by Summer Lane
Chris gives me a puzzled look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “Maybe it just means that I’m finally okay with who I am. With who I’ve become.”
Chris shrugs. “Yeah? Well, I’ve always been okay with it.”
I crack a wry grin.
“Why?” I ask.
“Why am I okay with your good aim and left hook?” he says.
“No!” I laugh. “Why are you okay with who I am? Who I was?”
Chris softly touches my hair, a boyish, demure expression on his face.
“Cassidy, you’re an amazing woman. I love you – everything about you.”
“But why?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Is this some kind of test that women make guys go through?”
“Consider this your final exam.” I smirk.
Chris shakes his head, but he finally answers.
“I don’t know, Cassie,” he says. “You’re just…real.” He places his hand on the small of my back, and I feel warmth spread through my chest. “You’re mine, and I love you for that.”
The breeze picks up, combing its cool, invisible fingers through my hair.
“I used to hate who I was,” I say quietly. “I was never good enough for myself.” I smile. “It’s like the apocalypse showed me what life was all about, you know? I became stronger. It changed me, but I’m glad it did.”
Chris kisses the side of my cheek.
“Honestly, I liked the innocent, naïve side of you,” Chris answers, “but I like this side of you, too. Like I said, I love you for all of it.”
The sunrise touches the edge of the city.
“I love you, too,” I say. “For all of it.”
*
The Naval Postgraduate School is no longer safe, so we meet in an old warehouse near Cannery Row. The tourist strip has been reduced to little more than twisted metal and smoldering piles of wreckage. It is sad to see it so ravaged, but that is what happens in war. Things get broken.
The warehouse is wide and cold. I stand near Chris. He keeps his arm around me as I button my dark jacket. Vera walks in. She has cleaned up, as have the rest of my friends. Uriah’s black hair is combed, slick and shiny. Elle enters with Bravo, and right behind her is Manny, clad in a leather jacket, his wild gray hair flying in all directions. But his expression is sober. He keeps one hand on Elle’s shoulder – she is his niece, and he has been very protective of her since their reunion just two days ago.
“There are reports,” Chris begins once everyone has gathered, “that Omega has a naval fleet of a hundred thousand men loitering offshore of the California coast.”
Anita Vega walks in through the door, flanked by guards.
“Those are not just reports or rumors,” she announces. “They are true. The Air Force has seen the ships. Omega is sending more.”
My heart drops to my stomach. I feel like the Titanic, hitting an iceberg and sinking to the bottom of the sea.
“So what we have here, ladies and gentlemen,” Manny says, “is an unstoppable wave of soldiers from around the world who are not only better armed than we are, but more organized, if only because they possess modern technology and we’re still using two tin cans and a piece of string.”
“We need more recruits,” I reply.
“It’s more than that, Commander Hart,” Anita interjects. “We need more weapons, more fighter jets, more naval vessels. We need nuclear bombs. We need to retaliate. Omega is attempting a total takeover of the North American and South American continents. They must be destroyed, and if the only way to eliminate them is by using an atomic bomb…then so be it.”
“Easy now,” Manny retorts. “You’re talking about starting a nuclear war. Notice that Omega hasn’t let any of their atomic bombs loose on us. Why? Because they want to use North America for something. They can’t do that if it’s steeped in radiation. That throws a wrench in their plans.”
“They are going to kill us all,” Vera hisses. “Don’t you see that? They have invaded our country, they’re killing our people, and they’re taking over. It’s time for extreme measures.”
“Whoa,” I reply, holding my hand up. “First of all, we don’t have any nuclear bombs at our disposal that I know of. And second of all, even if we did, who would we bomb? Omega is everywhere. They’re here. We can’t just bomb ourselves.”
“Start with China,” Vera states. “They’re the ones supplying the foot soldiers.”
“And then what? They nuke us back? Do you really want that, Vera?”
“I want them to pay.” She fists her hands. “Don’t you?”
“Of course I want them to pay,” I reply. “But I’d like to preserve our home in the process. That’s the whole point of this war – to protect and preserve, remember?”
The warehouse is wide and empty, and our voices echo off the walls.
“This isn’t about revenge,” Uriah says. “This is about survival.”
“Well, half of the council for the Pacific Northwest Alliance is dead,” Anita tells us, “either by assassination or in the Battle of Monterey. We are what’s left. All of us, the decision is ours. The Air Force and the National Guard is looking to us for a decision.”
The burden of that leadership weighs heavy on me. I feel like I can hardly breathe beneath the weight of it. The militia leaders – some of which are also senators, like myself – are the only remaining strong leadership on the west coast.
“What about the Senate in Sacramento?” I ask. “We have leadership there.”
“Hardly,” Devin says. He is standing in the back of the room – I hadn’t even noticed him walk in. “After the bombing on the Capitol, more than seventy percent of the Senate was wiped out. That was Omega’s intention – decapitate the leadership we created.”
“So it’s all on us now,” Vera replies.
“Correct.”
She curses under her breath.
I look at Chris, then I walk to a plastic table near the edge of the wall and pick up a stack of papers. “Do you know what these are?” I ask.
