Liberty: Sum of all Tears, #2

By Kim Cresswell

In the second exciting installment of the Sum of all Tears series, a new enemy rises. Surviving the cold is only the beginning...

Weeks after a failed climate change experiment triggers a new Ice Age, a small group of survivors from Liberty, the Mars prototype biodomed settlement in Rhode Island are forced to make a perilous journey to Boston.

But the lawless landscape is more than just a breeding ground for deadly scavengers foraging for food in a winner-takes-all showdown that will leave readers breathless.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KC Publishing
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781999558833

Kim Cresswell

Kim Cresswell resides in Ontario, Canada. Trained as a legal assistant, Kim has been a story-teller all her life but took many detours including; working in legal and adult education before returning to her first love, writing. Her debut romantic thriller, REFLECTION, has won numerous awards: *RomCon's 2014 Readers' Crown Finalists (Romantic Suspense) *InD'tale Magazine's Rone Award Finalist (Suspense/Thriller) *UP Authors Fiction Challenge Winner (2013) *Silicon Valley's Romance Writers of America (RWA) "Gotcha!" Romantic Suspense Winner (2004) *Honourable Mention in Calgary's Romance Writers of America (RWA) The Writer's Voice Contest (2006) Kim's short novel thriller, LETHAL JOURNEY, was a finalist in From the Heart Romance Writers (FTHRW) Golden Gate Contest (2003) and more recently won RomCon's 2014 Readers' Crown (thriller/suspense). Her action-packed thrillers have been highly praised by reviewers and readers. As one reviewer said, "Buckle up, Hang on tight!" Kim recently entered the true crime writing arena. Real Life Evil - A True Crime Quickie (two short stories) was published in January 2014. You can read her latest true crime stories in Serial Killer Quarterly, a new quarterly e-magazine published by Grinning Man Press.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

JOURNAL ENTRY - NOVEMBER

It’s been weeks since the new Ice Age began, the landscape a sea of snow and ice as far as I can see. The bleak ruby skies haven’t changed since that day at Yale University when my father’s climate change experiment turned the world upside-down, destroying and covering everything with ice.

Not many made it.

Four thousand survivors are at Liberty, the biodome settlement in Rhode Island, plus the two deadly groups of nomads known as Bleeders and Sproggs, who have made their homes in caves and igloos. There could be other dangerous scavengers out there.

They just haven’t found us yet.

I don’t know if others have survived elsewhere or how many people have died around the world due to the cataclysmic shift in the climate no one expected. I can only guess most of the world’s population is gone including all animal life. Mass extinction. We have no real way of knowing for sure, unable to communicate to find out.

More than anything, I miss my father and my brother, Luke. My younger sister, Chloe, and Brandon Church, the man I’ve always loved, are the only comforting pieces left from a life long gone, reminding me there is still hope.

Life inside the domes isn’t easy. Overworked survivors are getting fed up with the food rations. The Infinity Council fears riots will break out if they can’t find a solution. We can’t keep up with the biofuel production—special fuel made from sunflower and other nuts, desperately needed for our outside vehicles to scavenge for supplies, extra food, and medicine frozen deep within the ice.

I want to believe what’s left of human life will survive in this new world, but with each day, we face new challenges in and outside of Liberty.

It isn’t going to matter if some of us have mysteriously developed a rare blood type known as Golden Blood and with it, strange paranormal superpowers. Those things won’t matter if what’s left of humanity ends up killing each other over food rations or starving to death.

August Dawn Madison

CHAPTER TWO

SHE ISN’T GETTING BETTER. It should be working. Inside Graysen Marx’s old living quarters at Liberty, August stood next to the bed and stared at Keena’s face. The sixteen-year-old’s skin was pale and slick with sweat. She looked so innocent, underweight, sicker than the last time she had seen her. Maybe knowing her father had been exiled to the ice had something to do with her present medical decline. August wasn’t sure. 

You’ve been at it for hours, Brandon said, his tone flat. You need to take a break. Maybe you can’t heal her. It’s not as if we know how any of this works or why.

You saw how I healed her father’s burns. All I had to do was touch his skin.

John’s gaze caught hers. She could be sicker than he told us. He’s not exactly the most trustworthy person.

Brandon placed his hand on her arm. John’s right. There could be more going on than we know.

