Collapse Series (Book 10): State of Hope

by Summer Lane

  I should have trusted my gut instinct. My hesitation could be the doom of us all.

  No, it’s not! You just wanted to trust someone. It wasn’t wrong.

  Wrong? Maybe not. Stupid? Definitely.

  As we draw closer to downtown Monterey, I can see the fires blazing across the city. There is very little gunfire echoing down the streets, telling me that Sector 13 has secured a fairly good perimeter around the outskirts of town. Vehicles rumble on the roads and we duck into the shadows. Uriah is with me, and so are Em, Elle, and Devin. Andrew is with Vera and the Strikers. Arlene is waiting for us to return in the grove of trees, code name Monarch Castle.

  As we wait for vehicles to pass, I am reminded of my very first encounter with Omega, years ago…in Bakersfield, with Chris. They had instated a curfew in the city, and a kind man named Walter Lewis had welcomed us into his home to save us from being picked up by Omega patrols.

  I wonder whatever happened to Walter, I think. I haven’t thought about him in such a long time…I wonder if he survived. I wonder if he would remember me if he could see me now.

  Probably not. A lot of people wouldn’t recognize me.

  I wouldn’t even recognize me.

  Uriah gives me the signal and I make a motion for my unit to move forward. We cross the street and duck into another alleyway, heading downtown toward Cannery Row. I know that Beckham is here, because this is where the satellite feeds are. It’s where he can communicate with the president…and lie to him, telling him everything is on schedule, everything is fine…

  We crouch in the shadows of what looks like an abandoned fast food restaurant, positioned on the corner of a hill. The hill slopes down to the old Monterey Bay Aquarium, its white matchstick towers a stark contrast to the night sky.

  “If you see Beckham,” I tell Uriah quietly. “You kill him.”

  He understands.

  I know we should keep him alive for questioning, but I am done taking chances on scum like Beckham. I want him dead – because if he’s dead, the threat of what he can do is eliminated. End of story.

  “Go,” I say.

  We move to the tourist strip below, and we pause in a walkway that juts into a viewing pier just outside of the aquarium. The street is filled with only a handful of Sector 13 guards. My guess is that they’re busy securing the perimeter around the city, which is good news for us. The others won’t have to work so hard to draw them out.

  HQ’s roof and second story are in shambles, and it occurs to me then that perhaps HQ wasn’t real. Maybe it was a trap to lure me in, to kill my team while we were inside. What if the real headquarters is somewhere else?

  As soon as the thought flashes through my head, I see General Beckham cross the street with a cadre of Sector 13 guards – I count ten. He ducks into a rustic, abandoned building that sits in the water.

  “Bingo,” I say. “Let’s get him.”

  We swing around the backside of the aquarium and climb over the metal rail on the pier, lowering ourselves into the water below. It’s freezing and dark, and a tight seed of fear digs itself into my chest. I shove it away and force myself to swim forward, feeling the sucking draw of the ocean swells pulling me out to sea. Uriah’s hand closes on my arm and he helps me fight the strong current. I say nothing, but I’m grateful for his presence.

  Water – especially dark, cold water – is not my favorite.

  At all.

  We swim for only a few minutes before we find ourselves under the patio deck of the building Beckham entered. We climb the wooden stilts, easily getting a grip on the ribbing beneath the dock. I slowly peek over the edge of the dock and see a row of clean glass windows. Dim illumination glows from within, and I see Beckham sitting at a table, watching a glass screen. On second glance, I’m not even sure it is a screen. It’s an Omega hologram, projecting a perfect, 3-D image of Chancellor Veronica Klaus. She is talking with Beckham, her arm in a cast.

  I smirk. At least Vera did some damage before Veronica escaped.

  I realize, too, that I can’t get a good shot at Beckham unless I pull myself on top of the dock. Right now, I’m holding my body weight with both of my arms. I put most of my weight on my right hand and slowly roll to my stomach on the dock, taking care not to allow my head to rise above the windows.

