by Summer Lane
“What’s our next move, Commander?” Uriah asks.
I tear my eyes away from Arlene.
What is our next move?
“Excuse us.” A young Sky City officer walks into the room. He is followed by a group of soldiers – I quickly count fifteen. He is tall, handsome. Very young. His hair is shaved to the scalp, his skin is pale, his eyes are blue. “Sorry for the inconvenience,” he continues. He flicks his finger, and every gun on every guard is pointed straight at all of us. “But we’re going to have to ask you to come with us.”
I place my palm on the handgun holstered on my belt.
“What?” I say, shocked. “By whose orders?”
He doesn’t reply.
“Lower your weapons,” he says instead. “And no one will get hurt.”
A sick feeling seeps into the pit of my stomach as I watch the faces in the room – all sixteen of them, cold, detached and unflinching. I look at the young officer. “Who are you?” I ask.
“Lieutenant Connor,” he replies. “Now, Commander.” He points to the ground. “All weapons on the ground.”
“No,” Vera spits. “What is this all about?”
“No,” Colonel Rivera says, storming in front of me. “Stand down. Lieutenant Alan White is already dead – nobody here is under suspicion of having anything to do with the incident involving Arlene Costas.” He narrows his eyes. “I’ll say it one more time: stand down.”
Connor holds his handgun level with Colonel Rivera’s forehead.
“No, Colonel,” he says coldly. Emotionless. “You stand down.”
Several long, tense seconds tick by. Colonel Rivera glares at the young Connor. He moves his hand toward his gun holster, then brings it back up again, punching Connor right in the jaw. The boy flies backward, blood bubbling out of the side of his mouth. There is a gunshot, and Colonel Rivera jerks backward, hitting the foot of Arlene’s hospital bed.
I leap into action, snapping my handgun out of my holster. Vera drops to a crouch, whipping out her gun, but three Sky City guards collide with her, bringing her down to the floor. She is a vicious fighter, taking off pieces of their hair and tearing bloody gashes into their skin.
I fire two shots, taking down two of the officers. But there are more coming. Manny swings up behind him, bringing a revolver out from beneath his leather duster. He fires off three shots. One of them ricochets off the wall. I duck. Uriah smashes his fist into the side of a guard’s face. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm sounds. Red lights flash in the medical chamber.
There is yelling and screaming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bravo shoot away from Elle and sink his fangs into a trooper’s arm. He screams, scrambling for his gun. I shoot him before he can reach his holster.
Elle pulls her own handgun from her holster, a 1911 Smith and Wesson. She doesn’t hesitate before she squeezes the trigger, nailing one guard in the chest. Uriah spins around me and blocks my right side from an oncoming guard.
My heart is pounding in my ears, my blood is rushing through my veins. I have a heightened sense of hearing and an improved reaction time. One trooper grabs my shoulders and slams me against the wall. I feel the air go out of my lungs as his fingers dig into my throat. I struggle for air, feeling my face go red. Black spots dance around the edges of my vision.
I drop my gun and bring my hands up to his face, pushing my thumbs into the corners of his eyes. I dig deeper and deeper until blood gushes out, streaming down his cheeks. He screams and backs away, holding his hands against his face. I cough, trying to catch my breath, sliding to the floor, grabbing my gun. I slam the weapon against the back of his head, knocking him, unconscious, to the floor.
One, two, five, seven…there are still nine guards left, and more are pouring into the room. I share a split second glance with Uriah, and then Manny. Uriah shakes his head.
We are outnumbered, trapped.
Countless troops come into the room, pushing us against the wall. Shooting and cutting through as many as we can, they finally pin us into the corner, away from Arlene’s still form on the bed.
I throw my weapons on the ground, as does the rest of my team – all except Manny. Three guards wrestle him to the floor, pinning his arms behind him. They smack his face onto the ground. Blood streams from the sides of his mouth. I fight, claw, kick, and twist away from the troops, but it’s no use. A solid wall of nearly thirty guards fence us in.
The officer named Connor works his way to the front. He wipes the blood from his mouth, spits on Colonel Rivera, and turns to me.
“You belong to us, now,” Connor says.
Elle struggles against her captors as two troops grab Bravo, one wrestling his head, pressing it against the floor, the other slamming the dog’s body flat, slipping a muzzle over his snarling fangs.
“Don’t touch my dog!” Elle screams.
Connor smacks Elle across the face. She curses him – loudly – and he smiles.
“Take them all below,” he replies.
“What’s going on?” Colonel Rivera demands. “This bull does not fly with me, Lieutenant. You’re going to—”
“Shut up, Colonel,” Connor says, a demure smile on his face. “You’re not in charge here. You never were. The only thing keeping you alive is what’s inside your head – which, although not much, may be valuable to us.”
A terrifying chill crawls up my spine.
Us.
We are dragged out of the medical chamber. Manny shouts all the way, fighting and struggling against the troops. I do, too, for a while, until I realize that my attempts are futile.
We are inside a secure base, locked in a steel box, hundreds of feet underground.
There is no escape.
