by Summer Lane
“Good.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Well done, Desmond.”
“Camp Freedom needs this,” he mutters, sticking his head back inside the Humvee, rummaging through the equipment – rolls of bandages and bottles of antiseptic.
Elle is standing, her back against one of the last barracks, Bravo standing with his head against her knees. A somber expression is on her face. I walk over.
“You okay, Elle?” I ask.
Her crystal blue eyes flick up, meeting my gaze.
“Yes, Commander,” she replies.
She continues staring into the distance. I follow her line of sight.
“What makes us the good guys?” Elle asks softly. “We kill just as much as the enemy.”
I kneel down, scratching Bravo behind the ears.
“We kill in self-defense – not out of cruelty,” I tell her.
“I’ve killed a lot of people, Commander,” she replies, looking away. “They were all bad people, but still. I’ve done it. Over and over.” She sighs. “I guess I just get a tired of it sometimes.”
“I get tired of it, too,” I tell her. “The killing. It’s horrible.”
“But it’s necessary.”
“It’s only necessary in self-defense.”
“So we have to kill others to keep ourselves from getting killed,” Elle states.
“Yes.”
“That’s so…twisted.”
“It is,” I agree. “But war is twisted.”
I touch her cheek, the one with the scar.
“Omega has taken everything from us,” I tell her. “They’re cruel. They’re evil. If we have to take extreme measures, it’s because they forced us to. This is our home. Don’t ever forget that. This is ours. They have no business being here.”
Elle nods.
And then she steps forward and slips her arms around my neck, leaning her chin against my shoulder. I am surprised by her display of emotion – but I am glad. I embrace her and kiss the top of her forehead.
I stand up, my arm around her petite shoulders. Omega has driven us to such desperate measures. We have done everything we can to preserve our humanity, but nothing can take away the fact that we are all killers now.
All of us.
Whether we like it or not.
*
We leave the insurgency camp in flames. We send out a couple of more coded messages on the radio before torching the last building. The blaze is huge, throwing orange firelight against the trees, reaching to the dark sky.
We commandeer five remaining Omega vehicles, packing them with supplies. I ride in the front seat of a pickup with Uriah. As we drive, wind begins howling through the trees.
“Storm’s coming,” Uriah murmurs.
“I hope we can make it back to Camp Freedom before it hits,” I answer.
The inside of the truck is cold, but the cabin protects me from the wind – a luxury I’m grateful for. I’m exhausted. My head throbs, pulsating with the pain of stress. So much planning and strategizing – all of it, with the purpose of keeping my men alive is a lot of pressure.
I wish Chris were here to share the burden with me.
Even with Uriah and the rest of my friends here, I still feel alone.
I miss Sophia. I miss my father.
Things change, sunshine, I can hear Sophia saying. We’ll make it through.
The roads through the mountains are steep, curving around cliffs, single-lane back roads hidden from sight. The headlights illuminate the black forest. We move slowly in the convoy, only four vehicles behind us.
I’ve got a map spread across my lap. It’s one of a huge stack that I took from the insurgency headquarters, with dozens of Omega routes outlined in red throughout the hills. There’s a lot of valuable information here that should be in the hands of the Pacific Northwest Alliance – and the rest of the militias.
“We’re on track,” I say, flicking the dash light on. I drag my finger over a marked route, cutting south through the mountains, emptying at a campground about forty miles away from Camp Freedom. “Just a few more miles, and we’ll clear these trees and hit a real highway.”
“Let’s hope Omega isn’t waiting for us,” he replies.
Yeah. Let’s hope.
By the time we reach the end of the long, winding road, snowflakes have begun to hit the windshield, icing the glass. It makes it almost impossible to see. Uriah flicks the defrost switch on in the pickup cabin, but it only does so much. The temperature outside is too cold.
“We should stop,” I say.
“We can’t,” Uriah replies, clutching the steering wheel. “Once that blizzard hits, these roads will be packed with snow – and there’s nobody left to clear the highways. We’ve got to keep going.”
I take a deep breath.
“Okay,” I say.
As we drive, we roll onto a road that parallels a huge meadow. Large stumps litter the open space – now covered with a blanket of ghostly white snow. It is early morning, but it’s dark. The sky is covered with thick, black clouds.
“Cassidy,” Uriah says, his voice quiet – despite the fact that nobody is in the car aside from us. “Have you thought about what the Alliance is going to do without those recruits from Sky City? We were counting on a few thousand soldiers to back us up. Omega will come back, and we don’t have enough men to combat their force of foot soldiers.”
“We’ll improvise,” I tell him. “The patriots did it during the Revolutionary War, right? A bunch of guerilla fighters against the biggest army in the world at that time – Great Britain. If they did it, we can, too.”
“Yeah, but they had powerful allies,” Uriah counters. “France supplied us with all kinds of help.”
“We’ll have to make do with what we have,” I say. “We’ve got Canada and Mexico on our side.”
“Neither are exactly leaders of war, but yeah.” Uriah eases onto the highway. The road is abandoned – much to my relief – and slick with ice. “We need somebody freaking savage. Somebody who is just as ruthless and desperate as Omega.”