You heard what her doctor said. The last round of antibiotics is working, so it’s not that, and her CT scan from last week shows the tumor hasn’t grown. She was missing something. But what?

It had been a few hours since the Infinity Council had banished Graysen Marx from Liberty to the Army National Guard armory in Icehaven. She had made a promise to heal his daughter. She didn’t like the idea. Actually, August hated it. Not because she didn’t want to help the teenager, but because she didn’t want to give anything good to Graysen after everything he had done to survivors and would-be survivors.

It could have been a one-time thing, that you fixed Marx, John said, breaking the painful silence.

She couldn’t argue the point. Frustrated, August removed her hands from Keena’s head. At least her seizures are under control.

For now, until the medication runs out, John added.

Since the failure of the climate change experiment, how to treat illnesses was one of the toughest challenges they faced in the icy new world—besides food. It wasn’t as if they had an ongoing supply of pharmaceuticals on hand. They had to constantly scavenge for medication, and one day, the supply would be gone. Then what? They needed to plan ahead. But for now, she needed to stay focused and figure out how she was able to heal Graysen’s wounds. If she had developed golden blood and the superpower to resurrect and heal, how did it work? What was different this time around? She paced the bedroom, her mind whirling.

What are you thinking? Brandon asked.

She stopped in mid-stride when the answer hit her. Kill me.

His eyebrows raised. What?

Kill me, so I can resurrect. I died, resurrected, then I healed Graysen.

That’s insane! John shook his head. No way. You don’t owe anything to that man. He could be dead for all we know. Good riddance.

Hopefully, he was, for all their sakes. I gave my word. My father always said a man’s word is his honor. If he were here, he would do the same thing. Concern flared in Brandon’s blue eyes, and her heart squeezed with a physical ache.

August, no. His jaw tightened. That isn’t going to happen.

It’s the only way to save her. We don’t have any other choice.

We sure as hell do. You aren’t doing it, John said, his voice stern and louder than usual.

Just because you came back to life once—twice—doesn’t mean it will happen again. What if it was a fluke? I love you. I can’t lose you. Brandon’s eyes shifted to Keena. Her doctor can continue to do what he can for her. After that, it’s out of our hands.

August understood their reluctance. She was skeptical, too. She knew it was the right thing to do. She had to try. With only two-hundred children left, Keena was the future, their future. Besides, August wanted to know how her newfound paranormal power worked. We can do it in a controlled environment with Dr. Higgs. I trust her. She knew my father and understood what he was trying to accomplish. Having her here will lower the risk if I can’t come back on my own.

Enough of this crazy talk. Brandon glanced at his watch. I need to get back to work. Roman is waiting. You know how he gets if I’m late for security detail. He placed his hands gently on the sides of her face and kissed her. I love you.

The warmth of his lips made her feel safe and treasured. Right back at you.

John grinned, his brown eyes sparkling. You two remind me of my wife and me when we first started dating.

August’s cheeks warmed. I wish we could have met your family.

Everyone had a story of their lives ripped apart, tragic death, and shattered dreams of the future.

He blinked and looked away. I...wish you could have, too.

Her shoulders slumped at his grief, and his misery crept into her heart. He’d lost his family on the day the ice came, when the church where they sought refuge collapsed, the old stone building crushing his wife and two daughters. When August was found, he had taken her under his wing, trained her how to use numerous weapons and taught her hand-to-hand combat so she could protect herself in the new world.

As Brandon headed to the door, he glanced over his shoulder at her. We’ll talk after my shift.

Her heart skipped a beat, and nervousness took over. Okay.

She had to tell him she couldn’t have children. Even though he’d said he didn’t want to bring a child into this new world, they were closer, in love. He deserved to know the truth. What if he had changed his mind? Where would that leave her?

Keena’s arms jerked beneath the sheets and caught August’s attention. She rushed to the bed.

John followed. Is she having a seizure?

I’m not sure. It doesn’t look like it.

The teenager sat up abruptly, surprising them, her hazel eyes huge, staring at nothing, as if in a trance. Then she pushed her long brown hair out of her face.

John lowered his voice to a whisper. This can’t be normal.

I have no idea what’s normal anymore. August put her hand on the teenager’s, hoping to soothe her. Keena. Can you hear me? It’s August. Do you need anything? Is something wrong?