We’re taken to an elevator, shoved inside, gun muzzles digging into the back of our necks, and we arrive at the lowest level. We walk through the curved hallway, stopping at a steel door. Connor opens it with an access card and we are pushed through. I swallow a lump in my throat.
This is the cellblock. Basic iron bars span the length of the room. About ten cells in all. Each one has a toilet and a cot – nothing more. The lights are dim down here, a dull orange glow. I am shoved into the first cell. Elle goes into the next. Everyone gets their own cell – even Bravo.
“Dammit, Connor,” Rivera growls. “What’s this all about?”
Connor pauses at the door. A smile curls at the corner of his mouth, and for a moment, I get a flash of Harry Lydell’s face in him.
“All hail to the New Order,” Connor says.
And that tells us everything we need to know.
Sky City is not safe.
Sky City is under Omega control.
Chapter Eight
“How is this even possible!?” Vera screeches. She paces her cell like a nervous animal. “How could Unite – how could Sky City – be infiltrated by Omega? Arlene swore it was safe!”
“Apparently she was wrong.” Uriah sits on the floor of his cell, staring at the wall, strangely calm. “Apparently we all were.”
The cellblock is cold and stale, dark and shadowy.
“Arlene was trying to warn me about Unite earlier today,” I say. “Before Alan White got to her. She must have known that she was being watched. And then they tried to kill her.”
“So why would they treat her in the hospital if they wanted her dead?” Elle demands. She’s standing at the bars of her cell, a pensive expression on her face. “Why not just kill all of us now?”
“We wouldn’t be alive if we didn’t have something that they want,” I reply. “And, knowing Omega, what they want is information. Troop movements, the location of militia leaders. Anything that they could use to bring us down. And then they’ll kill us.”
Vera slams her fist against the wall.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe we walked straight into an Omega hive.” She shakes her head. “We’re dead. It’s over.”
“Wow, always so optimistic,” I remark. “Thanks for that.”
/> “I’m stating facts, Cassidy.” She shrugs. “Nobody’s coming to rescue us. Nobody even knows this place exists – and who knows if Chris or anybody in Monterey even knows the coordinates of our location.” She leans against the wall. “Yeah. We’re screwed.”
Manny is oddly quiet.
I suppose his thoughts are with his comatose wife in the medical chambers.
Have they killed her? Is she still alive?
“Our chances of survival,” Colonel Rivera says suddenly, “are slim to none.”
I roll my eyes.
“Thanks for the commentary, sunshine,” I mutter.
I shake myself and walk back and forth in the cell. I am afraid – very afraid. There is no realistic way to survive a situation like this. Trapped inside an Omega base, surrounded by enemies.
What would Chris have me do? I ask myself. How would he get out of here?
I struggle to grasp onto the thread of any idea that might help us, but I come up short. All we can do is wait and see what they want with us.
And hope we don’t die by tonight.
“Someone’s coming,” Elle says suddenly.
Bravo’s ears flatten against his head. He growls softly.
The doorway at the end of the hall opens.
The young officer named Connor walks in, clad in his Sky City combat fatigues, a snide smile on his lips. “Commander Hart,” he says simply.
There are four guards with him. They open my cell door, and I am escorted into the hallway. Uriah stands at the bars of his cell.
“Hey, where you taking her?” he demands.
No answer.
“Hey!” Uriah raises his voice, and I can see the anger burning in his coal colored eyes. “If you do anything to hurt her—”
Connor stops in front of Uriah.
He says, “There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
They whisk me into the hall. My friends disappear behind me as the door slams shut, and I am brought through the halls, into another room behind the cellblock. We walk through a steel door, into a clean, plain chamber with dim lighting. There is one guard in each corner of the room, in addition to the four guards escorting me.
There is a low, square tub in the center of the room. It is sloped down in the back, filled with water. A rush of fear hits me, and I find myself struggling to breathe.
“Commander Hart,” Connor says. He motions to his guards, and they step away from me, leaving me standing free in the center of the room, facing Connor. The lock on the door clicks shut, and I am trapped with eight guards and one homicidal maniac.
Fun times.
“This is how we’re going to conduct this interrogation,” he continues. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you go back to your cell. Or, you can resist, and you will tell me what I want to know eventually. Either way, the endgame is the same. I get what I want, and you get nothing.” He folds his hands together. “Understand?”
I raise an eyebrow.
I am terrified, but I do not show it.
“How long has Sky City been under Omega control?” I ask.
He laughs aloud, rolls his eyes and steps close to me.
“Since the beginning,” he says in a low voice. “You were a fool to come here, Commander. And after I’ve squeezed every bit of information out of you and your companions, your deaths will be reason for Omega followers to rejoice.”
For the first time since I have met Connor, I hear the hint of an accent in his voice – he sounds German. I don’t answer him. I can’t think of anything to say – anything appropriate, anyway. I don’t want to poke a stick. Not now. I have no leverage.
“So, Commander,” Connor continues. “Are you going to help me out?”
“I have no intention of helping anyone,” I reply, “except for my men.”
“I want to know who knows that you’re here in Sky City,” he goes on, ignoring me. “I want to know how long it will be until someone comes looking for you. I want to know how many troops you have left in Monterey. I want to know the name and location of every militia commander from here to Washington State.” He tilts his head. “Start talking, Commander.”
