Kane sat in the dark living room long after Liora's breathing had evened out behind her bedroom door. The only light came from the faint glow of the streetlamp leaking through the blinds. He hadn't touched the bourbon. Instead he stared at the folded note from Jade on the coffee table, the paper creased and worn from his pocket. The house smelled like the chili they'd eaten earlier, mixed with the faint gun-oil scent that always clung to his range bag. Outside, another distant pop of gunfire echoed somewhere across the city. Closer than before? Hard to tell. Denver nights had been getting louder for weeks.
*Jade just dumped our daughter like she was extra laundry. No warning, no call, nothing. And the city's starting to feel… off.*
He rubbed a hand over his face, the stubble rough under his palm. Thirty-seven years old, and he still couldn't shake the feeling that the ground was shifting under his feet. Not Marine stuff anymore—just dad stuff. Keep Liora safe. That was the whole job now.
He stood up slow, knees popping a little from the cold, and moved to the hall closet. The bug-out bags were right where he kept them—two heavy black ones he'd packed and repacked a dozen times over the last year. He dragged them into the living room, set them on the rug, and unzipped the first one. The zipper sounded loud in the quiet house.
Inside: five days of MREs, water purification tabs, a compact first-aid kit with everything from tourniquets to antibiotics, extra socks, a folding saw, and a thick wad of cash in small bills. He checked the second bag next—ammo cans rattling softly as he lifted them. Twelve hundred rounds of 5.56 for the Mk18, another five hundred for the Glock 19. Spare magazines. A box of loose 9mm. The suppressor was already threaded on the rifle in its case by the door. He ran his fingers over the cold metal of the cans, the familiar weight settling something in his chest.
*If the power goes for real, or the stores empty out, this is what we live on until we hit the cache.*
The coordinates were burned into his head from that last briefing before he left the Teams—deep in the Pike-San Isabel backcountry, an old hardened supply point only a handful of operators knew about. Food, meds, tools, even a few solar panels and radios that might still work. One-eighty miles west. Far enough from Denver to breathe, high enough to hold. He'd never told anyone, not even Jade. It was the kind of insurance you only pulled out when the world actually ended.
A soft shuffle came from the hallway. Liora stood there in her oversized T-shirt, rubbing one eye with her fist, messy auburn hair sticking up in every direction. "Daddy? I heard noises."
Kane closed the bag quick but gentle, so the ammo didn't clank. "Just me sorting some stuff, kid. Couldn't sleep?"
She shook her head and padded over, bare feet quiet on the carpet. Without asking she climbed right into his lap on the couch, curling up small against his chest like she used to when she was five. Her head fit right under his chin. She smelled like strawberry shampoo and the faint soap from her bath. "Mom's really not coming back, is she?"
He wrapped both arms around her, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back. "No. She made her choice. But you're stuck with me, and I'm not going anywhere." His voice stayed low and even. "We've got a good setup here. Food in the bags, my truck gassed up, everything we need."
She nodded against his shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric. "What if she changes her mind and tries to take me anyway? She gets really mad sometimes."
The memory hit him then, sharp and unwanted, like a bad dream that wouldn't stay buried.
Two years ago. He'd come home early from a range-instructor shift and found Jade's car in the driveway at three in the afternoon. The house had smelled like her perfume and someone else's cologne. He'd walked in quiet, the way he always did, and caught her in their bed with the guy from her office. Not some big dramatic scene—just the two of them scrambling, her yelling, the guy bolting half-dressed. Kane hadn't raised his voice. He'd just stood there in the doorway, looked at her, and said, "Get out." That was it.
The divorce had been ugly after that. Jade had screamed about how he was never home, how the Marine life had turned him into a ghost, how she deserved better. She'd tried to use his deployments against him in court, saying he was unstable, that Liora needed a "real parent." But Kane had kept every text, every email, every photo from the Teams showing the man he was—steady, present when it counted. His old squad mates had written letters. The judge had seen the videos of Jade and her coworker. Full custody to Kane. Supervised visits for her. She'd hated him for it ever since. Called him Reaper in every message after that, like it was an insult.