“We’re pretty desperate,” I say.
“But we’re humane,” Uriah points out. “We don’t enslave people, and we haven’t been planting terrorist cells around the country, preparing children from a young age to destroy the enemy. We’re new to this game. We need someone who isn’t new. Somebody who’s got power and influence.”
I think about this.
Uriah is right. We do need an ally that is stronger than the Pacific Northwest Alliance. We need somebody with weapons, training and a thirst for vengeance. Somebody who hates Omega with a passion. Somebody who would be willing to go the extra mile to take them down – more than just a coalition of states. More than the Pacific Northwest Alliance.
Something more terrifying.
Something that equals Omega in terms of intimidation.
Something that can’t be found in California. Something beyond a place like Sky City. That kind of thinking is too small. We have to think big to win this war.
We have to think global.
“You’re right,” I say after a long silence. “But I don’t know who that would be.”
We drive through the early morning. The wind becomes stronger. Snowflakes fall in dizzying swirls, coating the cars and swarming across the road. Everything becomes crunchy and slick. We drive slowly to avoid sliding on the icy pavement.
“We’re almost there,” I say. “Gotta be.”
I look at Uriah, and I realize something: coming back to Camp Freedom is like a homecoming for him. Uriah is a Mountain Ranger, a lieutenant who was under my father’s command when the group originally banded together right after the EMP.
“Where are you from?” I ask. “I mean, before all of this. How did you get involved with the Mountain Rangers?”
In all the time that we’ve known each other – all the missions we’ve been on together – Uriah’s past has always remained a mystery. My knowledge of him is based solely on his performance as the best sniper in the
militia, a deadly and skilled soldier.
But who he was before the EMP?
I really have no idea.
“I lived up here,” he answers.
“In the mountains?”
“Yeah. I had a house. It belonged to my…family.” He pauses. “I inherited it. I was living there when the EMP went down and everything hit the fan.”
“Where was it?” I ask.
“The middle of nowhere.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s gone.”
“What happened?”
The road curves and Uriah concentrates on navigating around a broken limb that has fallen into the path. When we’ve cleared the obstacle, we dive onto a tiny back road hidden in the trees.
Uriah apparently knows exactly where he’s going.
Not surprising.
“It was burned,” he says at last. “Omega burned it to the ground. I was hunting. Went out for a couple of days. I came back, there was nothing left but a plume of smoke and a pile of charred wood.”
I hesitate before I ask, “What happened to your family?”
He clenches his jaw and turns up the heater in the cab.
“Your father and the Mountain Rangers saved my life,” he says, avoiding answering the question. “Once upon a time, before all this, I was trained as a small-town cop in a one-horse town in the Central Valley.” He shakes his head. “Life happened. I ended up moving into the hills. Stayed there.” He frowns. “And then Omega happened, and here I am. Camp Freedom was the best thing in my life. Your father was the best thing.”
“He was honest and fair,” I agree. “He was a good leader, like Chris.”
I bite my lip.
“I’m sorry he’s not here,” Uriah says. “The Rangers miss him.”
“Me too,” I agree.
I doubt the pain of that loss will ever leave me.
“We’re almost there,” Uriah announces, changing the subject. Avoiding the entire conversation of what happened to his family – if he even had any left before the EMP.
I may never know.
As we continue, a gray light spreads across the forest. The snow is really falling now, turning the muddy roads to slush. I pray we don’t get stuck in a rut and have to pull any of our vehicles out.
But I recognize much of the scenery – despite the fact that most of it is covered with snow. The sky is white, the air is white, and the ground is white. I feel stuck in purgatory, a speck of darkness against a giant sheet of paper. It’s unearthly, and I’m just glad I don’t have to trudge through it on foot.
I’ve done that before. It seems like ages ago when I was last roaming these hills, searching for my father with Chris in the dead of winter, before I knew anything about Omega. Before I knew how to pick up a gun and fight.
I don’t even know who that girl was.
Was she really me?
I look down at my hands. I’ve killed so many people since then.
The Cassidy Hart that was born in Los Angeles is gone.
Someone new has taken her place.
“Holy crap,” Uriah mutters.
Up ahead, I see the gates of Camp Freedom. The chain link fence and barbed wire surrounding the perimeter are still intact. The wooden sign that heralds the camp’s name is still standing, dusted with icy flakes.
There are guards posted inside the guardhouses, protected from the harsh weather. They run out into the snow as we roll up to the checkpoint. Uriah opens his door.
“Uriah True?” the guard says, shaking his head. “I don’t believe it!”
“Sam,” Uriah replies, grinning. “Good to see you.”
I don’t know Sam, but Uriah seems very happy to see him.
Somewhere down the line in the convoy, I hear Commander Jones’ voice. It’s impossible to make out what he’s saying above the howling of the wind, but I don’t need to. Once the guards verify his identity, they open the gates.
Uriah gets back into the truck, still smiling.
“Sam was a good friend of mine,” he tells me, pulling through the entrance. “He was another one of the original Mountain Rangers.”
The Headquarters building is still sitting in the same place to the right. There are very few people in sight, aside from the militia guards milling around as we park the convoy in front of the General Store.
