by Summer Lane
I don’t trust him.
“What about you, Ling?” Uriah asks. “You have a good reason for this?”
“Omega killed my family,” he replies. “They murdered my children—twin girls—and took my wife from me, forced her into slavery for the Omega elitists. They destroyed my life. And then, they took me, too. They told me that I was expected to be a pilot. They recruited me as part of an operation called Athena Strike. I had no choice—they would have killed me if I refused.”
“Oh, my God,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”
“There are many stories like mine.” Ling sighs. “They took everything from me, and then expected me to zealously fight for their cause. I am done—Omega deserves nothing but destruction. I wish to defect and come into the militia ranks of the western world.”
“And you like Harry?” Uriah asks, incredulous.
“Nobody likes Harry,” Ling replies. “But we have mutual interests. This is my chance to get away, this is his chance to get revenge. That is all.”
Ling’s words are direct and simple—no hesitation.
I believe him, I believe his story. But I don’t believe Harry.
“Tell us what you know about Athena Strike,” Chris says.
“It is the final invasion,” Ling replies gravely. “Millions of Chinese foot soldiers are meant to arrive in California in a matter of six weeks. It was meant to happen months ago, but the California militias and the Pacific Northwest Alliance kept delaying our troop movements.”
I feel a bit of pride when he says that.
Yes, we are effective. You bet.
“Before the Great War, I knew nothing about Omega,” Ling continues. “Most people didn’t. We were recruited and told to fight. We had no choice. But I know so much about who they are and why they fight. I could offer your forces valuable information about their fleet and their leaders.”
“We’ll be glad to get anything we can,” Chris says. “Welcome to the fight, Ling.”
There is a note of amusement in his voice. Chris, like me, has respect for people that have lost everything and still choose to rise above their tragedies and fight.
“The final invasion is happening in six weeks?” Uriah echoes. “They’ll never get that far.”
“Why?” Harry replies, snide. “There are millions of them—there are so few of you.”
“For someone who just defected, you sound pretty defensive about Omega,” I snap.
“I’m simply stating a fact. Just because I’ve defected doesn’t mean I don’t know the score. Trust me—when you’ve seen what I’ve seen …” He lowers his voice. “You really don’t stand a chance.”
We stay in the tube until the threat of being detected by drones has passed. We leave the small caverns behind and cut a straight line through the forest. If we’re near Honokaa, that means we only narrowly missed the RV with Boyd.
I can only hope that somebody from our team made it there.
“So, what’s the plan?” Uriah asks.
“We head back to Fort Pohokuloa,” Chris says. “We find Hanale, and we use his radio to contact Boyd and the fleet. We’ll stop Omega from carrying out Athena Strike.”
“What good will that do?” Harry spits. “Even warning the California militias won’t save them. All they can do is flee.”
I crash to a halt and whirl around, jabbing my fist into Harry’s face. My hand connects with his nose, and I feel the bone crack. Broken. He screams, stumbling backward, landing squarely on his butt.
“You listen to me!” I yell. “You are only alive because we have allowed you to live. If you want to continue to breathe, keep your mouth shut.”
Harry stares at me, blood running from his nose, a mix of anger and hatred flashing in his eyes, tears of pain pooling in his eyes.
I keep walking, leaving him behind. Only a while later does he finally pick himself up off the ground and follow us, moaning quietly about his broken nose.
***
The sun slowly rises. It takes hours to pick our way through the jungle. Oriented now that I know where we are, I follow the curve of the island to help us break free of the Waimea Valley. We stumble across a washed-out, muddy road and follow it carefully. It winds uphill for a long distance until we at last come to the crest of a lookout. A stone wall is erected here—along with abandoned tourist posters and a couple of rusted vehicles reclaimed by the island.
Waipio Valley Lookout, the sign reads.
I see the valley where we landed—a lush, green paradise nestled between dazzling, mighty cliffs that front the Pacific Ocean. Ahead of us, a steep concrete staircase leads to the road, where trees and houses line each side of the small tourist highway.