Everyone but Chris gives me a blank look.
“This is a list of the dead,” I answer. “The men and women that died in the Battle of Monterey.”
Silence.
“We need more recruits,” Chris picks up. “The militias are strong, but Omega is outnumbering us. Again. We’ve got to have more fighters.”
“Where are we going to get fighters from?” Anita demands. “I brought everyone from Mexico with me! The other militia groups are defending our coastline from further Omega invasion.”
“We’re spread too thin,” Uriah observes. “Like too little butter on toast.”
“Thank you for the analogy, Lieutenant True.” Anita rolls her eyes. “My point is – we have no way of contacting the rest of the country, and the west coast is already spent. We have nothing left to give. There are no more recruits to be recruited.”
I think of my days spent in the mountains, with the Mountain Rangers and Freedom Fighters. Our soldiers were salt of the earth people, former lawyers and schoolteachers and shop owners. They were not born fighters – they were made fighters. They were the survivors of the apocalypse.
So who is left to fight? Our supply of recruits is finite.
No, I think. There has to be more people. The Midwest? The East Coast?
I catch Chris’s eye.
What do we do? I think. What’s the next step?
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Manny interrupts, holding his hands up. “I hate to interrupt this highly intellectual argument; er, conversation. But I just got a radio message that we’ve got some important visitors arriving outside.”
We gather at the doorway, and in the distance, I see a helicopter slowly moving toward us. My defenses kick in and I tense.
“Omega messengers?” Uriah says.
“No,” Chris replies. “That’s not an Omega chopper.”
There is a landing strip that the militias have created – it is a strip of Highway 152, a long slab of concrete.
The helicopter is black. I can hear the steady beat that it makes as it slices through the air. There is a strange insignia painted on the side of the chopper – a green circle with a tree in the center.
“I’ve never seen that symbol before,” I say.
“Neither have I,” Vera agrees.
“It could be another militia,” Anita suggests.
I exchange glances with Chris.
“I don’t think so,” he says.
We watch as it lands in the distance.
I step out the door.
I want to be the first to find out who it is.
*
“Don’t even think about it,” I joke, laughing. I lift my bowl of stew high above my head, trying to escape Chris’s reach. He grabs it and holds it over his head now, chuckling heartily.
Andrew and Derek make a snide comment and several people near the campfire erupt into laughter. Chris grins and gives me the bowl. I playfully smack his arm, taking a seat on a blanket in the dirt.
We have been camping here for a few months now. My muscles are no longer sore from the war games. My aim is excellent. I have survived several ambushes and, for the first time in my life, I am confident that I am good at what I do.
“You’ve got short people problems,” Chris says, draping his arm behind my back, kissing the side of my cheek.
“Yeah, you’ve got tall people problems,” I remark. “Too bad, so sad.”
“Get a room, people, geez,” Derek snickers.
I toss a small rock at him. He catches it neatly in the palm of his hand.
“Nice one, Hart.”
I finish my stew. Chris is talking to Andrew. Mrs. Young is combing out Isabel’s long, unruly blonde hair. Jeff comes to the fire, his looks just as striking and handsome as his older brother’s. He joins in on the conversation.
Near the edge of camp, in the shadows, I see Harry. He is staring at everyone, a sour expression on his face. He is completely alone, as always, and I feel a stab of guilt.
When I am done eating, I stand up and cross the campsite, heading his way. When he sees me, he drops his gaze to the ground and pretends to concentrate on his stew.
“Do you enjoy being a loner?” I ask.
“Ah, Cassidy,” he replies. “Always so sarcastic.”
“You don’t have to be isolated forever,” I tell him. “I’ve forgiven you for what you’ve done. You can be a part of this place now.”
“You’ve forgiven me?” Harry laughs. “But no one else has.”
“I’ve got a big heart.” I tap my chest and take a seat on the log beside him. The firelight sends flickering shadows across the trees. “Seriously. I’m trying to be nice to you here, Harry. Throw me a bone, will you?”
Harry sets his bowl on the ground, folding his hands together.
“This is a lie,” he says quietly.
“Come again?”
“This. Militias, fighting, training. Rebellion.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s a waste of time. Omega will win, in the end, and we’ll all be dead. Why fight?”
“Because some people actually have a spine,” I reply.
“Are you quite certain that you’ve completely forgiven me, Cassie?” he says, an amused smile on his face.
“Don’t call me Cassie,” I mutter.
He raises his eyebrows, but says nothing.
“This militia could be your second chance,” I say. “You’re lucky.”
Harry snorts. He turns to me, then, watching my hair blowing in the breeze.
“You’re so blindly loyal,” he whispers. “Why?”
“Loyal, yes,” I reply. “Blind, no. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” Harry shakes his head. “There’s always an easier way.”
“And what is your solution to the apocalypse?”
Harry doesn’t answer. He just reaches out, touches the hair on my forehead and pushes it backward, slowly. I stare at him as he does this. He pulls his hand back.
“I wish you could see the look on your face,” he smiles.
Although meant to be kind, I can’t help but think that his smile comes across as a little predatory. Spiteful. This man did send me to my death in order to save his own life, after all.
