Collapse Series (Book 10): State of Hope

by Summer Lane

  I had surprised myself with my ability to adapt and learn.

  I didn’t know I could keep up with the pack – but I was. In fact, I wasn’t just keeping up…I was winning.

  “You see me ‘better’?” I echoed. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, when we first met in the labor camp,” Sophia said, brushing her short, dark hair away from her eyes, “you were like me. Pretty scared, pretty clueless. I mean, we both had some survival experience, but it wasn’t until Chris came in with his militia that we actually fought back. Now look at us – look at you.”

  “We’re getting better,” I agreed.

  “You’re better than me,” she went on. “You’re better than all of us. You’re going to be a big deal in this war – I can feel it.”

  “Whatever,” I replied.

  “Chris isn’t just training you.” She looked at me, long and hard. “He’s preparing you – he’s making you independent. You see that, right?”

  “Of course I do. That’s what he’s doing with all of us.”

  “No. Especially with you.”

  I considered this.

  “He just wants me to be able to take care of myself,” I said.

  Sophia remained silent for a moment.

  “Someday, you might be alone,” she whispered. “And you’re going to be able to stay alive without anyone’s help. You won’t need anyone – you’ll want them. That’s what’s going to make you better than me…that’s what will make you stronger.”

  I placed a hand on Sophia’s shoulder.

  “You’re getting pretty dramatic,” I joked. “Calm down. We’re not going to be alone – I’m not going to be. We’re going to survive, that’s why we’re training.”

  “He’s getting us ready,” she continued. “Don’t you see that?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Change is coming. I can smell it.”

  “You’ve got some great scenting skills, amiga.”

  Sophia laughed.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Look, I’m sorry. I just…please, remember that no matter what happens…be strong enough to stand alone. Okay?”

  I looked at her, my companion and friend.

  “Okay,” I replied. “I’ll be strong enough.”

  “Good.”

  She smiled, satisfied. Relieved, almost.

  “Let’s go grab something to eat,” I told her, changing the subject. “I’m starving.”

  “Me, too.”

  We stood up and walked through the camp, the hot summer sun baking the trees providing our shade. I watched Chris move near the tent where his mother was seated, washing clothes in a metal bucket. They laughed and talked. He caught my eye, and then he winked.

  I felt a blush touch my cheeks, waved back, and continued with Sophia.

  I’ll fight for him, I thought. We’ll survive this, together.

  There was no such thing as alone. That’s why we had the Freedom Fighters.

  We were together – united.

  Unbreakable. Untouchable.

  Dangerous.

  After we ate, I returned to my tent, fingering the rifle on my sleeping bag. I ran my fingers over the metal, touching the stock, observing the sights.

  I was becoming attached to the weapon. Without it, I was beginning to feel naked.

  “Your rifle is your partner.” Chris appeared, kneeling down on the end of my sleeping bag. “Protect it with your life – because it will protect yours. Without your rifle, you’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

  “I’ll protect it,” I assured him.

  “You’re going to be a sniper,” he replied. “You’re amazing – your instinct is unbelievable.”

  “High words of praise from a Navy SEAL.”

  “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”

  “I know.”

  “Keep training hard, and you’ll be kicking Omega’s ass in no time.”

  “Who says I’m not already?”

  “True.” He squeezed my hand, laughing. “I’ll see you later. I’m taking a patrol out today.”

  “Let me come with you.”

  “Not yet. Next time.”

  “I’m more than capable. You just said I was doing great!”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt. You just need a little more time-”

  “Don’t protect me. I’m in this militia the same as everyone else.” I crossed my arms. “I want the same treatment – nothing special. Exactly the same.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he repeated. Frowning.

  “I will,” I said. “I’ll get hurt – and so will you. It’s part of it. You can’t stop that.”

  He smiled softly – a sad smile.

  “Okay,” he replied. “You can come.”

  “Good.”

  I went. The patrol was easy – simple. I kept up with everyone. Chris watched me, always worried. I moved quickly, aware that if I was going to prove myself in this fight, I was going to have to try harder than the others. I was smaller, less intimidating. I was a girl.

  No matter. I would show them. I would make Chris proud.

  I would not fail.

  ***

  “Arlene is here!” Vera exclaims.

  We stand on the edge of the sidewalk in downtown Cambria, and a convoy comes rolling through the center of the city. It has been one day since the agreement with President Banner, and I am putting together a team to carry out the rescue mission.

  But the convoy rolls in, the early morning sunlight warming the streets and touching my face. I love the sun, and it gives me a small bit of happiness on this otherwise dreary day.

  The convoy is fairly small – just four vehicles. I exchange glances with Vera as the convoy halts, and Arlene Costas steps out of the Humvee. She is pale, her right arm curled against her chest like a broken wing.

  But she is alive!

  I run to her.

  “Arlene!” I exclaim. “Thank God – you’re okay!”

  I embrace her, feeling her one good arm wrap around my waist, realizing how fragile and thin she has become. Last I saw her, she was unconscious on a cot in Coronado, California, the victim of a damaging stroke.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She looks at me. Her lips are twisted sideways, and she makes a small sound – almost a sentence: “I’m…f-i-nee.”

