Collapse Series (Book 9): State of Allegiance

by Summer Lane

  “I’m not moving on,” I say, “until we find who did this and we kill them.”

  To my surprise, no one argues.

  Chapter Twelve

  I track them.

  Uriah and I move swiftly through the Banyan trees and walls of bamboo, the silent stagnation of the humid day weighing on us like a wool blanket. I grip my rifle tightly, carefully following the barely visible path that the Ku have trailed through this part of the island.

  There are signs: plants that have been crushed, mud that has been pressed into clumps, leaves that have grabbed snatches of fabric—threads. I have been at this game for a long time, and I know the signs. I know how to find my prey.

  My heart hammers in my chest, propelled by the fury burning inside me. Fury toward the Ku, and by extension, the evil that was the original cause of all of this.

  “We’re getting closer,” Uriah says quietly.

  Chris is hanging back with the rest of the unit, circling around, sniffing out other possible trails. Uriah and I are the best trackers, anyway, so it makes sense for us to go out ahead. As we move faster and faster, Admiral Boyd’s seven-day timeline to fulfill our mission fades into the distance.

  This, right here, is my current priority.

  The face of the dead infant flashes in my mind, and I move faster, fueled by an almost inhuman amount of speed. It’s a strength I know well—the adrenalized power of rage. If harnessed correctly, it can be used to make a person unstoppable.

  Uriah flows with me, as fluid as my shadow, and I silently thank God for comrades like him. Capable, willing, and dangerous. As we rush forward, I make a fist and stop. Uriah looks at me, confused. Even he does not sense what I do: the Ku. Up ahead. I can practically smell them.

  I lower myself into the wall of bamboo and look through the slits in the reeds. There is an empty road here—it looks like a main highway—and a lookout point just beyond. Rainclouds are beginning to darken the sky once again. I’m beginning to realize that rain is a daily thing here in paradise.

  There are probably twenty Ku at the lookout point. They are the same group we saw last night, and this realization is a dagger in my heart. If we wouldn’t have avoided them … if we had stopped them yesterday … those people wouldn’t be dead.

  Get real, Cassidy. You had no idea. Their deaths are not your fault.

  True. But the ones about to happen will be.

  And I take full responsibility for them, too.

  I talk quietly into my radio.

  “Alpha,” I say. “You see this?”

  “I see it,” Chris replies. “We’re in position.”

  “Hold.” I exhale, inhale. I lay prone and shoulder my rifle beside Uriah. It’s such a routine, both of us doing this. This will be different, though. This time, we will send a message.

  I nod, and I let Uriah take the first shot. The Ku are clumped together at the lookout point like sitting ducks. Stupidly easy to shoot. My guess is that they are not used to being tracked or attacked on their side of the island.

  Oh, how the tables have turned.

  Uriah cuts through the first Ku scout on the end, sending a burst of bullets through his legs. He screams, and then he’s on the ground. My team and I slice through the legs of every Ku fighter in the group, bringing them down with screams and blood.

  “That one,” I tell Uriah, nodding toward the one remaining Ku fighter sprinting toward the jungle, attempting to escape.

  Idiot. There is no escape.

  “Hold,” I say into the radio.

  Uriah quickly springs from his position on the ground and breaks cover, cutting across the open road. He slams into the escaping Ku fighter and brings him to the ground, easily subduing him with one good blow to the jaw.

  I check the perimeter one last time, and then I break cover, too. I walk slowly across the road, toward the Ku fighters strewn across the ground, moaning and groaning.

  “Cassidy,” Chris says. “We’ll get their weapons. This is punishment enough.”

  Wrong.

  I ignore him and watch silently as Vera, Elle, and Devin quickly work to disarm the agonized Ku fighters. Manny doesn’t move, still and sullen.

  “What are you going to do with them?” Manny asks quietly.

  I don’t reply.

  I see them—young and old men alike—looking at the militia that has overtaken them with terror and hatred. They are afraid, and they should be.