  As soon as I’m up, I slip my handgun from my hip. I’m so close to Beckham, I could throw a rock and hit him in the face. I set my sights on his young, handsome face and I gently squeeze the trigger…

  Except Beckham senses me. I’m too close, too exposed. I am nothing but a flickering shadow of movement, but it’s enough. He dives aside and my shot hits his shoulder instead of his head. I curse and yell, “GO!”

  Uriah and the Mad Monks storm the building. They force their way inside, shooting through glass and kicking in doors. Sector 13 guards frantically send sprays of gunfire through the walls – but their skill is limited, and they are using long-range rifles for close-range combat, their shots rarely accurate and easily dodged.

  I run inside and scan the room for Beckham. The holographic image of Veronica Klaus disappears when someone tumbles into it, smashing the projector to the ground. Beckham rolls to his feet, clutching his bloody shoulder, and claws through the chaos, pushing guards aside.

  I follow him, zeroed in on his trail like a bloodhound. I’m not going to let him get away: not this time. I follow him through the building, tackling his legs before he can clear the front door. He hits the ground on his chest, and I flip him over. He jams his thumb into my throat and slams me backward. I gasp for breath and smack my head against the floor.

  The room spins for a moment, and then I orient myself.

  By the time I’m on my feet again, he is moving.

  I hit the ground running and manage to grab him one more time before he’s able to make it outside. I wrap the strap of my rifle around his neck and yank him toward me. He makes a gurgling noise and falls to his knees, struggling to free his neck.

  “No…!” he chokes. “I’m…not…the…enemy!”

  “Traitor,” I hiss.

  “It’s…not me…!” Beckham coughs. “It’s…HIM!”

  I watch his eyes roll back in his head, and then I do something I didn’t think I would.

  I let him go. I drop the strap and he falls to the floor, coughing and hacking, struggling to catch his breath. By this point, the Mad Monks and Freedom Fighters have taken Cannery Row, and the building is ours.

  Uriah steps up beside Beckham.

  “You should kill him” Uriah states.

  “I will.” I look at Beckham. “Bring him into the big room.”

  Uriah nods, and both he and Father Kareem haul Beckham to his feet, dragging him into the room with the glass windows. I pick up the broken hologram projector from the floor.

  “So,” I say, acid in my voice. “Sector 13 has been waiting to destroy the militias all along.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Hart,” Beckham retorts, spitting blood onto the table. “Sector 13 has no chance of wiping out the militias. It’s nothing but a diversion and a sorry attempt to undermine the stability of the rebellion. Even Omega knows it’s not going to work.”

  I stare at him.

  “What are you saying?” I ask.

  “I’m saying: why would I give an attack order on the militias when I knew it was doomed to failure?”

  I take a step back.

  “Because you wanted it to fail,” I say, something tickling my instinct.

  “Check yourself, Hart,” Beckham snarls, incensed. “You blew my cover – thanks for that.”

  “You’re not…Omega?”

  “I’ve been a double agent for quite some time.” Beckham spits up more blood. “Veronica trusted me because I was close to the president and because I had such authority over Sector 13’s forces. It was my job to pull off an important task: destroy the bulk of the militias before the Athena Strike.”

  “Veronica’s afraid she’ll lose,” I realize.

  �
�Afraid, yes.”

  “So you sabotaged it. You expect me to believe you?”

  “Of course. Think about it, Hart.” Beckham leans forward, wincing. “The militias – well-trained guerilla warfighters with hundreds of combat missions under their belt. And then there’s Sector 13…they’ve been doing nothing but waiting for their time to strike since the beginning of Collapse. They’re green and unskilled in comparison.”

  “Does President Banner know you’re a double agent?” I demand, frowning.

  “Cassidy,” Beckham snorts, smiling through bloody teeth. “Who the hell do you think put Sector 13’s troops there in the first place? Who do you think elevated me to the position of general for the express purpose of destroying the militias before the Athena Strike?”

  “Oh, my God,” I whisper. “President Banner.”

  Beckham laughs again.

  “You’ve been played for a fool, Cassidy. The President is the enemy, not me.”

