Collapse Series (Book 10): State of Hope

by Summer Lane

“I’ll remember that,” I say, only half-joking. “Look, if everything goes according to plan, we should be back here with the first family in a couple of days. If not, wait for us. At least give us a week. Complications will arise, and we’ll overcome them. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “Four weeks,” President Banner answers. “I still stand by that timeline.”

  “Good.”

  General Beckham says, “In the event that you do not return, Commander Hart, I am prepared to assume leadership of the militias in your stead.”

  I blink; it hadn’t occurred to me that now that Chris is gone, the entire burden of leadership for the militias in California has fallen to me. That realization hits me like a brick wall.

  “No,” I reply. “There are others who can take my place – militia leaders who will understand how to lead the people better than you.”

  “You have no choice. This is martial law. You’re lucky you’re even still commanding the militias at all,” Beckham snorts. “Sector 13 should be controlling your movements.”

  I stand up – I really want to punch this guy in the face.

  President Banner steps between us.

  “General,” he booms. “Commander Hart is a good leader, and we will respect her leadership of the militias. You will not assume leadership of anything until I say so. Are we clear?”

  A muscle ticks in Beckham’s jaw.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President,” he grits.

  He never takes his eyes off mine.

  I am not intimidated – and I can feel the tension radiating from Uriah. He, like me, would love to lay Beckham out the floor and put him in his place.

  But today is not that day.

  Lucky for Beckham.

  We leave shortly after, the animosity of General Beckham burning hot. As we step outside, Uriah says, “I don’t like him. He’ll take the first chance he gets to gain control of the militias.”

  “We won’t let that happen,” I reply. “Martial law should be gone once the states convene and decide to unite. We’ll have a real government again.”

  “Right,” Uriah answers, sarcastic. “It’s going to be that easy.”

  I sigh.

  Of course, he’s right. Nothing is easy.

  “We should rest,” I go on. “Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

  We part ways in silence. I head back to my room, painfully aware that Chris will not be waiting when I arrive. I will miss his warm embrace, the smell of his skin and the steadiness of his heartbeat under my fingertips.

  Don’t think about it. Just think about the mission.

  I am strangely numb about this operation. Whether I live or die has no effect on me whatsoever – at least I’d be released from this human body of pain and loss, right? The responsibility of this war and the leadership of the militias would be lifted from my shoulders.

  I don’t want to be in charge. I want Chris to be in charge.

  By the time I reach my room, I realize something else: if I’m the top dog in California, I have to choose someone to fill the commanding position I leave behind…I sigh, sitting down on my bed. The choice is obvious: Uriah True.

  He’ll get the job done better than anyone, I think.

  I trust Uriah as a commander more than I trust Vera, at least. Vera is too judgmental, too quick to let her emotions control her decisions. Uriah is full of anger – just like me – but he can harness it positively; he knows how to use it as a weapon against the enemy.

  In this, we understand each other better than anyone.

  I check and recheck my gear, getting my strike uniform ready – all black. On the breast pocket, beneath a patch that reads Freedom Fighters, another patch has been added by Vera: a pair of black angel wings, centered by a skull. The insignia of the Angels of Death, now. The enemy fears it – as well they should.

  I sit in front of the mirror, staring at my long red hair.

  It’s grown so much since Kamaneva’s labor camp when my hair was roughly hacked off by Omega guards. I grab a pair of scissors from the dresser drawer and carefully cut through my long locks, leaving just enough length to pull into a ponytail. It looks different – fresh. I like it.

  A new cut for a new me.

  A new, lonely me.

  I roll a map out on the bed, studying the interior designs of the Athena flagship. It’s massive, and while the first family might be held anywhere onboard, I have a hunch Abbi and Mary Banner are probably stowed away in the same containment area where I was kept prisoner, along with Chris and Uriah.

  It would make sense, at least.

  In my head, I run through the mission plan over and over again, picturing my team moving fluidly through the ship, taking out obstacles. It’s a mental game I play with myself before a mission. I picture myself successful, and that gives me the confidence to believe that the outcome will be positive.

