Book 1: At the Edge of Misery
Cristine Daya Gerrard, a young residency doctor in the apocalypse must mend the pieces with her broken and estranged family, while fighting for her place in a community that doesn't accept her. One man in particular doe...
Note: "...." = Foreign language spoken (Spanish unless specified otherwise)
Troy was put in charge by his father for a reason. Put in charge of keeping their community safe, put in charge of what he could do best. The approval in his father's eyes when he returned from their first fuel run; satisfied he found a way to use the dead. That was a good day.
He needed more of those.
This position handed down to him by his father, given to him when big Otto believed he was good and ready. His father who trained him for a chaotic world, of what he predicted would become the fall of human civilization; not in the form of the dead rising, but something else entirely. But fall it did.
Their home became a community after that. Their fellow Survivalists required safety, were in need of a place to call home. They had that now, but his job was to always give them that sense of security. So, Troy needed to be the one to finish this important work. Use the knowledge to protect his people.
A frustrated exhale at the stubborn woman. Her hypocrisy appalled him, her criticism slowed down any progress they made and it was clear that she either forgot or didn't care about her blood relations and their safety.
This tug and pull war was a redundant, and made his blood boil. Their stare off interrupted as he caught a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of his eye.
Willy.
The ruddy blond was livid, but he wouldn't do a thing without Troy's approval. The two men had a silent conversation, one that decided the fate of their prisoners.
Rolling his tongue over the inside of his mouth, Troy glanced back at Cristine. She'd obviously tried to follow the contact between them, but the second his attention was back on her, she fiercely returned the glower.
Her black eyes, never soulless or lifeless. It was an endless depth of ink, fight and defiance. The palm of his hand twitched on her arm, pads of his fingers gripping and curling into the fabric of her sleeved shirt.
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"People die Cristine," Troy said, "it's what they do so we can live."
POP! POP!
Cristine didn't expect the sudden gunshots and her eyes stretched in size, her face paled and gut clenched when realization hit her. The muffed sounds that came from the prisoners jolted her from her three second daze.
No!
Troy watched the explosion of emotions unfold on her face and she began to struggle in his grip, that only turned firm. It was fascinating to see these quick changes in someone's state of mind from a simple shift in the situation.
He didn't get her; why was she so concerned for people she didn't know? They could be bad people who'd done bad things. People who wanted what they had. Having people like that walk around was a risk and Troy wasn't going to allow any risk of any kind on the Ranch and jeopardize everything. Not even Cristine's warped sense of so called morality.
