Stage one of operation Exodus had been a success, and even though the men left behind stood little chance of survival, they cheered for their brothers who thrived.

Shepherd sighed and refocused on the problem at hand, unaware Claire had never made it to the ships.

Svana had made certain of it.

11

Maryanne Cauley had everything she needed: generators, enough fuel to last her for years, food, water, clothing, medicine—everything a person might need to survive the apocalypse.

Tucked safely in her sanctuary, she could hear the wind howling like a freight train outside, and chose to ignore it. Huddling next to a heat source, she kept the lights off, so no other soul might realize she had power when they had none. There was no reason to peek out her window or unbolt her door, her COMscreen told the tale of what was going on outside. The Dome had been purposefully ruptured. The networks had gone wild, computer viruses plaguing every last corner.

She knew how to work around them.

The hacks were inexpert, yet so numerous that it took her some time to recognize that Shepherd’s men were not responsible for the disaster. In fact, she could see that they had their hands full trying to clean up the communications mess.

One dangerous message continuously rolled across her screen:

People of Thólos, the rebel forces are in possession of the virus. Storm the Citadel, destroy our enemy.

Another series of blasts went off in the distance, small little pops that made Maryanne jump.

So, who the hell was attacking the Dome? Who else did she have to contend with?

That prick, Corday, had said the resistance was going to attack the Citadel. That made sense, even if it was pointless. Why bring down the glass encasement that kept them all alive instead?

This would lead to more than a coup. The entire city would panic, there would be riots.

Shepherd would be blamed. Whoever had done this wanted to start a war that no one could win.

Between the icy wind and the unmitigated violence, between the possibility Shepherd would release the virus, everyone would die.

Wrapping her arms around her body, her knees tucked under her chin, there was a strange internal stirring Maryanne wanted to ignore. A smattering of shame knocked about in her breast.

She knew what the panicking city did not. The only thing in store for those who rose up against Shepherd was a bloodbath.

Unless...

No. It was not possible, and she owed this city nothing. The only soul she gave two fucks about was Claire. Her friend had told her to hide. Maryanne was going to listen to her.

But, maybe she could just fiddle around, take down that message, and reopen the communications network. After that, she was done, no more. Screw Thólos.