  Untrue? Perhaps. Superstitious? A little.

  To me, though, it’s simply a routine that gets me through the pre-mission jitters.

  I sit cross-legged on the bed and slowly, methodically clean my rifle. Sometime in the evening, Elle comes into my room with Bravo. Wordless, she sits on the end of the mattress, watching me.

  “We’re going to be okay, right?” she whispers.

  I don’t look up.

  “Yeah,” I say. “We’re going to be okay.”

  It’s a lie.

  We’re already past the point of okay.

  We’re already damaged.

  Chapter Ten

  0800 – Operation Banner

  It’s a scene I’ve experienced a thousand times before: all of us, the Angels of Death, sitting in the rumbling belly of a Black Hawk, the roar of the rotor wash and the bumping of the turbulence rattling us in our seats. My hair is pulled back, my weapons locked between my knees.

  It is a cold, clear morning. The California coastline is a brown smudge against the cobalt blue of the Pacific Ocean. We fly over patches of fog, sun sometimes cutting through wispy clouds.

  I sit next to Uriah.

  I habitually check my left, looking to gauge the expression on Chris’s face, to flash an encouraging smile, to exchange a secret joke…and he’s not there.

  It’s just us.

  The somber mood is lost on no one.

  The eight of us are solemn, sorely missing the presence of the man who brought us all together – the man who trained many of us, who led us through some of the darkest days of this war.

  “We’re almost there!” Manny shouts over the noise. “Arlene said we should expect great weather. We’ve got that going for us, at least!”

  He forces a grin.

  I try to return the gesture, but my lips are frozen.

  Time slogs by. I feel the grunt and drop of the Black Hawk as we descend, the dark soil of the earth below us looming closer and closer. I take a deep breath as the Black Hawk touches down on the ground, the blades flinging great billows of dirt and rocks through the air. We bail out of the chopper and cut across the ground, away from the aircraft as it leaves us behind, lifting into the air again.

  I look around, staring at the vast expanse of ocean before us. We’ve been dropped on a strip of grass and rocks bordering the ocean, a sheer cliff between us and the sea. Wildflowers are blooming vibrantly on the slopes.

  I look north and I see dark clouds, feel a cold freeze. South, there’s nothing but an endless smudge of a coastline.

  “We’re about a mile or so away from the Pescadero State Beach,” Andrew announces, checking his watch. “Right on schedule.”

  “How close do we have to actually get to San Francisco?” Vera asks. “Because I really don’t want a lungful of radiation poisoning. I’ve heard it’s gotten worse since we got out.”

  “Not close at all,” Andrew replies. “The Omega patrols should be sending their men onto the beach at some point, and then they’ll sweep a thirty-mile block for militias or survivors.”

  “If they’re sending patrols on the coast up and down th
e state,” Em says, “they have to be getting ready for the invasion.”

  “That’s the idea,” I agree. “Let’s get moving. We don’t want to miss our patrol.”

  We cut up the coastline, moving over the grass. The light is golden, and it feels almost too pretty to be locked into a mission today. I want to stop, throw my hands up, and lie on the ground, gazing up at the clouds.

  So much for that.

  By the time we reach Pescadero, I expect to see the Athena Fleet hovering offshore – or at least some sign of an Omega patrol. But there is nothing but open water.

  “Andrew,” I say. “Check the horizon.”

  He flips his binoculars out and scans the sea.

  “I don’t see anything, Commander,” he says, frowning. “Looks like they’re late.”

  “Or we’re late,” Em mutters.

  “Doubtful,” I reply. “Militia scouts have reported the patrols sweeping this area every week at the same time – they wouldn’t get this wrong. If there’s a delay, it’s on Omega’s end, not ours.”

  “Maybe they’re not here because they’re too busy getting ready to invade California,” Vera remarks.

  I say nothing, because it could be true.

  “So what do we do?” Em asks.

  “We wait,” I reply. “It’s not like there’s anything else we can do.”