I purse my lips.
“I can’t help you,” I say quietly.
“I see.” He lifts a finger. “Fine. We’ll do it my way, then.”
Two of the guards take my wrists and tie them together with a plastic zip-tie. It cuts into my wrists and draws blood. I wince. They drag me to the square tub and lean my head back. My head sinks into the water as two guards hold down my feet and two more hold my shoulders. Connor stands at over my head, leering at me with grim satisfaction. A fifth guard takes a cloth, soaks it in water, and holds it over my face. I can’t see anything, I can’t hear anything. They pour water over the cloth, and I can feel it running down my nose and throat. I can’t breathe. I choke and sputter, jerking forward, panicking. I know I’m not really drowning – I know that this is just a simulation, but it feels real.
Water bubbles out of my mouth. Just when I think I’m going to get a deep breath, more water floods down my throat, burns my nostrils. I choke again, and I frantically struggle against the arms holding me down.
They dunk my head completely under the water. I want to scream, but I can’t. My lungs burn. My mind races. My heart is thumping loudly in my ears. They pull my head out of the water, rip the towel off my face, and I vomit all over myself. I barely catch a breath before Connor grabs my chin and holds it, his fingernails digging into my skin, his thumb on my lip.
“Would you consider talking now, Commander?” he asks.
I bite his thumb, crunching his bone between my teeth. He screams, shrieking profanities, shoving my head back into the water. The towel comes back, the water rushes into my mouth and my nose.
I’m drowning again.
And it doesn’t stop for a very long time.
*
When I wake up, I’m back in the cellblock. My head is squished up against the bars, and someone has their hand in my hair. I jump up, gasping for breath.
“Cassidy, it’s me!”
Elle grasps the cell bars. She holds out her hand.
“It’s just me,” she says again, softer.
I look down at my shirt. I am disgusting. My jacket is still wet, soaked with water and vomit. I taste blood in my mouth. I feel exhausted, as if someone dropped a weight on my head.
“Cassidy, I’m so sorry,” Elle whispers.
I lick my lips, swallow.
“It’s all good,” I say, but my voice is raspy.
Uriah gets to his feet across the hall, looking at me. His eyes are sad.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I shrug.
I’m not really sure how to answer that question.
I look into Manny’s cell. He is sitting on the floor, his back to the room, his head bent over. He is asleep. Poor guy – it must be horrible, knowing your wife is just out of your reach.
“Did you give them any information?” Vera asks harshly.
I peer at her silhouette in the dark room. She leans forward.
“No,” I reply. “Why would I?”
“I’m just asking.” She frowns. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug again.
I draw my knees up to my chest. I feel weak all over. My throat burns like fire, both from the torture and from screaming too much. At least I didn’t tell Connor anything. I still have some of my dignity, I guess.
Chris would be proud.
“What did they want to know?” Vera asks.
“Vera, leave her—” Uriah begins, but Vera cuts him off.
“We need to know,” she says. “Like Cassidy said. We wouldn’t be alive if we didn’t have something they wanted.”
“They want to know where every militia commander is on the west coast,” I say. “Honestly, I don’t really know. I know where some of them are. But militias like us? We stay hidden. They wanted to know everything I knew, basically.” I stop talking, becaus
e my throat hurts too much. “No more questions right now,” I tell them.
I close my eyes.
I am too tired to think. Too tired to move.
The hallway door slams open. I wince and draw back, terrified.
I don’t know if I can survive more interrogation.
This time, however, it isn’t me that they come for. I don’t recognize Connor among the guards. But I do recognize the person that they are dragging along the floor. They open a cell next to Manny and throw a woman inside.
Arlene.
“Arlene!” Manny exclaims. He presses himself against the bars and reaches through, struggling to stretch out his fingers and touch her limp form. “Arlene! Honey, wake up!”
The guards make a few snide comments and leave the cellblock.
“Is she alive?” Elle asks, standing on tiptoes, straining to see her aunt.
“I don’t know,” Manny replies grimly.
Arlene lay on her side, her face turned away from me. She is dressed in simple green pants, boots and a white shirt. But she never moves. Manny sits there, his arms through the bars, talking softly to himself – or to Arlene – and willing her to wake up.
I lay my head against the cold floor.
And I am swallowed up by the darkness.
*
I wake up again, and when I do, the first thing I notice is that I’m incredibly hungry. My stomach growls. As I sit up, the cell spins around me, and I’m struck with a sense of clarity: I am in prison. I have been tortured. I am going to die.
Wow. I really don’t see how this situation could get any worse.
I am afraid, but I am also calm. As a soldier, I live with the threat of death every day. It’s nothing new. But sitting in a cell, waiting for someone to kill you is somehow worse than being on the front lines of a fight.
It’s like waiting for a bomb to detonate in your hands.
“She’s awake,” I hear Uriah say.
He’s kneeling at his cell. He looks worn. There is a fresh bruise on his cheek – and I know immediately that Uriah has been interrogated, too. I shake my head.