“You’re wrong,” I say.
“About what?”
“Everything. The way you think. You’re just wrong.” I stand up. “In the end, Harry, when it’s dark and cold, I want to die surrounded by my friends.” I break my gaze. “Think about that.”
I walk away, but as I head back toward Chris, Jeff and the others, Harry replies, “It’s too late for me now.”
I am afraid to ask him what he means.
Chapter Four
The helicopter lands on the strip. Chris and I stand next to each other, the wind whipping the orange flags along the freeway divider into circles.
The units on the landing strip roll into place, Humvees and trucks. Militia soldiers stand around the chopper, armed.
“You!” I say, talking to a soldier with red hair. I remember him, glance at his nametag, and say, “O’Byrne.”
He snaps around and looks at me, saluting. There is a tiny smile on his face.
“Yes, Commander?”
“What’s the deal with this chopper, soldier? Who is it?”
“We don’t know, ma’am,” he replies. “They’ve radioed in. They said they bring help and that they’re supporting the militias.”
I look at Chris.
“Who gave them clearance to land?” he asks.
“The Air Force, I guess,” O’Byrne replies.
The chopper doors open, and the militia guards – all thirty of them – train their weapons on the chopper. I watch carefully, observing every detail. A woman steps out, coifed gray hair and belted brown combat fatigues.
Recognition hits me like a lightning bolt.
“Arlene?” I say.
She steps down off the chopper, locking eyes with me first, and then her eyes fall to Manny and Elle.
“Oh, my God,” she says, touching her fingers to her lips. She rushes forward, and then Manny has taken her in his arms, embracing her. Elle looks shocked as the woman embraces her, too, and they all talk to each other, just out of earshot.
“Cassidy,” Chris whispers. “Who’s Arlene?”
“She’s…” I smile suddenly. “I guess you weren’t there, were you? She ran the Way House in the Tehachapi Mountains. She gave us horses for Operation Angel Pursuit when I took a team into Los Angeles to rescue you.”
“Ah, the Way House that had been attacked?” Chris looks grim. “Good to know that she survived.”
I nod. Manny turns to us.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “I’d like you to meet my wife.”
*
“Why didn’t you tell me you were married?” I demand, laughing.
“You didn’t ask,” Manny offers, keeping one arm draped around Arlene’s shoulders. I embrace her. She has deep wrinkles around her eyes, and at a glance, she almost looks like she could pass as Manny’s sister, rather than his wife.
“What happened?” I ask.
“It’s a long story,” she replies. “Please, meet my pilot, Alan.”
A tall, sinewy bald man climbs out of the chopper, tossing a headset back into the pilot’s seat. He strides over, and I notice that he has one lazy eye.
“Pleased to meet you,” he says.
His voice has a distinctly Irish accent.
“Lieutenant Alan White,” Arlene says. “This is Commander Cassidy Hart and Commander Chris Young.” She smiles at Chris. “I’m glad to see that Operation Angel Pursuit was a success. I’m sorry I couldn’t congratulate you in person when everything happened.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I say.
She lifts her shoulders, her lips turning upward.
“You have survived the Battle
of Monterey,” she sighs. “God, things haven’t gotten any easier in the past two months, have they?”
I shake my head.
“I have important information from the Underground,” she tells Chris, looking straight at him. “Where can we talk where it’s safe?”
“This way,” he replies, gesturing to a Humvee.
Manny, Arlene and Elle get into the back seat. Bravo sits at their feet, ever silent and obedient. I sit in the center seat up front, and Lieutenant Alan White, the pilot, sits beside me.
“Sorry, it’s a bit of a squeeze,” he apologizes.
“No worries,” I assure him.
He smells heavily of cigarette smoke, and I notice a pack stuck in his jacket pocket. “How long was the flight, Lieutenant White?” I ask.
He hesitates, then Arlene says, “We’ll tell you everything once we get to a safe place.”
I don’t question her. I understand the need for secrecy.
There are spies everywhere.
We roll through several checkpoints before we reach the warehouse again. It is a silent ride, and then we exit the vehicle, heading through the guarded doors. Anita Vega and the others are waiting for us when we return.
“Arlene Costas,” I say. “This is Anita Vega and Devin May. You’ve already met Vera.”
Vera doesn’t smile, but she does look surprised to see Arlene.
“Yes,” Arlene replies. “You’re missing Derek and Andrew.”
“Andrew was wounded. Derek is in Sacramento.”
“I see. You’re certain there are no listening devices in this building?” she asks, looking at the high windows.
“Everything’s been checked,” I tell her.
“Seal the rooms,” she tells me.
Chris gives the command, and the guards leave the room. They shut the door and we are left in total privacy.
“I’m sorry for the theatrics,” Arlene says, “but what I have to say to you is beyond secret. It’s of the utmost importance that Omega never finds out.”
Anita frowns and takes a seat on a plastic chair. Arlene pats Elle’s shoulder and walks to the back of the room, looking at the table with the lists of dead.
“I come from a top secret Underground location known as Sky City,” she tells us. “Lieutenant White is our best pilot—”