  Without the patrols, there’s no chance of us getting onto the Athena flagship. We need their visors, their access codes, their uniforms…

  We settle down under the cover of trees that have overgrown here along the coast. We can see the shoreline clearly from here, and as the sun makes its trek across the sky, I watch the horizon for signs of anything: a boat, a cutter, a speck of aircraft…

  Nothing.

  “This is a bust,” Vera complains. “A total waste of time.”

  “We don’t know that yet,” I sigh.

  Vera curses and then takes a swig of water from her canteen.

  “So we’re just going to sit here until somebody shows up?” she demands.

  “Yes,” I say. “That’s the plan.”

  She crosses her arms.

  “Patience is not one of your best virtues, dear,” Andrew comments.

  She throws him a pointed look, and Andrew shrinks back.

  We continue our silent vigil.

  Hours pass, and soon the late hours of evening dim the ocean, bringing nightfall. We eat a meal of meager rations, and then I say, “Let’s scout the area. If we move farther north, maybe we’ll stumble across some Athena patrols.”

  “Maybe we’ll run into the tooth fairy, too,” Vera mumbles.

  “I’d ask for her autograph,” Manny replies, winking.

  “Who says the tooth fairy is a woman?” Em suggests. “I mean, the tooth fairy could be a man. Didn’t you guys ever see that movie with Dwayne Johnson?”

  “God, seriously?” Vera snaps. “Can we not discuss the gender stereotyping of an imaginary fairy? Can we be a little more professional, considering we’re supposed to be the deadliest tactical strike team in the country?”

  “Rude,” Cheng sniffs, grinning at Elle.

  “Major buzzkill,” Andrew comments, hiding his laughter.

  “Someone didn’t get anything from the tooth fairy when they were growing up,” Manny whispers, wiggling his eyebrows.

  I shake my head, and we move north. The light of the stars provides more than enough illumination for us to pick our way through the landscape – mostly open, dotted with small areas of trees.

  “Look!” Em exclaims. “A lighthouse!”

  Up ahead, nestled snugly on the tip of an outcropping of rock, is a small, white lighthouse. Its tower is thin and overgrown with vines. Ice plants and flowers cluster the cliffs around it. A small collection of buildings sits in a neat circle outside of the tower, guarded by whitewashed fencing.

  “Looks abandoned,” Uriah remarks.

  “I say we check it out,” Em suggests.

  In the dark, the lighthouse is little more than an upright matchstick against the vast smudge of the distant sea. From our position, it looks lifeless…but appearances can be deceiving.

  “Whoa,” Andrew says. “Commander, take a look at this.”

  He hands me his binoculars, and I scan the front fence surrounding the lighthouse. A sign is posted. It reads:

  PLEASE HELP US: SITUATION DESPERATE

  NEED MEDICINE

  “Looks like a trap,” I surmise.

  “Or it could be somebody who really needs help,” Em points out.

  “Chances are, whoever wrote that is already dead,” I say.

  “We should look anyway,” she presses. “If we could help someone-”

  “We’re not on a civilian rescue mission,” Vera says, sharply. “We’re here to find a patrol and get on board the Athena flagship. End of story.”

  I chew on my lower lip, about to tell Em that I agree with Vera and that we will have to keep moving, when a shadow of movement flickers through the night air, just above the lighthouse itself.

  “What the…?” Em mutters.

  For a moment, I’m rendered motionless. A black shape rises through the air, big enough to be a bird, small enough to be a kite. It happens so quickly that it seems unreal, and then I hear the buzzing and humming, the clicking, insect-like whirring of motors and blades.

  “Drones!” I gasp.

  I throw the binoculars to Andrew.

  “Run!” I shout.

  The drone is moving closer to our position, and behind it, I see the flashing movement of three more.

  Oh God, oh God…they know we’re here.

  Or at least they will know.

  The drones zip over the cliffs, toward us, tracking the thermal energy from our bodies.

  “Get to cover!” I yell. “Hide your heat sigs!”

