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State of Freedom (excerpt)

After:

Somehow they’d managed to define almost the entirety of their lives with that one simple word: After.

After the Shelby County deal was done, after all the papers had been signed, after the land had been turned over, after the gas began to flow, after the money started to come in, after the long-awaited honeymoon.

After became everything, a destination where once they arrived the journey itself became less visible, like an impression painted with undefinable colors on the inside of their eyelids during a bright summer day. Ultimately they would come to understand that after had a way of sneaking up on them, a harsh realization that a full year had come and gone now. The days and nights had slipped away to a place where the past goes, somehow at once a part of and apart from the after, like ash and flowers scattered into the Ganges. Eventually, it became something bigger than themselves, something they couldn’t see or predict in the wake of a current that carried them downstream before disappearing into the unknown.

Mason had tried to tell them there was only now, but like the Ganges with the beauty of its flowers and ritualistic mysticism, there was another layer beneath it all, this one made of filth, the ash and murk an underside of a veneer where in the after things were hidden, different…and deadly.

* * *

The day Freedom got turned on its ear, Virgil Jones went a little nuts. Fortunately for Virgil, he wasn’t alone. Stronghill was there even though that hadn’t been part of the plan. It was supposed to be just the five of them: Virgil, Murton, Rosencrantz, Ross, and Cool. But Stronghill was already in place and had found out they were operating. He’d gotten a panicked call, the woman’s words coming so rapidly over the phone he had trouble understanding what she was saying. When he finally got her to slow down, he got the message loud and clear. So when Virgil and his team made their move, Stronghill changed tactics and was right at their side. They weren’t all that surprised to see him. And with the way things were going, they’d take the help.

This was the governor, after all. A man they were sworn to protect. A man they’d do anything for.

They were all moving together except for Ross, the team’s designated sniper. Ross was still the newest member of the team—Virgil had snagged him away from SWAT—and he had a way of disappearing in the moment. It didn’t matter if he was on point or bringing up the rear…one second he was there and the next he was gone, like a shadow that’d vanish as soon as the sun ducked behind a cloud. Virgil didn’t like it and had said something to him about it on more than one occasion. Ross kept telling him it wouldn’t happen again, but each time Virgil knew it was an outright lie. So Ross was somewhere—nobody could say for sure—at least not right then…not in the moment. Things were happening much too quickly.

When they finally got to Mac, they found him conscious, though barely, and tied to a straight-legged metal desk chair. Murton pulled a knife out of his boot—a wicked black K-bar that looked like it could cut through concrete—and an ammonia pack from a pocket sleeve up near his shoulder. He cracked the ammonia pack between his fingers and held it under the governor’s nose. Mac jerked his head up and when he did, Murton flicked the blade on the bindings and cut him loose. He gave the governor a quick once-over, maybe a little quicker than normal, but Virgil was pushing. They had to go.

Murton nodded at Virgil and said, “He’s okay.”

Virgil had his eyes on the window and caught the reflective nod. When he heard Murt say the governor was okay he turned, glanced back at Mac and thought, He doesn’t look okay. But Murton knew what he was doing and Virgil trusted him. It gave him hope that they might actually make it out alive...