I...am...the nightingale...buckle your boots in my father’s house...ice blood flows from the men on sticks... She continued staring, resettled in the bed, and her eyes closed.

August slanted a glance at John. That was weird.

You’re telling me. What do you suppose she meant? Sounded like a lot of mumble-jumble to me.

She bent the words around her brain for a minute, struggling to decipher Keena’s words. None of what she had said made any sense. A riddle, a puzzle.

I’d better get the doctor.

August grasped John’s arm. Wait. We both know there’s only one way to help her. Please. You need to kill me.

GRAYSEN PEERED OUT the truck’s window at the headlights illuminating the frozen remains of the National Guard armory. What bothered him the most about being exiled from Liberty was being separated from his daughter. Not being in control of her care. Not knowing what would become of Keena.

Get out, Roman shouted from inside the Liberty Guard truck.

Not knowing what she would be like, once that stupid girl healed her.

Hey. Roman raised his hand and wagged a finger. August could have had you killed and made into stew.

Marx squeezed his eyes shut and adjusted his verbiage. Once Keena was healed.

August has been far too generous with you. We all have, Roman muttered.

Hypocrite. Graysen knew his former second-in-command could read his every thought. You didn’t argue with any order I ever gave you.

You heard the man, the guard on Graysen’s right said and opened the door. Get out.

A swirl of arctic wind burst inside and assaulted his senses. He felt a hard shove against his shoulder from the guard on his other side. Pushed across the seat against his will, he planted his shackled feet onto the ice with a menacing crunch, unprepared for the bone-chilling cold. The raging wind shot frosty air into his lungs and made him cough in short staccato bursts.

Roman tossed a black backpack out the door. It slid and skidded to a stop about ten feet away. You’ve got one MRE, the crappy one. Swedish meatballs and rice. A large thermos of stew. Yum, yum. Oh, and the key to the padlock.

Ice bit into every inch of exposed skin on his face. Graysen turned, shielding himself from the wind as the truck pulled away, leaving him alone in spooky darkness.

He didn’t have much time.

He scurried after the backpack, chains clinking, the soles of his winter boots slipping on the ice. He lost his balance and fell over onto his side. His wool-gloved fingers closed around the wide strap, and he pulled the bag to his body as if it contained gold.

Rage kept him warm, focused. He would survive this.

They had no idea the things he’d been through in his lifetime, the decisions he’d been forced to make. The domed settlement of Liberty belonged to him and no one else. Sitting up, he opened the bag, shook the contents onto the frozen ground then tore off his gloves when he spotted the key. His fingers stiffened in seconds. He fumbled to unlock the padlock holding the chain around his ankles. Once free, he dropped the key back into the bag, followed by the lock and chain. At least the chain would make a nice weapon, the only one he had.

He tossed the thermos into the bag and cringed at the thought of having to eat the stew. It would be a last resort. Only if he was starving. He spotted a flashlight, a bottle of water and his Gucci loafers, the one important reminder he had left from his old life. They had made jokes about his shoes.

Zipping the bag shut, he rushed, half-sliding toward the tall, oblong hump of ice covering the four-story armory. Beams protruded from the damaged structure. In the distance, ice-covered tree branches tinkled like windchimes. His right foot snagged on something. He pushed through the annoying barrier. An air horn shrilled. Frayed nerves jumped, electrifying his skin. With the silent approach shot to hell, he barreled through the tunnel and down the steps. Wrenching the metal door open, he ducked inside, then slammed the door shut against the howling gale.

If anyone was here, they already knew he had arrived.

Panting, he dug out the flashlight from the backpack then cautiously moved room to room, down the long hallway into the main drill area.

He was alone—for now.

His men had been far too efficient. Not a single emergency thermal blanket or can of food in the place. Blood would be on August Madison’s hands if he died before morning.

Not tonight, he promised, his mind spinning. He stumbled into a room and felt his way around four bunk beds. No blankets, just thin cold mattresses, which he pulled onto the floor into a pile and grabbed the four from the next room. They would do to keep him from freezing, even hide him if someone wandered in. One problem solved.

He had one real meal, the MRE, and he planned to save it until he really had to eat. Water would be an issue soon. He’d have to figure out how to melt anything in the deep-freeze, since he had nothing to light a fire.