  Up ahead, there is a small, forested area of trees and bushes. It might be enough to hide us, but I’m not sure. Uriah and I make a mad dash for it just as the drones rip over our heads. We dive in, hunkering under the leaves, pressing our chests against the cold dirt.

  And then I hear it: the loud, unmistakable pounding of boots against the earth. I lift my head and see men emerging from the lighthouse grounds, following the drones.

  It’s as if…

  As if they were waiting for us…like they knew we were here.

  There are dozens of them, Omega patrols, from the looks of it. They are moving quickly, armed and dangerous.

  “Run!” I shout. “Do whatever you have to do to keep them from catching up!”

  Vera and Andrew sprint in one direction, cutting across an open field. Elle and Cheng split with Bravo to the south, and Manny and Em move with Uriah and me east. The darkness is our friend. As we move, gunshots begin to beat the ground behind us. Their shots miss – they are running and it is too dark to get a good kill shot.

  I look right, and I see an Omega trooper spring from the foliage near the cliffs, smashing into Elle. I hear Bravo’s rabid growl, and the echo of Cheng’s gun ricochets off the cliffs. I stumble, and then I see Elle and Cheng on their feet again, sprinting for cover.

  I click my radio, yelling orders, but all I’m getting is static.

  The airwaves are suddenly dead, and a thread of panic tugs at my chest.

  I run with Uriah as fast as I can, sweating, lungs burning, muscles straining…I dare a peek behind my shoulder as we run across the open marshes here – vast areas once cared for, now abandoned and mired in water and mud.

  The patrols are moving in like a wave, a black line of ants getting closer and closer.

  “We have to split up!’ I tell Uriah and the others. “There’s too many – if we can drive them apart, we’ll stand a chance!”

  The words are barely audible, I’m breathing too hard.

  Uriah says nothing, but he understands. Manny and Em do, too.

  So we split.

  He breaks left, flinging a grenade as far as he can behind him. I keep moving, and the grenade
detonates, shaking the earth and sending black smoke across the field.

  This time, I don’t dare look back.

  I just run. I slog through more mud and water, forcing myself onward, checking the radio and getting no response from anyone. I trip in the dark, rolling down a small embankment – a ditch. I hit the bottom, sticky with mud, and see a small drainage pipe hidden from the air.

  I catch my breath and move toward it, sliding my body inside the hole as a drone zips above my head. I squirm and force my way backward into the hole, encapsulated in total darkness, slimy water, and two or three inches of freezing mud.

  I hear the skittering of roaches above my head and I shudder, closing my eyes and mouth. I press my lips against my hands and pray that Uriah and the others found a place to hide, separated as we are in this chaotic darkness.

  Why are the radios dead? Why were the patrols waiting for us?

  How could anyone know we were coming?

  It was supposed to be the other way around!

  The Omega patrols shake the ground above me, and I can hear their harsh commands, hear the sharp whirring of the drones in the sky. I feel like a hunted animal, wedged into this hole in the dirt, waiting for someone to bring my death.

  Keep the team safe, I pray, unsure if I’m repeating the words because of spirituality or superstition. Please…just let us be able to complete this mission.

  If it’s superstition, I hope it works.

  If it’s a prayer…I hope someone’s listening.

  Chapter Eleven

  I stay in the pipe, buried in the cool earth, surrounded by slime and bugs, until my knees ache and my neck throbs with stiff pain. The insect-like rumble of the drones chitters in my ears, reminding me of an angry hive of wasps. I don’t dare move or breathe – I am barely protected as it is.

  My heart does not stop pounding. I pray that everyone else on the team is hiding – like me – escaping the detection of the thermal imaging in the drones and the deadly gunfire of the patrols. I keep my cheek pressed against the pipe, breathing roughly as the drones continue to circle, occasional beams of light slicing through the tall grass.

  Please don’t find us, please don’t find us…

  Hours pass. It isn’t until the early hours of the morning, when the sun is beginning to crest over the tips of the coastal hills, that the drones disappear and fade into the distance.