“Almost there,” I say.
We climb the stairs, hit the road, and stick to the shadows of the trees. It is chilling to know that Omega’s fleet is hovering somewhere in the Pacific, but so is Admiral Boyd’s fleet. We are evenly matched, despite what Veronica told us.
Harry drags along behind us, reluctantly peeling off layers of clothing—first his jacket, then his long sleeve shirt, leaving him with only pants and a thin cotton tee-shirt. His nose is black and blue, and his face is streaked with crusted blood trails.
Serves him right.
I occasionally glance behind to watch him, moving slowly onward, a look of misery and frustration on his face. Red, angry scars line the skin of his arms. Many of those same scars trail all the way to his neck, dissolving into the shirt.
What did Veronica do to him? I wonder.
Perhaps she tortured him after the San Francisco incident. Harry had been terrified of her wrath—he had insisted that Veronica would believe Harry himself had been the one to lead my team to Red Grove, which ultimately led to the assassination of every member of Omega’s Western Council.
Omega will drive you mad in the end, I think.
Maybe Harry has finally realized this.
I shake myself—it doesn’t matter. Harry is not my friend, and he never will be. His atrocious crimes against humanity have caused nothing but pain and death to the people that I love. I cannot look at him without feeling every single hurt and loss all over again, like fresh wounds.
Eventually, we come to the small tourist trap of Honokaa. It is abandoned, like everything else on this island. There are two strips of buildings on each side of the street—an empty shaved ice shop, several gift stores, a jewelry display that has been looted, and two gas stations with burnt, blackened pumps.
“We have to protect Ohana Base,” I whisper to Chris. “If Omega finds it—if Veronica gets her hands on it … it really will be the end.”
He nods in agreement.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” he replies. “Eventually, they’ll find the base. They know we were here for something important—and it won’t take them long to figure out what it—”
“Wait,” I interrupt, holding my hand up.
I hear a chopper.
“Get under the eaves of the building!” I yell. “Hurry!”
The helicopter gets louder, the thunderous beat of its blades shaking the ground under our feet. We dive for cover under the awning of a gift shop, pressing our backs against the wall.
Please don’t see us. Please don’t see us. Please don’t see us.
The chopper rumbles overhead, and I see it flash by in the sky above us.
“That’s a Black Hawk!” I exclaim. “That’s one of ours!”
Hope fills my chest.
I run forward, following the path of the Black Hawk as it cuts through the sky, roaring over the tiny town of Honokaa, heading southeast.
I expose myself in the middle of the road, waving my hands and desperately hoping that someone will see us. This is our ticket out of here—our way back to Boyd, our opportunity to warn him …
But the chopper doesn’t see us. It’s too late.
I look at Chris, frustrated and disappointed.
“That Black Hawk means they’re looking for us,” Uriah surmises.
<
br /> “Boyd said he’d assume we were dead …” I begin, but I trail off.
More Black Hawks slowly appear on the horizon, moving toward us. I stand in the center of the street, waving my hands. Tears of relief and gratitude stream down my face as they fly overhead.
We have been spotted.
Thank God.
Chapter Eighteen
So much has changed so quickly.
One of the Black Hawks picks us up, taking us back to Pohokuloa on the west side of the Big Island. We fly over the dense rain clouds of Waimea Valley. From the sky, I see the snow at the summit of the volcano, along with the observation buildings.
We touch down at the fort on the airstrip.
As soon as we hit the ground, we pour out of the chopper and head toward the center of the base. There are people everywhere—Hawaiian militiamen are mixed with regular militia and seamen. The airstrip is full of Black Hawks, and I can clearly see Boyd’s entire naval fleet anchored off the coastline.
From the largest building on the edge of camp, Admiral Boyd emerges. He quickly approaches us, ashen gray, circles beneath his eyes.
“Thank God you’re alive!” he exclaims.