  Chris looks at me strangely as Uriah drags the last Ku fighter back to us, holding him with his arms behind his back. The man is young, dark-skinned, dressed in ragged clothes.

  “Cassie—” Chris begins.

  “No,” I cut him off. “NO.”

  He will not stop me.

  “Line them up,” I say.

  “Cassidy, maybe there’s another—” Vera says.

  “LINE THEM UP!” I yell. “Just do it!”

  My anger is tenfold. I think I have reached my breaking point. Everyone except for Chris slowly drags the Ku into a neat line. They curse and spit on us, unable to move, unable to fight back. Uriah binds the last fighter’s wrists and forces him to kneel down.

  “Who are you?” I ask him.

  He stares at me, nostrils flared, eyes bloodshot.

  “I asked you a question,” I continue. “Answer.”

  A moment of silence. Then, in a strained voice he says, “I know who you are. You’re from the militias on the mainland. You’re here for something. The Prophet foretold it.”

  “Where is the Prophet now?” I ask.

  “In the temple.” He grins. There is blood in his teeth. “You will die. He promised us that, too.”

  “Shut up.” I look at the Ku fighters. “You think that by killing children and babies you’re somehow brave and noble fighters? Warriors of valor and honor?”

  “The Prophet and the Akua have made our mission clear,” the last fighter mumbles.

  I shove my boot into his jaw, and his head smacks against the pavement. I feel nothing for him—nothing but revulsion. Uriah pulls him upright again—because Uriah always knows what I want, what needs to happen next. He pushes him into the lineup.

  “Cassidy,” Chris interjects.

  “They need to understand,” I reply.

  I turn back to the Ku once more. It begins to rain, soaking my hair and my clothes.

  I project my voice firmly: “We will kill you—all of you,” I say. “We will have no mercy on you. You are without honor. Your deaths will not be glorious. You will find yourself in the deepest circle of hell because that is the end you have earned with your cowardly actions.”

  I can see the fear on the Ku fighters’ faces, and I nod.

  Everyone but Chris—even Lani and Haku—pull the trigger. They raise their guns, the bullets sail out of the weapons with precision and accuracy, and the Ku drop dead like flies. A short smattering of gunfire and noise, and then it is over.

  Chris doesn’t move. He is resigned, yet understanding of what I am doing.

  I take a step back, surveying the bloody handiwork of my comrades.

  Sympathy level: zero.

  Uriah nods, obviously satisfied with what we have done here.

  When I look to Chris, there is nothing but sadness in his eyes.

  I’m sorry I’ve changed,I think. But this is who I am. This is what must be done.

  I will not apologize for fighting back, and I will not cut Omega any more slack.

  Our message has been sent.

  ***

  If the Prophet wants to use fear as his weapon of choice, we have returned fire with fire. I think about this as we walk up the coast of the island, paralleling the highway away from the city center of Hilo.

  Everyone is silent—solemn.

  It’s not like we don’t kill people every day for the sake of our homes and our liberty. This is different, somehow. This is proof that Omega’s evil has touched even the most remote places on earth.

  Devin and Em walk together, holding a hushed conve
rsation. Manny walks with drooped shoulders, the humidity and thoughts of his wife weighing him down. Elle keeps close to him, worried, and Vera stays with Lani.

  They spend a lot of time talking—figures.

  Lani and Vera were practically made for each other.

  Chris leads with Haku, who expertly guides us across the island without any interruptions. Despite Lani’s poor judgment, I’m glad Haku’s here with us. He’s definitely the more thoughtful of the two.

  Uriah falls into step with me and asks, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I reply. “Why?”

  “You have the look.”

  “What look?”

  “The look. You always get the look when something’s bothering you.”

  I glance at him.

  “Whatever,” I mutter.

  Sometimes I hate that Uriah knows me almost better than Chris does. It’s annoying.

  “You’re worried that Chris sees you differently,” Uriah says. “You think he’ll stop loving you at some point, because you’ve lost your innocence, and because you kill easily now.”

  I stumble, and my heart quickens.

