by Summer Lane
As we pull out of the parking lot, onto the battle-scarred road, I am overcome with a profound sense of premonition. I try to shake the negative vibe, but it lingers as we hit Highway 101, southbound toward Monterey.
I want to talk to Chris about it, but now is not the time. I am on my own with this one.
The convoy keeps rolling, maintaining a steady travel time.
“Trouble ahead, Commander,” the driver says.
I take my gaze from the side window and direct it through the windshield. We are not in the front of the convoy, so I can’t see what is right in front of us. I crane my neck to see ahead of us, and I glimpse movement down the highway.
Great.
The radio crackles with activity.
“We’ve got possible rogue elements on the road ahead,” comes the report. It’s Vera. “We’re driving through, no stopping.”
Our driver tightens his grip on the wheel. Uriah releases the bolt on his rifle and tucks the stock into his shoulder. I hold my weapon, too, nervous tension tightening my muscles, sharpening my instincts.
“Omega?” Chris says into the radio.
“No. Rogue militia, maybe. Can’t tell. There’s only two people.”
“Two people?” Chris slams the radio speaker down. “Don’t stop,” he tells the driver. “No matter what. Keep going.”
We come to a small hill. The freeway curves over the knoll, giving me just enough of a view of the road before us so I can glimpse the enemy in our path. There are two pickup trucks. There is one on each side of the freeway. Two men wearing dark clothing and strips of black cloth wrapped around their heads are standing just in sight to the side of the freeway.
“Oh, my god,” I say. “It’s an ambush.”
Chris grabs the radio. “Get us out of here fast,” he says.
The convoy suddenly lurches forward. Usually a convoy moves along at pretty slow speeds – about fifteen to twenty miles per hour – but we are now speeding along, scenery flashing by the window. I brace myself.
There are six vehicles ahead of us in the lineup. I have been cleverly hidden in a dark suburban that looks like three other transports in this convoy. The first two vehicles to pass between the two pickup trucks explode.
“They’ve got triggers in the road!” Elle screams. “Stop the car!!”
The Humvee in front erupts, a fiery mass hurtling down the road. Our driver veers out of the lineup, throwing us all into the door of the Suburban, slamming on the brakes. The vehicle nearly tips sideways as he spins us into a U-turn. Another vehicle is hit.
“They’ve booby-trapped the road!” Elle yells. “Back up, back up!”
We’re trying. Most of the convoy has spun around, putting distance between the detonations and us. But honestly…there could be explosives hidden anywhere in the road, right?
We back away. Our driver spins the wheels on the Suburban, leaving black marks on the cement. My heart races as I grasp the door handle to keep from being flung to the other side of the vehicle. Elle looks at me, then at Chris.
“We’ve got to go around,” she says.
“The entire highway should have been secure,” Chris replies. “We had people check.” He looks at me. “We can’t deviate from our route. It will take too long, and there are too many risks.”
I lock gazes with Chris.
“We’ve got to push through,” I say. “We don’t have a choice.”
I look out the window. I can see Manny’s biplane flying watch over the convoy. “Get Manny on the radio,” I say. “He’s got a better visual on what’s going on down here than we do.”
Elle snaps her eyes up.
“Do you want me to check the road with Bravo?” she says. “That’s what we do. We can find the bomb triggers for you.”
I shake my head.
“Not yet. Let’s see what we’re dealing with first.”
Chris grabs the radio and contacts Manny. The connection is rife with static and the background noise of the wind whipping around the biplane.
“Manny, give me a visual,” Chris commands.
“You’ve got about a dozen unfriendly rogues on the east side of the freeway,” Manny replies, his voice crackling. “I don’t see any more than that. You’ve got more than enough manpower to take them out, but it’s the road I’m worried about. There could be more bombs.”
“We’ve already lost two vehicles,” I mutter.
Uriah shakes his head. “We can’t stop. They’ll fire on us. We have to take them out, then let Elle check the road with Bravo.”