“You’ve taken control of the island,” I state. “Why?”
As soon as the question rolls off my lips, the door to the barracks opens and Elle steps out, followed by Em, Vera, and Devin.
“Cassidy!” Elle and Vera exclaim at once.
Elle and Vera pull me into a hug—one that Vera quickly brushes aside. Em Davis touches my shoulder, and I embrace her.
“Thank God you’re all alive,” I say. Then, looking around, I ask, “Where’s Manny?”
Elle’s face darkens.
“Long story,” she replies. “Not good.”
My stomach sinks.
Devin hugs Chris and shakes hands with Uriah. Even I hug Devin.
“So, you know?” I ask Boyd. “About Ohana?”
“Yes. About—” Admiral Boyd stares at Harry. “What, may I ask, is a District Prefect doing here? And an Omega pilot?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, echoing Elle’s own words. “The pilot’s with us. I don’t trust Harry.”
“Harry Lydell?” Boyd spits. “Veronica’s personal lapdog?”
Harry stiffens.
“Watch your mouth,” Harry warns.
“Shut up, Harry,” Uriah commands.
Harry shuts up.
“Come inside quickly,” Boyd says. “We have no time to waste.”
We follow him into the building. I feel as if we’re moving in a massive blur of light and sound. Everything is happening so quickly—too quickly. Information, escape. One thing after another, like a series of gunshots that won’t stop.
The barracks have been completely cleared.
There is nothing in here except for a couple of tables and maps scattered everywhere.
“We arrived at the RV point, as we discussed,” Boyd says. “You weren’t there, but the rest of your team was. They told us everything.”
“Hang on,” I say.
I nod at Harry and Ling.
“Somebody keep an eye on those two,” I suggest.
“I’ll do it,” Em volunteers.
She takes them outside, removing them from the circle of top secret information.
“Where’s Desmond?” I ask. “Where’s Silas Richter?”
“We have extracted Silas Richter and he is being treated for cancer aboard the Roberta. Desmond is at Ohana. I have a team of men there. We’re going to move the weapons onboard our nuclear submarines. Disperse them, keep them hidden.”
“You’d better move fast,” I say.
And then we explain how we were captured, how Veronica has been watching the island with her drones, and how the Athena Fleet is probably no more than a few hundred miles off the coast of Hawaii.
“I suspected as much,” Boyd replies, placing both fists on the table. “God willing, we can get those nukes transferred before the Chancellor’s strike fleet gets any closer to the island. They won’t hesitate to attack us, now that we’ve made port here.”
“Good,” I say. “Now, where’s Manny?”
“Manny’s been captured by the Ku,” Elle replies gravely.
“What?”
“And so was Lani, Hanale, and Haku.” Elle lowers her gaze. “When you were captured, we went on to the RV point. We had to. We came back here, to the fort. Hanale was here, and he was angry—I thought he was going to kill Lani for what she did, running off with us. But the Ku attacked. It was brutal.”
“It was a retaliatory attack,” Devin explains. “There were about three hundred fighters. A lot of the Hawaiian militia was killed yesterday. Hanale, Lani, Haku, Manny, and some others were taken as POWs.”
I hold my head in my hands.
This can’t be happening.
“I moved my forces onto the island shortly after the attack,” Admiral Boyd tells us. “Because of the nukes, I was forced to take control of the island. I couldn’t risk the Ku getting their hands on the weapons once it was confirmed that they were, in fact, hidden here.”
“Can you get the nukes out of there fast enough?” I ask.
“God willing, we can.”
“We’ve gotta rescue the POWs,” I say. “I have to get my men away from the Ku.”
“Immediately,” Chris agrees.
“There are thousands of Ku fighters in Hilo,” Boyd replies. “It would be impossible.”
“I’m not leaving them there to die,” I insist.
And I will never leave Manny behind. Never.
“You understand that if we can get these nuclear weapons moved off the island,” Boyd goes on, his tone impatient, “that it could mean we have the upper hand for once? We can immediately strike at the enemy, or at least have a powerful bargaining chip. That should be our priority.”