I tighten my jacket and open the pickup door. The wind is freezing. Icy chips slap my cheeks as I walk around the back of the truck. Uriah is bundled up in a hood and jacket.
My team and the Rogue Rangers empty from the convoy, heading to the Headquarters building. I feel like I’m walking through a dream – reliving a memory. This is a place I am so familiar with, but it looks like an alien planet in the midst of this blizzard.
How odd to come full circle – back to the place I was forced to leave when I joined the National Guard. When I left my family and friends behind to fight Omega on the front lines.
And here I am again.
I climb the wooden steps to the Headquarters building, pushing the door open. There is no one inside. A single lantern casts orange light against the walls. There’s an empty table in the center of the room – again, a familiar object. I remember walking into this place and meeting Angela Wright for the first time.
I remember bringing Colonel Rivera here when he came to the mountains, seeking recruits for the National Guard. I remember my father, arguing with Chris about what would happen to California if the militias won the war.
Three people I’ve known.
Three people who have died.
Manny walks in with Arlene, stomping his boots on the floor.
“I’d say it’s a little chilly outside,” he exclaims. “Anybody care to build a snowman?”
Elle follows him, dusting snowflakes off Bravo’s shiny coat.
My small team and the Rogue Rangers gather inside the room, Commander Jones walking to the front of the table. He looks exhausted – old. Dark circles cling to the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are bloodshot, his enormous shoulders hunched.
“We finally did it,” he says, his voice raspy. “The insurgency camp has been eliminated, and everyone here performed with courage. We have suffered no casualties.” He bows his head. “Thank you, soldiers. Go rest.”
I am about to say something when the door to Headquarters opens. A man walks inside, his dark skin gleaming against the lamplight. He’s in his sixties, tall and broad.
“Commander Buckley,” I say, recognition dawning.
“Cassidy Hart?” He blinks. “What are you doing here?”
I offer my hand and he takes it, grasping it firmly.
“It’s good to see you again, sir,” I tell him. “It’s been a long time.”
He looks dazed, his eyes falling on Manny, Uriah and Vera.
“How is this possible?” He looks at Commander Jones. “Jones, what’s going on? I haven’t heard so much as a whisper from your team in weeks.”
Jones places his hand on Manny’s shoulder.
“We’ve been reunited,” he says. “Commander Hart and her team were fleeing Sky City when we came across them in the high mountains. They helped us locate the insurgency camp – it is no longer a threat.”
Commander Buckley raises his eyebrows.
“Sky City exists, then?” he asks.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I confirm. “We’ve been betrayed. Omega has infiltrated the base – they control everything that goes on there. We barely escaped with our lives.”
“Where is Commander Young?” Buckley pursues. “What happened to Angela?”
“My mother is dead,” Vera says, her voice sharp.
“I’m truly sorry to hear that, Wright,” Buckley replies. “Truly.”
“Commander Young is in Monterey, defending the coastline from Omega’s troops,” I tell him.
“Hold up there,” he says. “Commander Hart? Last time I saw you, you were a lieutenant.”
“She’s a senator now, too,” Manny volunteers. “Better tip your hat
, Buckley. Show some respect.”
Buckley rolls his eyes.
“I see you haven’t changed a bit,” he replies.
“Thank God,” Manny comments. “At least I haven’t lost my sense of humor.”
“Only your sense of sanity,” Buckley quips, a good-natured smile on his face. “So it’s true what they’ve been saying about you and Chris Young – and the Freedom Fighters. You were at the coast, yes?”
“The Battle of Monterey ended no less than a week ago,” I say.
“Incredible. How is it looking over there?”
“Desperate,” I admit honestly. “I was hoping to recruit troops in Sky City – but it was a trap. There’s nothing there for us. Sky City is a dangerous place.”
“A place that needs to be eliminated at some point,” Uriah agrees.
“But not tonight,” Jones interjects. “My men are exhausted and starving. They need to rest.”
“I agree,” Buckley says. “But before you leave, you said you reached your objective after all this time? You destroyed the insurgency camp?”
“Thanks to Arlene Costas,” Jones acknowledges, nodding toward Arlene.
“Costas?” Buckley looks between Manny and Arlene. “You married this maniac?”
“I’m afraid I did,” Arlene says, offering a weak smile.
He shakes his head.
“And this is my niece, Elle,” Manny says.
“Wow. A whole family.” Buckley shrugs. “I never knew you had folks, Manny.”
“Amazing the things you learn during an apocalypse,” Manny replies.
“You’re one of the lucky ones.” He looks at me, then. “And what about your father, Hart? Where is he?”
“MIA,” I say tersely.
A pall falls over the room.
“I’m sorry to hear that, too,” Buckley tells me. “Your father was a good man.”
“One of the best,” I agree.
More silence.
“The Youngs will be happy to see you, Cassidy,” Buckley continues.
“So they’re still here, then?” I ask, my heart lifting.
“They are.” He pauses. “But…things have changed.”
“How so?”
He shakes his head. “It may be better if you talk to them yourself.”
I don’t like the sound of that, but I say nothing.
