by Summer Lane
Uriah and Andrew burst into the hallway behind us.
“Got your six,” Uriah says to me.
“Thanks,” I reply. “I got yours.”
We spread out around the atrium, grainy, gray light filtering into the building through the broken skylight. It begins to rain again, and water pours through the roof, making everything slick. Troopers enter the top level, and they rush us. They are crazed – desperate and irate, firing massive sprays of wild gunfire, shattering windows and destroying the walls. I roll to the side and hit the rail. The bolts on the floor break loose and the rail snaps. I feel myself falling, falling.
I’M DEAD.
I will never survive a fall from this high – I’ll be killed as soon as I hit the ground…
I twist my body around in a mad panic, grabbing the end of the broken rail. It hangs from the hallway by one metal rod, and my legs swing over the open atrium. I don’t dare look down. I gasp for breath, my rifle hanging on its sling across my break, my fingers bloody, my left hand barely able to keep a firm grip.
Hold on, hold on!
The Omega troopers are everywhere. Eerily enough, the masses in the hall remind me of a hoard of brainless zombies, psychotic with bloodlust. A trooper slams his boot against the remaining rod keeping the railing bolted to the floor. It snaps away, and I fall. I hear myself scream, and then I twist my body again and thrust my rifle out. It catches the bars of the hallway rails below us. I jerk to a halt, the wind knocked from my lungs. My arms scream in rebellion, but I swing myself closer to the hall below, rolling onto the dusty carpeted floor. I cough, catching my breath, and then duck aside as a trooper from the level above fires several rounds at me.
The hotel atrium magnifies the sound of gunfire. Two troopers tumble over the rails, screaming. They smack against the floor with a sickening thump, puddles of black blood pooling around their bodies. I shudder and look away, pulling myself to my feet, thanking my rifle for saving me.
I take care of you and you take care of me, I think.
“Cassie!” Chris shouts from above.
“I’m okay!” I yell back.
He spins away, absorbed into the mass of troopers in a flash. I hear detonations and gunfire from outside, and I know the battle between militia and Omega is raging across the city. Below, I see Father Kareem and his Mad Monks enter the bottom level.
I move forward, watching the robed figure of Kareem find the stairwell, and by the time he reaches the top level, I realize something: it’s not Kareem. This figure is much slenderer, much lighter on his feet.
Sister Leslie.
It’s definitely a woman, and as she spins and moves, she kills troopers with skill and grace. The fighters behind her come inside and I realize that they, too, are exclusively female. They wear belted robes, some of them expertly wielding swords, others gripping guns. They are excellent fighters, and I climb the stairs, meeting them on the top level.
I fight alongside them, realizing as we move that these women must be part of the twenty thousand reinforcements Chris recruited from other states. They’re fierce, heavily tattooed, and all of them have shaved their hair down to the scalp, much like Sister Leslie.
I get close to the woman leading the fighters. Her skin is dark, her eyes flash with the fire of the fight. It’s not Sister Leslie, and I instinctively move closer to her, wanting to fight beside her, because we are both fast, both focused, both fueled with determination. I can feel it radiating from her.
Uriah slams the stock of his rifle into an Omega troopers’ jaw, and the man stumbles backward, tumbling over the railing and screaming to his death below. His eyes meet mine and he nods, slightly, to make sure that I am okay.
“Come and get it, you worthless sons-a-guns!” Manny hollers. “I’m ready, willing, and able to dismember, destroy, and distill!” He laughs manically and pops his flask from his pocket, impossibly taking a sip, spinning around, and then dropping it back into his pocket – all in one smooth motion.
“You’re insane, old man!” Andrew yells above the fight.
“And I’m proud of it!”
Vera emerges from the rooftop, joining the fight, apparently unable to do much good picking off troopers from her position outside. She slides next to Andrew. They share an affectionate smile, and then they are fighting again.
We really are family, I realize. All of us. We are not whole without the other.
Chris yells, “Push them back!”
I turn, meeting a dozen troopers. The narrow space is too tight for me to get off a shot with my rifle. I pull my handgun and take three shots. The first three fall, but there are more. My fourth bullet crashes through the center of a trooper’s visor, drilling a hole in the glass panel. He slumps to the ground, his body curving over the rail and hanging there like a limp ragdoll.
The woman leading the female fighter unit whirls around beside me, handguns in each hand. Together, we push back the Omega troopers in the hallway until all of them are dead and we stand there, breathing hard, almost laughing hysterically with the exhaustion from what we have just done.
“Thanks,” I say, huffing. “I’m General Hart.”
The woman doesn’t respond. She turns her head, and then she flashes left, kicking me in the stomach. I fall backward, but I manage to catch myself. I get to my feet and block the flash of her knife. In the dim light, I see nothing but her crazed eyes and the dotting of black body paint on her face.
I shove her back, and she crashes through the empty door to a hotel room. She lands on the carpet in a cloud of dust, but she is not down…not by a long shot. She springs back up, but I shove my shoulder into her chest.
“What’s your problem?” I shout. “I don’t want to kill you!”
