and Ned Flack, posted up in the water tower, but that’s only on the South end of town so we’re going to need to set up more posts on every side. Do we got any volunteers?”

A number of men raised their voices and offered themselves, all with military backgrounds and a few even claiming they’d had night vision binoculars, resulting in six more watchdogs. I pulled Hope in closer. Already, Bells Ferry felt a tiny bit safer. Dixie smiled at me and rested her hand on my back, tenderly, like a mother would…

Pastor Mitchel squinted over the mob before him. “Where’s Jace Myers?”

“Right here, sir.” A lanky old man with a shiny bald spot standing along the right wall raised his arm.

“How we doing on ammunition?”

“Fairly well,” the old man replied. “Most everyone’s been bringing me their used cartridges and my apprentice is really starting to get the hang of it so we’ve been able to pump out more in less time.”

“Good.” Pastor Mitchel pointed at him. “Let’s get this man another apprentice. Who can help make ammo?”

A saggy-shouldered teenage boy wearing a Star Wars t-shirt raised his hand.

“Great,” Mitchel said. “Now Sherrif Hank, Officer Tripp, and Elder Hunter,”—he gestured to annoying holy hunk—“are still gathering information from the Coles, but we have to assume for now that all of the younger women in our town are prime targets.”

I gulped and glanced around. In the crammed room of maybe 600, probably about the entire town, there stood only…a dozen visibly young women—including me.

I wanted to face-palm—or face-punch—myself. Moving into an even more obscure, quiet little town where I could just work from home and not be surrounded by similar-aged people who’d want to befriend me seemed like a smart, safe idea. And it was. People were still kind and greeted you in the store, smiled and waved as they drove by, but I was younger. The only places people felt comfortable inviting me to was one of the two churches in Bells Ferry; here, the ancient First Baptist Bells Ferry, or the merely two-years-old nondenominational Seed Planters Fellowship. I’d chosen to visit this Baptist one twice, but only because Hope’s best friend invited her to their Christmas service every year and I couldn’t say no to my sweet little girl’s pleading.

I glimpsed at ‘Hunter,’ the apparent elder. And maybe I came to get a snap shot of Mr. Hot Baptist Boy who’d acted as an usher during both years’ services. The second time he came running out to me and Hope in the parking lot because she’d left her favorite babydoll. His sweet, deep voice and gorgeous smile was way too memorable. Even his polished politeness, whether from practice greeting church folk on Sunday mornings, or picking up women on Saturday nights. “Ma’am, I apologize for running after you like this, but I believe this doll belongs to your little girl.”

I stammered out a pathetic I-haven’t-dated-in-over-seven-years, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. You young ladies be safe now.” As he turned and began walking away, Hope called after him.

“Wait!”

He gracefully obliged. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Aren’t you going to kiss my mommy goodbye?”

I died inside. I really think my heart stopped for a few seconds as I stood there totally shocked, trying to figure out what to say, but Hunter beat me to it.

An unsettlingly attractive smirk lifted his lips. “Pardon me?”

“You’re clearly a prince.” Hope lifted her doll. “You brought me baby Ariel just like Cinderella’s Prince tried to bring her her lost slipper, but she was gone already, so he couldn’t kiss her.”

I grabbed Hope’s hand and again tried to say something, but Hunter, like he had previously, responded before I could spit out a correction or reprimand of some sort.

“Now I don’t think he was trying to kiss her just yet, ma’am. Remember, he waited until the end of the movie, after they were married.”

Even though I knew he was just teaching Hope a moral lesson, I couldn’t help but get all hot in the face. But then I turned cold, real quick. “Yes, because good old Christian boys like yourself do wait until the girl they’re chasing is their wife.” I spun around and marched to my sun-baked, raggedy Civic, Hope jogging to keep up. And I didn’t look back.

I averted my gaze from Hunter in the here and now. I always dreamed and even prayed a few times for Hope to have a good father figure in her life, or an actual step-dad who would love her like his own. But I’d been down this road before. A guy like Hunter was probably in a serious relationship where he likely did sleep with the girl behind his pastor’s back, or he had a bunch of secret flings with church fangirls. And the only thing distracting him from his conquests was the fact that the world was falling apart.

“So for the unmarried women,” Pastor Mitchel said, “we are going to set up trusted watchdogs that will keep guard inside the home, with another single or widowed sister here from the church.” He raised both palms as if conducting a service where he’d just asked his congregation to stand. “Will the unmarried women aged thirty and under please hold up a hand?”

Me and the twelve other women raised our arms. Hope peered up at me and lowered her headphones. “Why are you raising your hand, Mommy?”

“Just answering an adult question for the minister, that’s all. Keep listening to your music, angel. I like hearing you hum.”

She slipped them back on as Hunter looked our way. Hope waved at him. He flashed his beautiful smile, and my chest burned. I lowered my hand. Him smiling during the apocalypse should be forbidden.

“We’re gonna clear out before dark, but I ask all the young women to please stay behind so we can pair you up with your watchdog.” Pastor Mitchel addressed a few other concerns, including an accusation that someone was stealing grain, and dismissed the gathering with a final word of encouragement. “Whatever darkness comes remember, no matter how strong, it can never overpower the light.”

