Collapse Series (Book 9): State of Allegiance

by Summer Lane

  I nod.

  “Yes,” I say. “We do.”

  We are leaders. The shock is over. We must take action, now.

  We must mobilize the forces left on the island, go search for survivors, save as many people as we can …

  The thoughts bounce around inside my skull.

  I am moving with Chris, dizzy and overwhelmed, when the speaker system on the docks crackles to life.

  “Now you see that we hold your survival in our hands,” comes a gravelly, booming voice.

  “What the hell?” Devin says.

  “If you attack any more of our forces in California, we will end the Naval Air Station on Coronado Island,” the voice continues. “We will kill you all next time. Keep that in mind the next time you deliver biochemical payloads to Omega strongholds on the Pacific coast.”

  A long pause. Then, “Hail, Omega. Hail, the New Order.”

  Silence.

  “What was THAT?” Vera yells.

  “Omega,” I mutter. “It was a warning.”

  “How did they get into our speaker system—”

  “Come on!” I say. “We don’t have time to figure it out. We have to help the survivors!”

  We mobilize quickly. Chris rallies the militia and Navy on the island, and we come up with a search and rescue plan. All around me there is noise, light, and color. I move robotically, stunned that we are still alive, with the disembodied voice of the Omega speaker echoing in my head.

  Hail, Omega. Hail, the New Order.

  ***

  Over.

  It is over.

  All day we have spent our time picking through the wreckage of the missiles, pulling out survivors, taking them to the medical facilities on Coronado. The hallways are overflowing with the wounded and dying. There are not enough beds. They lie on the ground, screaming, burned, mutilated. Crews search downtown in shifts, pulling people from the rubble. They leave the dead behind. The bodies will be removed later—our priority is saving the ones who are still alive.

  At midnight I am too tired to continue. We give up our shift to another rescue team, and Chris, myself, and the rest of my unit head back to the Del Coronado Hotel. Manny is in the medical unit with Arlene. He has not left her side since she collapsed on the docks, and my heart aches with worry. What will happen to her? Is she going to be okay? Did she simply faint under pressure?

  I don’t know.

  Important questions swirl through my head as we reach the hotel. Margaret Young and Isabel are safely tucked away in their own room, here. They will be fine, for now. We are directed to empty rooms on the top floor of an open garden area. We disperse through three rooms and collapse on beds, fully clothed. Elle sits on a couch, her dog snuggled up beside her. Em is nearby. Vera and Andrew huddle up on a couch, and Uriah lies flat on the floor. I lean against Chris’s chest on the only bed in the room. Even Devin sprawls out on the floor.

  We are exhausted.

  There are so many questions that need to be answered. I drag myself to my feet and go into the bathroom. I collapse on the floor, holding my head in my hands, silent sobs clutching my chest. Tears for our survival, tears for the dead. I cry and cry until I have no tears left, with images of dead bodies and mutilated faces circling in my brain.

  So much suffering. So many thousands dead.

  Chris finds me, and he kneels down to lift my chin.

  “I know,” he says simply.

  Of course he does.

  “They’re all gone,” I whisper. “All of them—dead. Just like that.”

  “So many of us are still alive.”

  “Too many innocent people died.” And then I say what is weighing me down, pinning my heart against my chest like a lead weight. “If we hadn’t fired those biochemical weapons from the subs, this never would have happened.”

  “You did the right thing,” Chris replies firmly. “This is what war is.”

  “It’s my fault.”

  “It’s Omega’s fault.”

  “What will we do now?”

  Chris looks away.

  “We’ll carry on,” he tells me.

  I lean my head against the wall.

  Yes, we will carry on.

  But at what cost?

  Chapter Two

  I don’t know how long I stay in the bathroom. Chris puts his arm around me and I fall asleep eventually—I am too tired to fight it. My head is buzzing—I feel like a lightbulb that is shorting out, continually flickering on and off, humming with the strain of maintaining a constant glow.

  I am dying on the inside.