  No. It can’t be. I can’t have misread this one. Not this time.

  The events of the past few weeks hit me like a video reel. I see everything: his arrival, the levying of martial law, the attacks in Cambria and the so-called assassination attempt on President Banner, the death of Chris, the president begging me to go on a rescue mission far away while he quietly led a convention with the states behind my back…

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demand. “All this time, I suspected you-”

  “Because I didn’t know if I could trust you, either!” Beckham shakes his head. “President Banner is not only an Omega collaborator, Cassidy…he’s one of the seven chancellors who sits the Table in Beijing…Your beloved president is here to bring you death.”

  ***

  General Beckham is right. Sector 13 stands no chance against the militias here in Monterey, and within just a few hours, the city has been reclaimed by my forces. Sector 13 guards lay dead in the street – we take no prisoners, and I am okay with that.

  These men must die.

  I check my watch, wiping the sweat from my brow, and realize that we have barely 24 hours until the Athena Fleet unleashes its full fury on the West Coast. Arlene joins us again in Cannery Row and we radio the militia positions along the coast.

  Despite my worst fears, Beckham is correct yet again. Sector 13 troops are falling to the militia forces they sought to betray, and our defense positions on the coastline remain firmly intact. I breathe a sigh of relief, and then I look to Uriah, who is standing next to me on the pier, watching the sun rise over the tip of the horizon. Beckham sits on my right, his shoulder bandaged up, the bone shattered from where I shot him.

  I don’t feel bad, though. He could have let me in on his little secret.

  Maybe I wouldn’t have shot him if he had.

  “The president himself fed the information of your location in Pescadero to Omega patrols,” Beckham tells me. “I was there when he did it – I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t blow my cover. I knew you would survive. The Angels of Death have that kind of a reputation, after all.” Here, he almost smiles. “Your men were picked up and taken to Compound C because of Banner. The intel he gave you was false – and Cassidy…his wife and daughter were never prisoners of Veronica’s. They were honored guests, and you were never meant to actually rescue them. You were meant to be led into a trap and die. It was a lie – all of it. The nuclear weapons Banner threatened to use against Beijing was a bluff to manipulate you. If anything, he planned to use those weapons against the militias, in the end.”

  “But why?” I ask. “Why not just kill us in our sleep at Camp Cambria?”

  “Too obvious. He didn’t want to lose the militias’ trust.”

  “So instead he sent us out on a mission, hoping we would die in combat…” I shake my head.

  It would make him completely innocent, because we would have been killed by the enemy, and no one would ever point the finger at Banner…

  “That was the idea, yes.”

  “And the attacks in Camp Cambria?”

  “Those were not meant to kill the president – just meant to look like it.” Beckham frowns. “The real target was you and Commander Young. They couldn’t kill you, but they succeeded in killing Young. It was a cover-up. And Diego Santiago…well, he was a friend of Banner’s and his attempt to kill you before the mission was a rogue action. He almost blew Banner’s cover.”

  I hang my head.

  God, if I had figured this out sooner, maybe Chris wouldn’t be dead…

  And then righteous anger courses through me, knowing that Banner himself is responsible for Chris’s death, and I see red in the corners of my vision.

  “The state convention,” I say. “Banner persuaded the masses to elect him president…he has control of the entire West Coast, now.”

  “Don’t you get it?” Uriah says, troubled. “That’s what Cheng was trying to tell us, before he died.”

  “Elaborate,” I reply.

  “This is Omega’s real attack. The Athena Strike…it really is a diversion. Think about it.” Uriah faces me, gesturing with his hands. “If they can’t destroy the militias with one final foot invasion, and they don’t really want to nuke the West Coast, why not gain the trust of the remaining survivors by placing a Manchurian Candidate in a position of leadership? If Banner’s an Omega chancellor, and has been since the beginning, then Omega will be controlling us even if we thought we had attained victory. Omega would let us win, and they would allow Banner to slowly solidify his control. They’d just infect our entire structure again – and then lead an inside attack.”