  “That’s not true,” I snap.

  “He’ll never stop loving you,” Uriah answers slowly. “He’s just sad to see what was left of the old Cassidy fade away.”

  I’m surprised to hear those words leave Uriah’s mouth.

  “What do you care?” I mutter. “You hate him.”

  “No,” Uriah says. “I don’t hate him. He’s in my way, that’s all.”

  He furrows his brow—realizing he’s said too much—and walks faster, just ahead of me, leaving me to walk alone.

  I watch him move—and Chris—and I wonder how it is that two such different men could care about me so deeply. The realization that Chris will forever struggle with losing the innocent, naïve Cassidy Hart and that Uriah readily embraces the new, hardened woman in her place is not lost on me.

  In my heart, I know that it’s not just Chris I love.

  Uriah will always have a piece of my soul—a piece of my existence. Despite his past, and his secrets from me, he has never done me wrong. He is loyal, true, and he gets me. When this war is over, and when Chris and I are finally married, I will say goodbye to Uriah and he will walk out of my life forever.

  The thought pierces me like a knife.

  Am I ready for that? And if I’m not, what does that mean?

  It means you care, I think. It means that the old Cassidy Hart isn’t gone. Not really.

  That cheers me up, the knowledge that despite what people think, the young, fun-loving, and sarcastic teenage girl is inside me still. The sensitive girl who once accidentally ran over a cat on the way home from school and cried for hours.

  The girl who loved her father and reading books and watching late-night television.

  That girl is not dead.

  That girl has simply grown up.

  ***

  The island is small, but without vehicles it takes time to pick our way through the wildlife that has reclaimed this slice of paradise. Trees, grass, and shrubs have grown over roads and highways, almost hiding them from sight. Cars are littered everywhere, twisted with foliage and dissolving back into the earth.

  We follow Haku and Lani north. We don’t see any signs of the Ku, and I’m grateful for that—but I imagine we will later. But that won’t matter because we will have the might of Admiral Boyd’s fleet. We will have our footing again.

  “Hey, check it out,” Devin grins, pointing ahead.

  He has been so quiet this trip that I have barely noticed him here. I think about what Chris said, that Devin helped him through some of the hardest moments of his life. There’s so much I don’t know about him.

  Ahead, a small, one-lane road twists and curves through the side of the mountain. The trees are so thick, I can’t even see the sky. Birds flutter and move above our heads, an echoing cacophony of twittering and white noise. Aside from the birds, there is nothing but the sound of the wind blowing through the leaves and the ocean washing against the shore in the distance.

  Chris holds up a fist.

  “We’ll rest for a few minutes,” he says. “Hydrate, eat. Then we’ll move on.”

  No one argues. We’ve been walking for hours, and the pause is greatly needed. I sit on a fallen tree, taking a deep drink from my canteen. The rain has cleared up and it’s sunny again—and as humid as ever. I douse my face and neck in cool water and close my eyes.

  “Mind if I sit?” Chris asks.

  “Of course not,” I say.

  He folds his hands between his knees, rings of sweat darkening his shirt.

  “What you did with the Ku—” he begins.

  “Was necessary. I’m tired of handling everything with kid gloves.” I frown. “Those people are savages. Sometimes you have to be harsh or they don’t get the message.”

  Chris raises an eyebrow.

  “I wasn’t going to accuse you of anything,” he says slowly. “You’re right—they are savage. And, hopefully, the Prophet will pay attention to the message that he got from that.”

  “You’re not angry with me? Or disappointed? Or traumatized that I killed people?” I smirk. “For the millionth time?”

  “I detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice, sweetheart,” Chris replies.

  “Oops. Didn’t realize I’d let that slip.”

  Chris smiles.

  “I’m saying everything’s fine,” he goes on. “With us, I mean. Everything’s fine.”

  I absently brush my hair away from my face, confused at his statement.

  “Was something not fine before?” I ask.

  “No. I just mean—I’m going to let her go, Cassie.”

  “Who?”