“We’re not doing that,” I state. “We can’t stop for anything. That’s what they want us to do. They’re trying to take us all out at the same time.” I grab the radio and open my map. “We can take this side road through the coastal foothills and connect with the highway later on. It will take longer, but it will be away from the main drag. We can avoid this mess.”
“Manny,” I continue. “I’ve got a map in my hands and I see a way out of this. We’re going to backtrack to Dinosaur Point Road and take it through the hills. We can hook back up with the highway. I want you to fly ahead and keep us posted on what you see. If you see anything – even the wind blow through the trees – I want to know about it.”
“You got it, Commander,” Manny replies. “Hang tight and let me lead the way.”
I spin the map around and place my finger on a little road that winds through the hills, joining back up later with Highway 156 and Highway 101 – both viable routes into Monterey.
“We have no choice,” I say again.
Chris nods. He picks up the radio and informs the rest of the convoy of our decision. There is no argument. We will take the back roads. Manny will inform us of any activity further down the road.
My heart sinks into my stomach at the realization that at least two vehicles were blown up. At least a dozen people were killed. Vera and Sophia are okay, but there are already casualties. And we haven’t even started negotiations yet.
Chapter Six
“There she is,” Uriah mutters, whistling softly. “Beautiful.”
The ocean. It is a clear, sunny day. The white sand dunes are sparkling against the backdrop of the vast, blue Pacific Ocean. I haven’t been to the seashore in at least a year – and certainly not since the EMP and Omega invasion.
“Wow,” I breathe. “It’s stunning.”
The highway here is wide and empty, parallel to the beach. In the distance, the Monterey Peninsula is clearly visible, jutting into the harbor like the tip of a half moon. Old beachside hotels line the freeway. There are military checkpoints at regular intervals. We have spent hours navigating through the back roads, connecting with Highway 156 and southbound Highway 101, avoiding ambushes and potential problem areas. Manny has been flying in front of our convoy all day, keeping us updated on ground activity.
I touch Chris’s knee and force a smile. A bit of the tension between us dissipates. With each near-death experience, we are reminded that even if we are having difficulties in our relationship – we are glad to be alive, and we are still a team. It is an encouragement to me, even during these hard times.
I lean close to the window, almost pressing my nose against the glass as we enter the city limits. The convoy rumbles to the right-hand side of the road and we take an exit onto Del Monte. We roll through the city.
There is a jogging trail and pretty, overgrown parks. We pass three more checkpoints. There are National Guardsmen and militiamen and women everywhere, in the parks, near the buildings. The streetlights have been replaced with military intersections, with National Guard troops directing traffic, waving us through to what’s called the “staging area” for our convoy.
The road curves, and a long wrought-iron fence becomes visible. A thrill of excitement and raw anxiety shoots through me.
This is where the next chapter begins.
The convoy rolls around the curve in the road. We come to a gated entrance. The compound is surrounded with thick, green trees. I see an on-base
military store and gas station, a post-office with glass windows and a large manmade pond swarming with noisy geese.
The convoy halts. We pass another checkpoint at the front guardhouse. National Guardsmen check the vehicles and ask for the identification of our senior officers. One of the younger soldiers makes eye contact with me through the window. He smiles slightly before turning away.
“They’re happy you’re here,” Uriah mutters.
“They’re happy we’re here,” I correct.
Uriah gives me a strange look and the convoy moves forward. The gate opens and we roll into a large parking lot, heavily shrouded with more of the same trees – sweet smelling coastal pines, palms and oaks. The convoy stops. The engines shut off.
It’s time to go.
Uriah holds the door open for me as I climb outside, into the clear sunlight. The air is clean. I smell the salty spray of the ocean in the wind.
Chris takes my arm and turns me toward him.
“No matter what happens,” he says quietly, “we’re a team.”
I open my mouth to reply, but I am interrupted by a harsh, “Chris Young?”
Chris removes his hand from my arm and we both look at a man approaching us. He’s tall – almost as tall as Chris – with blonde hair. His hair is so blonde, it’s nearly white. He’s dressed in dark fatigues and a blue shirt that says: SEALS.