  “The most effective kind,” I whisper.

  This revelation is terrifying, yet it makes perfect sense:

  Omega erecting their own covert leadership here in North America again would guarantee their control over the survivors. In essence, we would be letting the wolf in through the front door ourselves, thinking that it was salvation when in reality it’s just another Trojan horse…

  It’s worse than scary. It’s genius, and I suddenly truly understand on a new level how Omega has managed to virally infect every level of society throughout the ages: through cunning, deceit, and cover-up.

  “When the country collapsed,” I ask Beckham, “did Banner and his family really hide in Atlas One?”

  “Yes,” Beckham replies. “But it was a trap. Omega killed every member of leadership left in the United States government on Banner’s orders, and I mean everyone. Banner has been observing the Omega invasion at Veronica’s side since the beginning. He was never in hiding – his arrival in Camp Cambria was carefully calculated, as was the story of his family’s capture. It was Veronica’s idea: she wanted to kill the Angels of Death, Cassidy. And Chris Young, especially. You’ve been a dangerous and resilient enemy, and she greenlit this next stage of attack: destruction from within.”

  “She’s that afraid of us?” I ask, bewildered.

  “Terrified. You are the reason the West Coast has never fallen. Omega was supposed to have taken this country years ago. The emergence of a rebellion is something they failed to foresee.”

  This, at least, is a bit of good news.

  “Banner believes that if he could kill the Freedom Fighters and the Angels of Death, he would be eliminating the last powerful pillar of militia leadership in North America,” Beckham continues. “That’s why you were supposed to be dead before the state convention. He wanted to solidify his position with the states fully…he wanted to gain their trust, and without any opposing voice – which he thought you might be if you suspected him – he would have total control over the war and the government erected after the militias either won or lost.”

  “He has gained the states’ trust,” Father Kareem booms.

  “If we told the state militias the truth,” Vera suggests, “I’m sure they would believe us over him. They’d want him removed from office, of course. All we have to do is broadcast who he really is.”

  “The states need something to believe in,” I
mutter. “Someone.”

  “The states deserve to know the truth,” Andrew insists.

  “You know what I think?” Manny offers, putting his arm around Arlene. “I think any president who’s really an Omega chancellor, and who helped orchestrate the biggest genocide in the history of the earth, deserves to die. Am I wrong?”

  I look at him.

  Yes, he’s right…of course he is.

  “The Athena Strike will be here tonight,” I say, turning away. “I’m assuming President Banner has been checking in with you from Camp Freedom over the radio?”

  “Yes, periodically,” Beckham replies. “I told him that you’re dead. It’s better that way.”

  I glare at the sunrise.

  “One last question,” I say. “Is the first lady and daughter in on this, too? Or did Banner force them into it?”

  “When you marry an Omega chancellor, knowingly or unknowingly,” Beckham replies, carefully, “you have no choice but to take orders.”

  I wonder if Abbi and Mary Banner’s lives have been lived more as prisoners than anything else…and then I remember how Cheng died to rescue them…people who didn’t even need to be rescued, and my sympathy vanishes.

  I know what I need to do.

  I don’t want to do it.

  But I have to. I know I do.

  God, isn’t there another way?

  No. This is the way.

  “Father Kareem,” I say, steeling my expression. “Fortify the perimeter around the city. Don’t let anything in or out without me knowing about it.”

  “Yes, General.”

  “Elle,” I say. She’s standing in the corner with Bravo, watching Beckham with a stony gaze. “I want you here with Arlene. Protect her, and protect the radio. Keep in communication with the other positions on the coastline.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Elle replies.

  “Beckham,” I continue. “I want to talk with Admiral Boyd.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m going to assume that he can be trusted, then?”

  “If there’s one thing I know, Hart,” Beckham responds, “it’s that Admiral Boyd bleeds red, white, and blue. He’s fiercely loyal to the militias and the rebellion. He suspected Banner as well, but he didn’t have his proof until last night’s attacks. He knows, now. He’ll take orders directly from you and me.”