Dixie and Gunner told me they’d wait for me and Hope outside. As they and the rest departed, their shoulders and sweaty arms brushing past, I stared at the purple stem around my wrist. Its fire had shone bright, but didn’t scald me. The light was beautiful and bizarre, like a melting sun. Then the stalk curved around my wrist and hadn’t budged since—even though I’d poked at it a lot and tried a few silly mantras to see if it’d do something magical again.

What was its purpose? To remind me I wasn’t alone? That there was a God who could do crazy things that defied nature and had power to burn or not to burn? I couldn’t figure it out. But I would. Soon.

“It’s quite creepy isn’t it?” A pretty twenty-something woman with wavy, chestnut hair, stood beside me, the other girls chatting around us. Pastor Mitchel and a group of women and men—Hunter included—spoke with two of the girls, apparently pairing them up with twin brothers who rocked long, gray beards tied in a double ponytail and another Martha Stewart type lady. I nodded at pretty squirrel hair.

“I’m Krista.” She held out a hand.

“Coryn.” I shook it briefly then played with Hope’s straight tresses.

“She’s beautiful,” Krista said.

“Thanks.” I really wanted to say, “Clearly, she doesn’t look like me,” but thought if I kept my mouth shut Krista would do the same.

“How old is she?”

I could’ve slapped this woman. But then guilt poked me. “Seven.”

Krista smiled, so warm, so country-kind. “God’s perfect number.”

I actually returned a real smile. Maybe pretty squirrel girl wasn’t too bad. And admittedly, it felt kinda nice to bond with a fellow near-aged woman. And one who wasn’t married. Maybe she could relate to a plethora of poor prospects, though I never had many men knocking at my door and that was one of the precious perks of moving to the boonies.

Hope removed her headphones and gasped. “Mommy! Are these all princesses that the prince is going to meet and try and fit the lost slipper on so he can marry the right lady?”

I stiffened and whispered sharply, “Listen to me, Hope. Mr. Hunter is not a prince so when he comes over here you better treat him like a normal human be—”

Pastor Mitchel, a middle-aged woman using a cane, and Hunter walked toward us. I pursed my lips and rested my hand on Hope’s shoulder as they stopped across from Krista.

“Hello there.” Pastor Mitchel eyed me. “I’ve seen you before haven’t I, dear?”

I offered a small voice. “I visited your last two Christmas services.”

“We’ve visited.” Hope gave a dancing-finger wave to Hunter. “Hi, Prince Hunter. Remember me and my princess mommy?”

I squeezed her shoulder. Why she had to not only look nothing like me, but also act nothing like me had to be some kind of God-inflicted entertainment that he threw together just so he could get laughs out of my reactions.

Hunter smiled. “I do remember you ladies. How’s baby Ariel doing?”

I blinked at him. Did he seriously remember the name of Hope’s babydoll?

Hope beamed, but then swiftly frowned. “She’s still at our old house by Mr. Gunner’s. We left her there because the bad men came in and tried to hurt me and Mommy.”

Hunter’s smile melted.

Pastor Mitchel looked at me, his pink forehead creased. “Where are you ladies staying now?”

“With the Barnes,” I answered.

Pastor Mitchel’s mouth twisted a tad like he’d gotten to the sour part of a sweet candy. “Oh so you have Gunner to look after you then.”

I nodded, wishing I could read minds and know why he acted funny at the mention of Gunner.

“Well then as long as he and Dixie will have you, you should be fine in their home.” He faced Krista, though Hunter’s stare lingered on me like…a concerned big brother.

“Now how about you, young lady?” Mitchel asked Krista.

“I’ve been living down on Trickum Road by myself for the past month-and-a-half.” Tears welled in her hazel eyes. “My brothers got into the military and my parents had gone up to Texas to visit my grandmother in hospice while I stayed back for school. Then the whole”—she glanced at Hope—“ordeal happened a week later and I haven’t heard from any of them since.”

The woman with the cane and Pastor Mitchel nodded empathetically and slapped Hunter’s back. “Elder Hunter and Miss Mildred, the church secretary, will be of service to you then. They’ll stay with you until this all gets figured out.”

Pastor Mitchel’s Martha Stewart wife scurried over. “We’ve gotta get these folks home. It’s almost nightfall.”

“Right. You all are in good hands,” Pastor Mitchel said. “We’ll be praying for you.”

Hunter concentrated those sparkling green eyes on me. “Y’all be careful now.” He spoke with sobriety, no trace of his previous lightheartedness.

“Thanks,” I replied.

“Thank you, Prince Hunter,” Hope said before I could stop her.

I sighed inwardly as he raised his palm and she gave him a high-five.

As he walked ahead with Krista and Mildred down the wide center aisle, the other eight girls and their guardians trailing, I forced myself to look away then followed along toward the double doors. I kept my arm around Hope. It’s almost nightfall. Now the term brought with it a certain doom, like it had somehow become evil in itself.

Six weeks into this shambled state of the Americas, and the bad guys who’d tried to pillage Bells Ferry were amping up in darkness. They wouldn’t relent. They’d be back. But we’d be ready for them.

Wouldn’t we?

Read the next chapters here!