  My eyes widen.

  “Oh, Arlene,” I breathe. “I’m sorry.”

  The stroke took her speech, too?

  Vera greets Arlene, too, and although I am shocked to see her so sickly, I am glad she is alive. Overjoyed, even!

  “Where’s Manny?” I say. “He’ll want to see you!”

  “We had no idea you were coming,” Vera replies. “Not until this morning. The convoy radioed us. We were worried about you – so much has changed since we’ve seen you. We couldn’t get in contact with Coronado…”

  Arlene nods slowly, her white hair falling in stray wisps around her face.

  She searches the main street – looking for her husband.

  “Vera,” I say. “Find Manny. He’s probably at the alehouse.”

  Vera nods.

  “Arlene-”

  I don’t finish my sentence, because I see two familiar faces climb out of the second vehicle: Margaret Young, Chris’s mother, and Isabel, her adopted daughter. Isabel is tall and wiry, her stringy blonde hair pulled into a tight bun. Margaret is pale, dark circles under her eyes.

  I stare at her.

  Your son is dead. Your last son – everyone in your family is gone. How can I tell you?

  Sick fear washes over me – I am afraid to say those words to her, terrified to speak.

  Margaret looks right at me, ghosting a smile, at first, waving her hand.

  She sees the look on my face.

  She slowly lowers her hand.

  She shakes her head – no.

  No, no, no.

  She knows.

  I don’t move.

  Margaret sinks to her knees and screams.<
br />
  ***

  Margaret is inconsolable. I have Vera take her to HQ – there is a private room there where she and Isabel will be able to rest and recover from the shock of Chris’s death…

  There is no recovering…only dull acceptance, I think. Endless pain. Endless loss.

  I’m sitting in a chair in the meeting room of HQ. President Saul Banner is here, along with Admiral Boyd, the leaders of the Freedom Fighters, the Mad Monks, and my own strike team, the Angels of Death. It’s a full house, and I feel strangely uncomfortable sitting in front of the entire room, on the right hand of the President of the United States.

  I occasionally sneak a glance at him – the leader of the free world, once.

  Now, a man exerting control over what’s left of us with martial law and the threat of using American troops against us…

  “Welcome,” I say, simply. “Thank you for coming. As you know, this is a strictly volunteer operation. I’m not going to order anyone to come with me – that’s not what this is about. This is a highly dangerous rescue mission. The odds of survival are small. I don’t expect you to volunteer or even desire to volunteer…but those of you who do: thank you.

  “Before you say anything,” I continue, “hear me out. I want you to know exactly what you’re getting into before you commit to anything.”

  The president stands up, and the projector turns on. The lights dim, and there is a picture of an elegant compound – every building has sloped, curling rooftops, red pillars, and endless walkways closed in by carved stone fencing.

  “I give you Olympus,” President Banner says. “Once known as the Forbidden City in Beijing, Omega is using it as their HQ. The most powerful global leaders of the movement regularly meet here to discuss military strategies and more.”

  “It’s ancient,” Elle deadpans. “It’s a museum.”

  “Not anymore,” President Banner replies. Another image lights the screen, and I see pictures of the Forbidden City compound heavily guarded, an Omega flag flying from the primary rooftop, and weapons stationed on every corner. “For a time, my wife and daughter were being kept here, according to intel. However, we believe they have been moved from Olympus and onto the Athena Strike Fleet with Chancellor Veronica Klaus.”

  This comes as a surprise to me – and a ridiculous twist of fate.

  We almost died on the Athena Strike Fleet just a week ago…it figures that I would have to return to the flagship in order to pull this mission off.

  “Why would they move them so suddenly?” Em Davis asks. “Is there a reason?”

  “Omega has spies in our ranks,” President Banner answers. “But I have spies in Omega’s ranks, too. The playing field is even. My sources tell me that they moved my family because I deployed the troops from Sector 13. They are ready to use my wife and child as a bargaining chip if necessary to lighten their losses.”

  “By taking their bargaining chip away,” Admiral Boyd grumbles, “this becomes more than just a rescue mission: it becomes a strategic move to weaken their negotiating power with the militias and the president.”

  “Where are they being kept?” Uriah asks.

  “There’s a holding cell on the flagship-” President Banner begins.

  “I know,” I interrupt. “We’ve been there.”

  He looks surprised but doesn’t comment on my remark.

  “If you can extract them from the holding cell,” President Banner goes on, “and get them off the ship, we’ll be home free. The hardest part of the operation will be finding a way to actually get on board without being seen.”

  “It’s impossible, that’s what it is,” Devin grumbles. His splinted leg is propped on a chair. “You can’t get onto the flagship without being seen. It’s just not doable. The ship is too big – there’s too much security.”

  “In two days’ time,” Admiral Boyd huffs, “the Athena flagship will be offshore of San Francisco. The perfect opportunity for boarding.”

  “How do you suggest we get on board without being seen?” Vera snaps.