  Just an hour ago, San Diego was intact—a beautiful, gleaming survivor’s city by the sea, reaching toward the heavens with glassy skyscrapers and wide highways. And now, it is filled with the dead. This knowledge hits over and over again like a tidal wave—every wave fresh and raw, like the first time. I have seen Omega’s destruction before, but this is worse.

  This is retaliation. This death is because of an order I gave.

  In the late hours of the next morning, Chris quietly slips away, leaving me alone in the room. I suspect he is allowing everyone to rest because of the horror of yesterday and the almost twenty hours we spent searching for survivors.

  I am awake now, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, staring at my dirty, tired face in the mirror.

  Who allowed Omega to transmit a message through the speakers at the N.A.S.? I wonder. Now that my head is clearer, I realize that someone here must have patched Omega through. A traitor and a spy, no doubt.

  I am so sick of the turncoats, I think, disgusted.

  “Cassidy, come on,” Uriah says, slipping through the doorway of the bathroom. “The leaders are gathering in the ballroom downstairs. We need to join them. We have to decide what our next move is.”

  Outside, the rest of the team is slowly rising, leaving the rooms, heading downstairs to find food and join the meeting.

  I stare at Uriah blankly.

  “Why?” I say. “Wherever we go, Omega finds us.”

  “We’ll avenge the city.” He sits across from me on the edge of the tub. “This isn’t the end.”

  “Wrong,” I snap. “It is. We dropped the bioweapons on the entire coast of California on our way back from Yukon City. This was retaliation. What were we thinking? We have no real power. It’s just a sham. They tolerate us—all they have to do is push a big red button and we’re all done. This little tactical strike was nothing. They could have leveled us all but they didn’t. They’re playing with us, now. Like a cat plays with a mouse before the final kill.”

  “It was a warning shot,” Uriah corrects. “Like we’ve all said before: Omega doesn’t want to destroy this country. They want to use it. So they won’t completely annihilate—”

  “You don’t know that. That’s a theory, and it’s wrong.” I shake my head. “Uriah, they’re going to kill us all eventually. It’s just a matter of when.”

  “So, we go down guns blazing.”

  “I want them to die.”

  “So do I.”

  “They’re monsters.”

  “They are.”

  He leans forward, closer, and whispers, “We are stronger than they are.”

  I swallow a lump in my throat, painfully aware of the blotchy redness of my cheeks, my bloodshot eyes.

  “Where do we go now?” I say. “We’ve exhausted every resource, every safe place.”

  “Well, that’s what we’re going to figure out.” Uriah flashes a rare smile. “But you gotta come downstairs and talk about it.”

  Uriah. My dear friend.

  Looking at him, I remember his words from just yesterday, before we left the sub.

  “You changed me,” he said. “You showed me morality again, how to fight for something worth fighting for. I owe everything to you, and to your father. Like it or not, we’re bonded, you and me.”

  Uriah, who was a convicted murderer in a Pre-Collapse world. Uriah, who knew my father from the beginning, who knew everything about me b
efore I even met him. And yet I do not feel anger toward him for keeping those secrets from me. They were his to keep, to reveal when he saw fit. I cannot blame him for that.

  “Okay,” I say quietly. “I’ll come downstairs.”

  I rake my hair back with my left hand, and in that moment Uriah notices for the first time the gold ring glimmering on my finger. He stares at it, a light leaving his eyes, and suddenly stands.

  “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Fine.” And then he takes my hand, looking at the ring. “You’re marrying him?”

  I nod.

  “Yes,” I say. “I love him.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know, Uriah. We’re just … I don’t know. Engaged, I guess.” I smile. “I’m happy.”

  He exhales. Something sad glitters in his dark gaze.

  “I knew it would happen,” he continues, softly. “I knew …”

  Uriah searches my face, and then he kisses me. He pulls me against his chest and holds me close, my head pressed against the wall. Shocked, I freeze for a moment, and then I jerk away from him, flushed and alarmed.