The woman spits blood and we trade blow for blow – but I mostly try to avoid the slash of her knife. She moves insanely fast, like an action figure wound too tight, moving at an inhuman speed. I manage to knock the knife from her grip, and we tear into the bedroom area of the hotel suite. The woman grabs my neck and throws me sideways. She’s incredibly strong, and I hit the sliding glass door. The glass is weak, and it shatters as I hit. The window ruptures in a jagged waterfall around me and I roll onto the balcony, dripping with blood. Rain pelts my face and soaks my hair. I cough, raising my head, reaching for my gun…but it’s not there.
Dammit!
I hear the distinct click of a handgun being racked, the bullet in the chamber, the hammer drawn back. I look up, and the woman takes a step onto the wide balcony. Her face is slicked with black paint, and her hair is shaved, but there can be no mistaking her identity. A cold rush of icy shock shoots through me, and I can do nothing but stare.
Sophia? I think. Sophia Rodriguez?
Impossible. She’s dead. I saw her die, like I saw Chris die…
No. It can’t be.
“Sophia?” I rasp, unsure.
She smiles slightly, and I see her bloody teeth, recognize the tilt of her head, the sparkle of her dark eyes.
“Cassidy,” she says, and her voice is unmistakably familiar. “How great to see you again, bestie.”
***
“No,” I grit. “Impossible. You’re dead. You died at the naval postgraduate school.”
She pulls her hood back, revealing her shaved scalp, and I see now that the paint on her face is covering a series of red, grotesque scars.
“No,” she replies, scowling. “I, unfortunately,lived through the explosion that took the rooftop. It ruined my face and most of my body. Thanks for that, Cassidy.”
“I didn’t-”
“Shut UP!” she screams.
“Why are you here?” I demand. “I don’t understand-”
“I came here to kill Omega!” she cuts, trembling with rage. “They ruined my life. And so did you. Look at me. Look at what I’ve become!”
I stare at her. Sophia, my friend, the girl who helped me survive the first stage of this Collapse, the girl who, despite her betrayal, I have always remembered with fond
ness, blaming her betrayal and confusion on the wiles and deceit of Harry Lydell.
“Harry’s dead,” I tell her.
Her lip twitches.
“You’re lying,” she says.
I don’t respond.
I see tears in her eyes.
“Did you kill him?” she demands, and she steps closer, holding the gun level with my head. “Cassidy? Did you?!”
I shake my head.
“No,” I reply. “He died saving my life, actually. He turned on Veronica Klaus.”
“Liar. Harry’s not noble.”
“No. But he died with some dignity, at least.”
“Unlike me, right? You always were so high and mighty.” She snorts. “God, look at you. General Hart. Legendary militia leader. That should have been me. I was just as skilled and fast as you were.”
I remain silent, because that’s not true. Sophia was good, but never good enough to lead. She was slightly slower, slightly less motivated. Always, that was her downfall. That, and her overwhelming jealousy.
“I have hated you for so long,” she says. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t look like this, and I wouldn’t be reduced to hunting Omega troopers and you as a freakin’ hobby!”
“So you’ve turned on Omega, finally,” I remark. “But you still want me dead. Tell me how that works, please, logically.”
“I’m not loyal to the militias or to Omega,” she spits. “I’m not that naïve anymore. I take my fighters wherever we can go to gain an advantage or protection. That’s it. I don’t give a damn about the militia movement.”
“I know,” I reply. “You never really did.”
She flinches, and she tightens her grip on the gun.
“I’m going to kill you,” she states. “I’m going to take your life away, because you took away mine, and because the only justice in this hellhole of a world is death.”
I am so numb and saddened by the revelation of Sophia’s survival, and the fact that she is standing right in front of me again, after all this time…after she died the last time I was here – or so I thought – that I can only look at her.
“I was never anything but a friend to you,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry about what happened to you, I really am. But that has nothing to do with me.”
“Right,” Sophia growls. “Nothing at all.”
“Sophia, please. Listen to me. Put the gun down and keep fighting with us. We need fighters like your women!”
“The Renegades don’t need anybody,” she retorts, stepping closer. “I only joined the coalition to get close to you. After what happened at the naval school with you and Harry, these women dragged me out of the wreckage and nursed me back to health. We lived in Arizona for a while, and their commander was killed by an Omega patrol on the border of California. I took her place – and look at me now. I can be a commander, too. When I heard that there was a militia commander recruiting men to fight the Athena Strike, I volunteered to come to Monterey…because I knew you’d be here. And hey, you’re going to die now, thanks to me.”
I press my lips together, disappointed and hurt by her second betrayal.
There is no coming back from this – not ever.
“You were my friend,” I whisper. “You were my sister, and I loved you.”
“I never loved you,” she hisses.
“You’re many things, but a terrible liar.” I force a smile. “You hate me because everything we did – the fighting, the surviving, the friendship…it was real to you, too.”
“Shut up,” she grits.
I close my eyes, because I know she is going to kill me. That is why she came here, and her time is running out. I hear the gunshot and I wince, waiting for death, but it doesn’t come. I open my eyes and she stares at me, shock and disbelief flashing in her eyes. Blood blooms through the material of her clothes, soaking her chest. The gun falls from her hand and as she hits the floor, gasping for breath, Chris emerges from the shadows, solemnly surveying Sophia’s dying form.