“That’s your priority now,” I correct. “We’ve done our part. We completed the mission. Now we’re going to go after those POWs while we still have a chance.”
“The Athena Strike Fleet is moving closer with every moment,” Boyd growls. “They could attack at any time. Once we extract the nukes, we’re leaving this island behind. There’s no point to establishing a naval stronghold here with the Athena Fleet so close.”
“That’s a risk we’ll have to take.” I lift my chin. “You focus on your job, Admiral, and we’ll worry about getting our men out of harm’s way.”
Admiral Boyd says nothing.
I look to Chris, and we both move.
There is no time to waste.
***
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
The clock is ticking down. The Athena Strike Fleet looms ever closer, threatening to dump Chinese foot soldiers onto the shores of Hawaii. All the while, Admiral Boyd’s men feverishly work to move the nuclear weapons to the submarines.
I grab weapons, supplies, body armor, and new boots from the barracks. Andrew is reunited with us, and somewhere in the mess of people at the fort, Cheng is here, too, along with the full force of the Mad Monks, including Father Kareem and Sister Leslie. After completing search and rescue on the mainland, they joined Boyd onboard the Roberta, apparently, which brought them to the island as well. We are all together again, and we are all devoted to one mission: rescuing our friends.
I refuse to let Manny—or anyone else—die at the hands of the Ku.
“So, what’s the plan, then?” Vera asks. “We just ride into Hilo, guns blazing, grab our people, and get out? According to the intel that we’ve been getting all week, there are way more Ku fighters there than we could possibly take on.”
“Boyd has aircraft,” I say. “They can drop us in.”
“The Ku are savage,” Elle replies quietly. “If they capture us, there won’t be any interrogation or holding cell. They’ll kill us. They’ll sacrifice us. That’s what anarchists like that do.”
She speaks from experience—her run-ins with an anarchist gang that ruled Los Angeles, a group of savag
es called the Klan.
“I know,” I tell her, firm. “We just have to do it quickly and do it correctly.”
“Here,” Andrew says, scurrying into the room. He’s holding a map. “I’ve been studying the layout of the island since we got here and piecing together information to form some sort of cohesive intel briefing. The Ku are concentrated in downtown Hilo, yes. But their base of operations is at the Hilo Airport. If our guys are still alive, then they’ll be holding them there.” He looks at Vera. “I talked to some men on base here at the fort—some of them have seen it. They know for a fact that that’s where the Ku keep prisoners.”
“Excellent work, Andrew,” Chris applauds.
“So, we go in at night?” I ask.
“We don’t have time to wait for nightfall,” Elle says. “Omega is just offshore and we have no idea what the Ku will do with the POWs. Knowing them, they’ll probably sacrifice them to the volcano like everybody else.”
I open my mouth to speak, but the door slams open.
“Hey,” Devin says, bursting in. “We just got a message from the Ku. They sent a scout.”
Chris and I exchange suspicious glances. We follow Devin into the bright sunshine, the perfect warmth and blooming color of the island almost enough to hide the tension here.
Almost.
We enter Admiral Boyd’s makeshift HQ, where he is sitting at the table, and a Ku scout stands between two militiamen. He’s a young, dark-skinned boy with long black hair. He’s very handsome, wearing little more than tattered rags as clothes.
Chris and I stand in front of the scout, next to the Admiral.
“Go ahead,” Boyd says. “Tell them what you’ve told me.”
The boy licks his lips. His hands are shaking.
What have the Ku done to this child?
“The Prophet wishes for me to give you a message,” the boy says, his voice unsteady. “He says to tell you that we have taken your men and we will spill their blood, the same way you spilled the blood of my men. There is but one way to save them. Come to me, give yourself up to me, and I will allow them to live. Many lives exchanged for one.”
“Which one of us?” I ask. “Chris?”
The boy points his finger at me.