  “You. The old you. I’m going to let her go, like I should have a long time ago.”

  Something fragile breaks inside me when he says this.

  “The old me is not gone,” I reply, firm. “She’s just changed.”

  Chris sighs.

  “Yeah. I know.”

  I look around us—the rest of the group is resting a good distance behind us, and we have a little privacy. That’s a good thing because I’m about to explode.

  “God, what is wrong with you, Chris?” I demand, standing up. “You keep complaining that I’ve changed—that I’m different, like the Cassidy Hart that you fell in love with is dead! She’s not dead! I’m the same person! Does it bother you that I’m not some petite dewdrop that needs rescuing every five minutes anymore? Does it bother you that I’m capable and that I can take care of myself?”

  I exhale, flushed, angry.

  “I just don’t get it,” I say. “We go through this, over and over again, and either you accept me for who I am, or you don’t. Make a choice, because I’m sick of feeling guilty because I’ve done the unthinkable in your eyes.”

  “What is so unthinkable, Cassidy?” Chris asks. His expression is calm, but his voice is tight.

  “I grew up,” I answer.

  Chris presses his thumb against his forehead, clearly holding back.

  “Just say it,” I tell him. “Be straight with me.”

  “I love you,” he says simply.

  I think you loved the old me a lot more,I think. Isn’t that true?

  “You love the idea of me,” I say.

  Chris stares at me, but he doesn’t reply.

  I am shaking with fury—at Chris’s inability to let me be my own person without making me feel guilty, at the way that he can get under my skin, at the way that I have changed and that it does bother me.

  I hold up my hands and walk away, needing some space.

  As I do, I catch a glimpse of Uriah sitting in silence, watching us, a hint of satisfaction on his face.

  For a moment, I hate him for it.

  Chapter Thriteen

  Hilo Tropical Botanical Garden

  We’re here—the place where we should find Mike Randall. Lani and Haku have led us right to it, and despite
my irritation with Lani herself, I’m glad they both came along. Their guidance on this island has been helpful.

  “Damn,” Manny exclaims, slapping his neck. “If one more of these bloody mosquitoes bite me, I’m going to start taking pot shots at them with my rifle.”

  “Sure, great idea,” Elle deadpans.

  She kneels to allow Bravo to hydrate from his own water bottle. The poor dog must be dying in this humidity.

  The small road is completely overgrown with foliage, and we have spent the last two hours hacking our way through the trees and bushes. We break through the greenery and we see it: a fence surrounding an empty parking lot, and on the edge of the asphalt, a small, worn building. There is a sign that reads, Hilo Tropical Botanical Garden. Despite the sunshine, it’s almost dark enough to be night, tucked into the jungle.

  The gate that surrounds the entire property is shut. The house itself looks abandoned, but I see signs of life: a bucket of water sitting outside the door, windows that have been nailed over with slats of wood, and a trip wire running almost invisibly across the entrance to the parking lot.

  “This is it,” Chris breathes.

  He hasn’t spoken directly to me since our argument a few hours ago, and I’m too stubborn and angry to break the ice.

  “No wonder nobody can find him,” Manny remarks. “You practically have to be an Iron Man triathlete to find your way back here.”

  “What do we do?” Vera says. “Knock?”

  “I don’t know,” Elle mutters.

  Bravo growls softly and then barks.

  “What is it, boy?” Elle asks, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

  I walk toward the gate, stepping carefully over the trip wire, and hoist myself over the iron fencing. The rest of the team follows my lead, and we move cautiously across the parking lot toward the building.

  Gift Shop,says the sign above the front door.

  That’s when I see the bloody fingerprints on the metal handle, and a sinking feeling hits my stomach. Uriah notices what I see, too, and his expression darkens.

  He kicks in the door and we cover him, moving swiftly into the room behind him.

  Everything inside is dark and dusty. The remnants of gift shop items litter musty shelves and tables. A cash register has been dumped on the floor. A hallway stretches through the building to the left, and I follow it, keeping my rifle on my shoulder.