I get to my feet and look down at her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, softly. “This was your doing, not mine.”
Sophia chokes, and then her eyes glass over, and she goes still. This time, she is truly dead. I do not cry, because, honestly, she has been dead all along. Sophia as I knew her and loved her ceased to exist long ago.
“Did you know?” I whisper hoarsely.
“No,” Chris replies, placing his hand on my shoulder. “I had no idea she was still alive. There have been so many reinforcements, I couldn’t personally check out each one.”
I believe him.
“Thank you,” I say.
He doesn’t respond.
I turn my gaze to the balcony and through the rain, I see the Omega troopers, and they are everywhere. I can see no beginning or end to them. The entire horizon is ablaze with fire, even amidst the downpour. I feel the cutting sting of hopelessness.
Even with the reinforcements, most of us will be dead by the time this is over.
“We’re going to die,” I tell Chris. “Finally.”
“We’ll die together, at least,” he offers, forcing a smile.
I take his hand.
“I do love you,” I say, meeting his eyes. “I hate what you had to do…but I love you.”
Light enters Chris’s face and he replies, “Thank God. I thought you’d hate me forever.”
“I could never hate you, Chris. Never.”
He leans forward to kiss me, but before he does, I hear Andrew hooting and hollering out in the hall. “Guys!” he shouts. “Get out here and look at this!”
Chris and I exchange glances and hurry into the hall, where the Omega troopers lie dead and blood is everywhere. The Renegades who came with Sophia have vanished, and that suits me just fine.
Andrew is covered in blood himself – just like the rest of us – and he says, “On the roof, come on!”
We follow him up the stairs and burst onto the roof. Vera is staring below with tears streaming down her face, and Manny places one boot on the ledge, his hair flying wildly, his wrinkled face flushed with color.
“Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!” he cries.
I look over the edge, and I see it:
Hundreds of militia fighters are streaming from the forested areas around the city, and they are razing the enemy down. They wear dark camouflage uniforms, six-pointed stars stitched onto their armbands.
“Rangers,” I breathe. “Oh, my God. Chris. Rangers!”
As the Rangers push Omega back, they begin fleeing. They run to the sea, retreating madly, and I say, “We should get down there! Come on, right now!”
No one argues. Uriah is the first one to follow me, and then we are rushing down the stairs, hitting the first floor and emerging into the parking lot. We stand there, watching the exodus of Omega troopers leave our land. I stand there with my rifle in my arms, feeling like a pebble in the middle of a rushing stream.
Above our heads, fighter jets scream through the sky, dropping a deadly payload of strike missiles on Omega’s Blood Sharks, destroying hundreds of them onshore in one single blow.
“The Air Force!” Vera screams. “Oh, my God! It’s the United States freakin’ Air Force!”
Omega keeps on running. The few left alive are picked off by militia before they can even reach the water, and from the east, a hoard of Black Hawks is moving toward us. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Elle running toward us, Arlene in tow. They rush toward Manny and they meet each other with open arms. Bravo limps behind Elle, his tail wagging weakly, his paw bandaged, along with his head and left ear. But he is smiling – there is no doubt about that.
“Did you do this?” I ask Chris, awed and overwhelmed.
He shakes his head, looking at me with confusion.
“No,” he replies. “I didn’t. I don’t know where the Air Force-”
He stops talking because the Rangers are raising their rifles and whooping with cries of victory. Hats fly through the air and w
omen and men hug, punching the sky with their fists. Many drop to their knees and sob openly. Behind us, a group of Rangers bring in a massive American flag and drive it into the ground, despite the rain.
“This is our land!” someone screams. “We are free!”
It’s surreal, dreamlike. Omega has retreated – we’ve won. We’ve actually won!
Some part of me cannot move, paralyzed by the thought of a real victory, afraid to make a sound and ruin the moment. I see the celebration and the happiness filling the air around me, and Andrew and Vera are kissing and hugging. Elle is crying almost uncontrollably with relief, and somewhere in the crowd I see Desmond kneel on the ground and lift his hands to heaven.
But Chris and Uriah and I are like stone, rooted to the ground in utter disbelief, and then I scream, because I see my father emerge from the Rangers. He is looking right at me, and he is smiling, and dear God:
He is alive.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sometimes, there are no words. You go through life and experience joy and pain and sorrow and tragedy and rebirth, and through all of this…we express our emotions with our words. It’s how we communicate, and it’s only human. But sometimes, words fail us, because the situation or the moment is simply too powerful, too overwhelming.
When I see my father, I am speechless.
I feel everything that this war has made me feel in a single moment, and I am a mute, senseless statue. Dad looks older than when I saw him last, before he was pronounced KIA in Sacramento, before I was foolish enough to believe that I wouldn’t lose anybody important to me ever again.
He is tired, scarred, and plastered with gunpowder and streaked with blood and grease. He shoulders his rifle and I shoulder mine, and at some point I realize that I am moving, and I throw my arms around his neck and I am hugging my father and there is nothing else in the world. Nothing at all.