  “Why—” I say, angry, but he cuts me off.

  “Just once,” he replies. “I just had to do that once.”

  “Uriah, that was way out of line—”

  “I love you,” he whispers. “I always have.”

  What do I say to that? I know this. I had hoped he would let it go.

  I had hoped he would never say it aloud, never give those words life.

  Chris is the one for me. End of story.

  “If it wasn’t for him …” Uriah mutters. “Damn you, Cassidy. Look what you’ve done to me.”

  And then he walks away, storming down the hall, a shadow of anger leaving the room, the calm and comfort of his words scattering apart and leaving me with a hollow, disappointed feeling.

  I lean against the wall, touching my lips, still tingling with Uriah’s kiss.

  I’m sorry, I think. I’m sorry I can’t love you like you want me to.

  I love Chris. Always.

  My life is a trail of destruction, and this war is only making things worse.

  ***

  We all meet in the empty ballroom, a glass chandelier refracting prisms of light in all directions. It is quiet and still. The solemnity of the deaths of the thousands of people in San Diego and Coronado Island are heavy in our hearts. We are among the fortunate survivors of the city. I take a seat next to Chris, clutching a hot mug of coffee, slowly eating a muffin. Captain Stanley is here too, and so are several naval officers from the island, in addition to my entire team—except for Manny and Arlene. Manny is with her in the medical building on the island. I watch as Father Kareem and Sister Leslie have joined us.

  “I say we begin with the obvious,” Devin offers. “San Diego is compromised. San Francisco is a no-go. However, thanks to Commander Hart and the Angels of Death, Omega has been wiped off the coastline of California, biochemically neutralized.”

  “We can’t go back to the coastline,” Vera states, grim. “It’s too dangerous. We need to go underground; we gotta stay off the map. Omega is toying with us—they don’t want to destroy this state, but they will if we keep killing off their troops. We have to retreat.”

  “Where to?” I ask. “The Central Valley? That always works out so well for us.”

  “I’m just thinking out loud, Cassidy.”

  “Well, I think it’s safe to say that California is useless to us right now.”

  Chris says, “California isn’t useless. We’re not as weak as Omega wants us to believe. We’ve wiped out a massive chunk of their forces on the coastline.”

  “They’re just trying to scare us,” Andrew interjects.

  “Mission accomplished,” Vera seethes.

  “We have to take the fight to them,” Chris continues. “We’re always on defense here. It’s time we switched it up—made them play the game differently this time.”

  “Omega controls the game,” I snap. “They are the freakin’ game.”

  “We’ll beat them at it.”

  “And how are we going to do that? Invade China?” I roll my eyes. “Great idea. Let me grab my gear and get right on that.”

  My sarcasm rears its head, ugly and bitter.

  We don’t stand a chance against Omega in a foot invasion. We have nothing to fight with.

  Nothing but bodies—and even those are few and far between.

  “This morning we received an emergency transmission from a naval tactical strike fleet,” Captain Stanley interrupts. “The U.S.S. Roberta, off the coast of California. They offered assistance to San Diego if we need extra protection.”

  “No,” I reply. “Keep the fleet at sea. They’re safer out there.”

  “There’s more,” Stanley continues. “The Admiral in command of the fleet, Admiral Greg Boyd, is a man of honor and trust. I have known him for many years. He says he has access to weapons that could turn the tide of the war, but he wants to discuss it with the militia leaders in person.”

  “Weapons?” Chris asks.

  “That’s all I can say. There are spies on this island, as evidenced by Omega’s radio stunt yesterday,” Stanley continues, irritated. “Admiral Boyd cannot come to us, so someone must go to him. It’s urgent—and I must add, he would not ask for an audience with you if it wasn’t of the highest priority.”

  I let this sink in for a moment, eyes flicking to the corner of the room where Uriah stands, almost invisible in his stillness. He watches me shamelessly with a stoic, yet disappointed, expression on his face.

  I look away.

  “Let’s go,” Andrew says. “It’s not like we have a lot of options here.”