  “Simple,” Andrew suddenly pipes up, gesturing to an image he has just thrown up on the projector. It’s a picture of a helicopter on a landing pad, and just beyond the aircraft, there is a small convoy of Omega vehicles. “Omega sends scouting parties onshore wherever they come into port…”

  “So we’ll capture a scouting party,” I finish, “and take their place, and that’s how we’ll sneak on board. We’ll assume their identities.”

  “Impossible!” Em exclaims. “For starters, none of us are Chinese or even speak the language. We’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Actually,” Andrew counters, “the visors that most of the Omega scouts wear now are programmed to respond only when activated by the wearer’s retinal pattern. We’ll use the scouts to activate the visors, then we’ll wear them ourselves. The visors contain access codes for everything onboard the ship – and that’s what will verify our identity onboard.”

  “And it’s not just Chinese on board the Athena flagship,” Admiral Boyd agrees. “There are European soldiers, Middle Eastern mercenaries, and more. Being American won’t tip you off – your language will. Just keep your mouth shut and speak as little as possible.”

  “I like it,” Uriah says. “It’s straightforward, simple. We can do this – no problem.”

  “I hope we can,” Elle mutters.

  “Once we locate the first lady and daughter,” I continue, “we will immediately move them onshore and then take them via Black Hawk to our location here in Camp Cambria.”

  “If done right,” Admiral Boyd says, “this mission will be easy enough for veterans like yourselves.”

  Admiral Boyd would know. He was the one who recruited us to extract the nuclear weapons from Ohana Base, simply because of the reputation of the Angels of Death.

  “And what happens if we get captured?” Vera asks.

  President Banner looks to the Admiral.

  “We can’t risk sending anyone in after you,” Boyd says, honest. “You’ll have one chance. After that, they’ll move the first family again, and we may never locate them. Besides, no team that we have would be able to get on board if you were captured. This is a risky operation. One shot. That’s it.”

  “Fair enough,” Uriah remarks, satisfied. “I can live with those terms. Sign me up, Commander Hart.”

  I watch Admiral Boyd as he adds Uriah’s name to the mission roster.

  Hands are raised all around the room – Elle, Cheng, Manny, Em, Vera, and Andrew. Lani and Haku volunteer to stay in Camp Cambria and make sure the base remains secure while we’re gone.

  “This is a small team,” Admiral Boyd says.

  “Tiny but mighty,” I mutter. “Trust me, we’ll get the job done.”

  I speak with total confidence, although I am much more nervous than I’m willing to admit about boarding Veronica’s flagship so shortly after being nearly executed on the deck. If it hadn’t been for Harry Lydell, we’d all be dead…

  Well, one of us is dead…

  I blink hard and lift my head.

  “We’re going to need transportation to the San Francisco Bay Area,” I say. “President Banner, one of your Black Hawks will work for that. I want to stay in constant contact with your men. Keep us posted on Omega’s movements in the area. We’ll have to avoid San Francisco itself – it’s still dangerous. Radiation fallout is still poisoning the air.”

  “To say nothing of the chemical weapon we dropped on their heads a few weeks ago,” Manny cracks.

  “That should be cleared up by now,” Andrew corrects.

  “Anything you need,” President Banner says. “You can have anything.”

  “Thanks,” I reply.

  Then, looking down at my hands – unconsciously white knuckled on my knees – I lean forward and say, “We green light in three days at 0800. We’ll be back in time to sit in on the convention of militias on the coast.”

  I look pointedly at President Banner. “Any word on whe
n that’s going to be, exactly?” I press.

  “Four weeks, approximately,” Banner replies. “As long as nothing goes wrong, and Omega doesn’t attempt to invade any sooner.”

  “Hopefully we can stop them before they try,” Em comments.

  Hopefully.

  It’s a race against the clock. A mission to save the first family so that we can save the world from the itchy trigger finger of a man in command of a war that he doesn’t understand.

  Just another day in the life of Cassidy Hart.

  Chapter Eight

  One Day Later

  There is a ceremony. Some might call it a burial. A funeral.

  I just call it goodbye.

  I’m dressed in black, hair loose and blowing in the cold, coastal wind. Behind Cambria, a plot of land has been cleared for the dead. There are many graves, all marked with white crosses, names imprinted on each one – the ones, at least, that have been identified.

  Yesterday, there was a burial for the masses lost in the attacks by Omega.

  Today is Chris’s burial, a ceremony fit for a great commander.

  Someone was able to find a casket – I don’t know how, and I didn’t ask, but I suspect Manny and Uriah both had something to do with it, judging by their mysterious disappearance from camp yesterday, both unwilling to explain their absence.

  The casket is dark wood, lined with silver.

  It sits before me, inside an open grave, the air smelling of fresh soil and ocean salt. I stand there, Chris’s gold chain and class ring clutched in my fist. I am still. I am made of stone. Inside, I feel destroyed, more ravaged and damaged than ever before.

  The military chaplain is speaking, his lips move. I don’t hear anything – just garble, meaningless gibberish. There is a 21-gun salute. The militias are here, the troops from Sector 13 are here. Thousands of people from Camp Cambria, gathered around the small cemetery, solemn and sorrowful.

  Every gunshot from the salute is like a bullet in my heart.

  I wince every time the weapons fire.

  Sweat runs down my back. I begin to quake.