Liora's small voice pulled him back. "Daddy?"
"Yeah, kid. I'm here." He hugged her tighter for a second. "She can't take you. Papers are signed, locked in the safe. You're mine. We're good."
She relaxed a little, but her fingers kept twisting his shirt. "Okay. Can I help with the bags? I want to know what's in them too."
He smiled despite everything, a small one that didn't reach his eyes. "Sure. Grab the flashlight from the kitchen drawer."
They spent the next twenty minutes going through everything together. Liora held the light steady while he showed her the MREs, explaining how to heat them with the little flameless ration heaters. She counted the water tabs out loud, her voice serious and focused. When they got to the ammo, he didn't open the cans—just let her feel the weight of a loaded magazine in her small hand.
"These are for protection only," he said. "Like the locks on the doors. We hope we never need them, but they're there if something bad happens."
She nodded, hazel eyes wide but trusting. "Like if the bad guys from the news come?"
"Something like that." He took the magazine back gently and sealed the bag. "But we're not waiting around to find out. If things get worse, we pack the truck and head west. I've got a spot in the mountains all picked out. High up, away from everybody. Plenty of trees, water, room to breathe."
Her face lit up a fraction. "With the fort like in my book?"
"Better than the book," he said. "Real high ground. We'd be safe there."
The TV in the corner was on low—Kane had flipped it on earlier for background noise. The local news anchor's voice cut through the quiet now, tight and hurried.
"…reports of widespread looting in Aurora and parts of Capitol Hill. Authorities are urging residents to stay indoors as protests over power outages and supply shortages turn violent. Officials confirm at least three deaths overnight. National Guard has been called in, but sources say response times are delayed due to grid instability across the Front Range…"
Kane's stomach tightened. He reached for the remote and turned it up a notch.
The screen showed shaky phone footage: smashed store windows, people running with shopping carts full of food, a car burning in the middle of Colfax. Sirens in the background. The anchor kept talking about "unprecedented cyber disruptions" and "cascading blackouts from Kansas City to Denver."
Liora scooted closer on the couch, her shoulder pressed against his arm. "Daddy… that's here. That's close."
He clicked the TV off. The sudden silence felt heavier. "Yeah. It's close. But we're not in the middle of it. We've got food, water, a full tank. We stay smart, we stay inside tonight. Tomorrow we'll see how it looks."
She didn't argue. Instead she leaned her head on his shoulder, small body heavy with tiredness. "You always know what to do. I don't want to go back to Mom's house. I want to stay with you forever."
His chest ached in a way no range drill or patrol had ever touched. *This kid depends on me for everything now. No backup, no ex-wife safety net. Just me.* He kissed the top of her head. "Forever's a long time, but I'll take it. Go on back to bed, kid. I'll be right here."
She hugged him hard before padding off down the hall. Her door clicked shut.
Kane sat there in the dark a long time after, listening to the house settle. The wind outside rattled the porch swing again. Another siren wailed, farther away this time. He thought about the cache coordinates, the long road west through the foothills, the ridge he'd scouted years ago on a training hike. One-eighty miles. Rough country, but doable if they left early.
*Jade's gone. The city's cracking. If this keeps getting worse, we don't wait for it to reach the front door.*
He stood up, checked the locks one more time, and settled back into the armchair with the Glock on his lap and the Mk18 case at his feet. Sleep came in short shifts—two hours on, two off—just enough to stay sharp.
Outside, the distant gunfire popped again, like someone testing how far they could push before the whole thing broke.
Kane closed his eyes, but the loop in his head kept running.
*Keep her safe. Pack the bags tighter tomorrow. Watch the news. And if it all goes to hell… we head for the mountains.*
The wind picked up, carrying the faint smell of smoke through the cracked window.
Denver was starting to burn.
And Kane Harlan was already planning the way out.