“Devin?” Chris says.
The man stops and salutes us. Chris nods respectfully, following military protocol. And then a huge, sincere smile spreads across his face. “Devin! Son of a gun!”
He embraces the man and they start laughing. I trade a blank glance with Uriah. He shrugs. Vera, Andrew, Sophia and Elle come around the back of the convoy just in time to glimpse the two men hugging.
“I can’t believe you’re here, man,” the guy says.
“Yeah, neither can I,” Chris replies. He takes a step back and gestures to me. “Devin, this is Cassidy Hart. Cassie, this is Devin May. We went through SEAL training together.”
“Oh, back in the old days, huh?” I quip.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Devin says, taking my hand. “You always knew how to pick up a lady, Chris.” He mock kisses my hand. “This is your team?” He nods at Uriah and the rest of the crew.
“Most of them,” Chris answers.
“Well, welcome to the Naval Postgraduate School of Monterey,” Devin answers. He looks powerful, strong and…loud. “I’m Lieutenant May, but you can call me Devin, Senator.” He winks at me. “We’re going to keep you safe and sound here for the Negotiations with the Pacific Northwest Alliance, and lucky for you, I’ve been assigned to make sure you find your way around the compound without getting lost.”
“I’ve spent too much time here to get lost,” Chris replies, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t tell my superior officer that,” Devin says. “It’s a need-to-know kind of thing, don’t you think?”
I laugh.
“Okay, let’s move this party inside,” Devin says, serious. “The building’s interior is a lot safer than out here.”
“This entire city is secure,” Sophia suddenly says. “Who’s going to hurt us inside the Naval compound?”
Devin gives her a look.
“You should know better, soldier,” he answers.
I can’t disagree with that.
As we turn away from the convoy, I notice for the first time the beautiful white barrack buildings on each side of us. It’s structured like a fortress. Two buildings on each side, and in the middle, a central edifice with white, Spanish-style pillars and steps. I like it already.
“How many times have you been here?” I ask Chris.
His mood seems to have temporarily lifted, thanks to Devin’s appearance.
“Many times,” he replies.
“That’s an understatement,” Devin cuts in. “Chris and I used to hang out at Cannery Row at night. Remember, man? Those were the days.”
Chris doesn’t answer.
“Man, when they told me you’d be coming here, I couldn’t believe it was you,” Devin continues. “I mean, I’d heard about your work with the militias, but I didn’t think I’d see you again. Since the invasion, the world’s been cut down. I never see people I used to know anymore.”
Tell me about it.
We keep walking through the open courtyard between the barracks.
“This big building in the center here is called Herrmann Hall,” Devin explains, falling into step with me. “It used to be called the Del Monte Hotel before the military took it over, and then it was the on-base lodging center for Navy families and visiting SEALS like me and your boyfriend here.” He shakes his head. “Since everything went down, we’ve been using it as Headquarters in addition to lodging.”
“Are any other representatives here yet?” I ask.
“Yeah, we’ve got the reps from Oregon and Washington here,” Devin replies. “We’re still waiting on Mexico. They should be here by tonight.” Then he asks, “You’re a little young to be a senator, aren’t you? What are you…seventeen? Eighteen?”
Chris starts laughing. It’s a good sound – I’ve missed it.
“She’s twenty, Devin,” he chuckles.
“Huh.” Devin shrugs. “You don’t look it.”
I sigh.
We climb the steps into Herrmann Hall. The door is arched. Inside, I’m struck with the unique, old-fashioned vibe of the building. It’s beautiful. Dark flooring, light walls, and a wooden concierge desk. Navy officers and National Guards are manning the area. Those that are sitting down stand up immediately as Chris and I enter the room.
“As you were,” Chris says, tilting his head.
I am used to this, so I don’t flush with embarrassment like I would have in the past. Devin smirks and walks to the front desk, where a young man in the dark blue camouflage of a Navy uniform greets us.