  “Is it really necessary that we all go?” I say.

  “No,” Stanley replies. “Simply bring your best.”

  “And then?”

  “And then you see what the Admiral has to say. It may make a big difference. It may not.”

  So cryptic. I hate mysteries.

  Chris says, “All right, sounds like we have a plan of action. I want Cassidy, Vera, Elle, Manny, and Em with me. Devin and Father Kareem, I want you to come, too. Cheng and Andrew, stay here with Sister Leslie and oversee search and rescue. Secure the perimeters of the city.”

  “Consider it done, sir,” Cheng agrees, solemn.

  “Captain,” Chris says, turning to Stanley. “Contact the Admiral. Tell him we’ll be flying in.”

  Stanley replies, “Will do, sir.”

  So, we have a plan. Part of a plan.

  We discuss some more options, and then we disperse to get ready to fly to the Admiral’s fleet since he can’t come to us.

  What could he possibly know that is so important?

  I don’t try to figure it out. I have too much on my mind. Instead, I visit the medical wing with Elle. Arlene has been pushed out of the rooms, her bed given to burn victims with horrible injuries. Arlene lies flat on her back on a blanket on the ground in a storage room, beside at least a dozen other people who have had to give up their beds for the more severely wounded. Manny is nowhere in sight.

  “Where’s Manny?” I say.

  “He had to go get something to eat,” Elle replies, kneeling next to Arlene. She is still and pale, threaded with IVs, fitted with a small oxygen mask, covered with a cheap blue blanket.

  “Has she woken up yet?” I ask.

  “No. But she will.”

  “Any idea what happened to her?”

  “They’re thinking maybe some kind of a heart attack.”

  I sit down next to her.

  “Manny is going to be fine, too,” I tell her. “This is hard for him, but he’ll be okay.”

  “Right.” Elle raises an eyebrow. “I feel like war is all about telling yourself the same lie over and over again until you believe it so much it actually becomes truth.”

  “It’s about staying positive,” I reply. “And staying in the fight
.”

  “You’re just as mad as I am,” Elle defends. “And disappointed about San Diego. I really thought we were safe here.”

  “Yeah,” I admit. “This too shall pass. Besides, you can’t stay here. Chris wants you to come with us to see the Admiral.”

  “Why me? I’m just a K-9 unit.” She glances at Bravo, who is sitting solemnly at Arlene’s feet.

  “You’re trusted,” I say. “We want you there.”

  She nods, understanding.

  “We were here for a whole hour before Omega started blowing things up.”

  “It was retaliation for what we did with the biochemical weapons.”

  “Duh.” She looks at me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I sometimes forget that you’re my commanding officer, and that you’re a—”

  “Friend?” I smile. “I am your friend, and your C.O. I can be both, you know.”

  Elle smiles faintly.

  “Thanks.”

  We sit there, she and I, waiting for Arlene to wake up. At one point, Bravo raises his head, his ears twitching.

  “She’s awake,” Elle states, springing forward. “Where’s Manny?”

  Arlene is deathly pale, but her eyes are open. Elle takes her hand.

  “Aunt Arlene?” she says affectionately. “How do you feel?”

  Arlene blinks slowly and opens her mouth.

  The only sound she makes is a garbled, choking noise, and her eyes roll back in her head.

  Elle gasps, “Arlene! Arlene!”

  “I’ll go get a nurse,” I say, acting quickly.

  How could this day possibly get any worse?

  I rush through the medical building, knowing in my gut that something has gone very wrong with Arlene—something I am afraid we won’t be able to fix.

  Chapter Three

  “What’s the diagnosis?” Chris asks.

  He stands just outside Arlene’s door, arms folded across his broad chest. I see the exhaustion in his eyes—the exhaustion of leadership and the burden of it all.

  “Stroke,” I say quietly. “She’s had a stroke.”

  Chris says nothing for a moment and then slams his fist against the wall.

  He answers, “This is going to be hard on Manny.”