A homemade barrel stove, constructed from a steel drum, vented up to the ceiling and through the wall to the outside of the building. He wished more than anything he had a pack of matches or a lighter. He’d have to risk contamination by ingesting ice without a filter and hope the toxic particles used in the climate experiment didn’t make him sick.

As he sandwiched his body between the layers of the mattresses, he chastised himself for not paying more attention. Out here, anyone who didn’t have extreme survival skills had died by now. He didn’t know what other communities may have formed outside the immediate area, other than Liberty and those pesky scavengers: the Bleeders and Sproggs. Who would he prefer to deal with? Neither.

Fear swept up his spine. He may not have a choice. He’d never truly experienced the harsh environment, the new Ice Age, never scrounged for food or cover, not like so many had been forced to do. He and Keena had been inside the safety of the domes when the event occurred, thanks to her scrambled warnings weeks before.

Keena. His thoughts continually circled back to her. Could August Madison heal her brain tumor? He would probably never know if his daughter had golden blood like the others, since they’d expelled him before he had her test results. August had healed the burns on his hands with a mere touch, only seconds in duration. He’d bet his life she didn’t understand her own powers, let alone Keena’s.

How could he trust her word?

He’d only begun to research and understand the new powers and their possible underlying cause. Those affected couldn’t begin to fathom how they’d accessed their paranormal abilities, much less harness them for use, like kids with new toys.

Dangerous new toys.

He grasped onto the hope Keena would be free of pain soon. And what about her gift? No one, not even Roman knew about Keena’s prophecies, although soon enough the library of her ramblings would be discovered in his living quarters, and his once faithful followers would find new loyalties. He couldn’t leave his only child to be dissected and used for her powers. He had to believe Madison would do her best and find a way. The thought of his daughter falling into the wrong hands would victimize her beyond anything he could bear. He gritted his teeth in an attempt to prevent his body from shivering.

A door creaked. Footsteps made him pause.

He strained to track the sounds coming from two different directions, meeting and crossing in the hallway. Adrenaline rushed through him, and he cursed that damn air horn again.

Either the Bleeders or Sproggs were closing in on him.

Jolting into action, he vaulted to his feet, shoved the flashlight into his coat pocket and snatched the chain out of the backpack. He wrapped the metal around his right hand and wrist. Flattening his body against the wall next to the door, he waited. Footsteps and whispers approached, growing louder.

At least two men, maybe more.

He held his breath while the crew searched the rooms, nearing his location a foot at a time. His pulse thundered in his ears.

Diffused light came from a flashlight. A disembodied human head at the end of a pole appeared first, encased in thick ice, and hovered in the doorway. Graysen bit the inside of his cheek. The silver of a sword glinted, held by a towering man dressed in a yellow snowsuit, black fedora and a rubber white mask with a bloody red skeleton coming out of its mouth. 

Witness. Leader of the Sproggs.

The man stepped inside the room, oblivious to Graysen beside him.

He quickly calculated his odds. He wouldn’t be able to overtake the man. From what he could tell, he was outnumbered. He needed to live to find his way back to the settlement, to his daughter. This man, with the most vicious reputation, could be his ticket—if he played his cards right. It would either work or get him killed. His heart thundered in his chest. He inhaled a deep, shaky breath and dropped the chain onto the floor.

At the loud clank of the metal, Witness spun around. His breath puffed out in milky plumes. You’re on my property, fool.

A beam of light suddenly blinded him. The tip of the razor-sharp sword scraped against his cheek. He held his breath.

Well, what have we got here? a different male voice asked, the glow of light lowering.

Graysen blinked, trying to focus. A stocky man came into view, holding his backpack in one hand and a handgun in the other. He was wearing a black police vest over a long winter coat with silver skulls and hundreds of keychains pinned on it. His forehead was tattooed with gray symbols and words. One tattoo read: Ride Free. Graysen’s eyes traveled to the man’s scruffy brown beard and mustache against his pallid skin. A silver front tooth winked.

Someone who shouldn’t be here, Blade. Witness lowered the sword from Graysen’s face, but kept the weapon’s tip aimed at the center of his chest. Someone who’s going to die.

Graysen gasped, finally able to breathe. My apologies for being here.

Blade cackled, his wild brown eyes glaring. Let’s see what goodies he has before we gut him. His head will be my trophy. It’s about time I have one of my own.