“Tell the reps from Oregon and Washington that California just arrived,” Devin says. “This way, Senator.”
He gestures to a long, ornate hallway. The Spanish tile and blue carpet running down the center resembles the long walk into a throne room. It makes me a little uneasy.
“I’ll show you where you’ll be staying while you’re here,” Devin tells me. “Both of you. If the representative from Mexico gets here on time, we should be able to hold Negotiations as soon as tonight.”
“How are the Naval forces holding up here?” Chris asks.
“Couldn’t be better at the moment,” Devin replies. “Monterey is among the most secure military strongholds on the west coast. Omega won’t touch it right now. Their forces are concentrated down south.”
We reach the end of the hall. The main stairwell extends above us. I feel like I’m inside a castle. We climb the carpeted stairs to the next level. Up here, the halls are narrower and lit with generator-powered lights. Devin walks to the center of the hall. There are two doors.
“One room for you,” he tells Chris, “and one for the Senator. Your security detail can still do its thing. We’ve secured the entire base. The Navy’s protecting the city on the water, and the National Guard is protecting the city on the ground. You’ll be safe here.”
I raise an eyebrow.
Safe is a relative term, anymore.
“Thank you,” I say.
Devin gives me a key – it’s old fashioned, metal. I slide it into the lock in the door on the right and open it. The room is lovely, Spanish style like the rest of the building. There is a bed, chair, table and a bathroom. Wide windows overlook the huge, open courtyard between the two major halls of the connected buildings.
“We’ll notify you immediately when the representative from Mexico arrives,” Devin promises. “Do you have any questions? Anything you might need?”
I share a brief glance with Chris.
There’s nothing that I need right now, aside from rest.
“We’re set,” Chris replies. “But can I talk to you for a minute, Devin?”
De
vin nods.
Andrew, Vera, Sophia, Elle and Bravo leave the room. Chris slips into the outer hall with Devin. I close the door behind them, walking to the window again. The courtyard is full of soldiers and military vehicles. It is a well-organized operation. And, unlike Sacramento, it seems to be impenetrable.
We’ll see how long that lasts.
The meeting room looks as scary as a battlefield. A long, narrow room stretches before me, huge windows covered with thick curtains. A table stretches the length of the space, modern and dark. There are thirty swiveling chairs. Chairs also line the walls of the room. The ceiling is swirling with ornate designs in burnt oranges, deep reds and gold tones. There are armed guards every few feet in the room. A huge American flag is hanging above a large piece of artwork at the opposite end of the table.
I take a deep breath.
Chris is standing behind my shoulder. Uriah, Vera, Andrew, Sophia and Devin May are to my right, remaining in a standing position. The table is relatively empty. Only four people, along with their armed escorts, are here.
I’m wearing black combat fatigues and a jacket, hair pulled tightly into a bun, armed with a handgun and a knife strapped to my hip. I walk to the table, nod at the representatives, and take a seat. There is no friendly banter or introduction. I simply sit down in the chair behind the CALIFORNIA placard.
Chris takes a seat in one of the chairs at the edges of the room. There are plenty of people gathered, listening and watching. Naval commanders, National Guard Officers, security details, armed guardsmen and militia leaders.
“Welcome, Representatives, to the Negotiations.” A tall black woman with short hair is standing at the head of the table. “I am Commander Jen Amal, leader of the California coastal militia group Seahawks. I will be the presiding mediator for these negotiations. Thank you to the Representatives who have made the long and dangerous journey to Monterey to engage in these discussions.”
A beat of silence. A bead of sweat slips down my temple.
I do not show my fear. I keep my hands folded. I am the picture of calm.
Commander Amal gestures to a short, stocky man with a gray beard. His placard says OREGON. “Senator Ken Thrawn, Commander of the Oregon militia group Titans.” He nods respectfully, and I notice that his left hand has been amputated. “Senator Nathaniel Mero, Commander of the Washington militia group Red Fox,” Amal continues, nodding at a younger man with long brown hair and a scarred, beaten face.
