State of Chaos (Collapse Series)

by Summer Lane

  Right. My dad told me once, back when he was still an active-duty cop in LA, that concealment and cover are two different things. Concealment is when you’re hidden from your enemies, but if they see you for some reason, they can still shoot you. Cover is anything that will physically stop a bullet. Your enemy might know you’re there, but they can’t hurt you.

  I prefer cover to concealment.

  Grease swings his legs over the windowsill. I follow, crawling along the floor of an office. Probably the principal’s. But all of the personal belongings and photos have been removed, replaced with cold, sterile ornaments. A Russian flag is sticking out of a pencil cup. A black Omega flag is on the wall. That’s about as cute and comfortable as this place gets.

  We stay low as we push through the office, flinging open a door to the hallway. Grease doesn’t enter right away. He checks the hall and then waves me forward, just as the Omega troopers reach the window and start firing inside the office. I lunge into the hall, barely missing being shot...for the fiftieth time today.

  It’s getting to be a bad habit.

  We move down the hall. Smoke is seeping out of most of the rooms, making it difficult to navigate and breathe at the same time. Thankfully, Grease seems to have a good idea of where he’s going. As we round a corner, he suddenly drops to his knees and jerks me down with him. Omega troopers are coming up on us from the front and behind. We’re trapped. I crouch next to him, heart pounding, waiting for him to come up with a brilliant plan.

  “Do something!” I say.

  He moves backwards and disappears into an office with an open door. It’s filled with black, choking smoke. I dive in after him, staying low to the ground. Trying to breathe. Flames are crawling up the walls, slapping my cheeks with raw heat.

  “This wasn’t what I had in mind,” I mutter.

  “Here,” Grease calls, slipping through a door on the right. It leads to another office. We run inside just in time to come nose to nose with three Omega men making their way down the center of the building.

  Surrounded on three sides by troopers in a burning building?

  We’re so dead.

  “Stay down,” Grease warns, shouldering his weapon.

  I stay covered behind the wall of the burning office. Omega troopers are going to come up behind us in a few seconds, and then I’ll have no place to hide. Grease fires a few bursts from his rifle. Two troopers drop to the ground. But there are plenty more where they came from. They unleash a flurry of fire. Furniture splinters into pieces. Glass shatters.

  Things aren’t looking so good, but Grease doesn’t seem as wired as me. He seems focused. “Duck,” he says.

  I cover my head with my hands. He turns his body slightly to shield mine. Something detonates at the far end of the building, sending pieces of wood and plaster everywhere. My ears start ringing again. Blue Bands jump inside the building through windows on the far side, working their way through the cubicles like a SWAT team on a raid.

  They’ve got scarves tied around their mouths, sunglasses shielding their eyes from the smoke. I stay next to Grease, wondering if I should stay put or run for my life. Because even though these people are beating up Omega, they could still have the potential to hurt me.

  The Blue Band in the lead blasts killing gunfire into the troopers coming up through the front – the guards that originally chased Grease and I inside. He does it quickly and smoothly, without hesitation. His team fans out around him, checking the dead and dying. Grease stands up, holding his gun above his head with both hands. I expect him to be shot on sight since he’s wearing an Omega uniform – but they seem to recognize him.

  The Blue Band in the lead approaches him, weapon ready, then lowers it and slaps Grease on the back.

  “Nice work,” he says.

  I scramble to my feet, recognizing that voice instantly.

  Grease steps aside and the Blue Band pulls his scarf down around his mouth, taking off the sunglasses. Green eyes, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

  “Chris!” I run forward and tackle him, wrapping my arms around his neck. I breathe in his familiar scent – only today he smells a little sweatier than usual. I blame it on warfare.

  “Cassie,” he says, holding me at arm’s length. He looks me over from head to toe. “Are you hurt?”

  “That’s kind of a loaded question.” I’m grinning from ear to ear, actually. “I can’t believe you’re here! I can’t even-”

  He steps forward and crushes me against his chest with one arm, pulling me into a fierce kiss. My heart stops beating for a few seconds as his fingers dig into my waist and, for a short moment, there’s nobody but the two of us.

  And then it’s back to reality.

  “Yo, boss. Heads up!” Grease yells.

  Chris breaks the kiss, leaving me flushed with color as he picks me up with one arm and moves me out of the way. I grab his arm as he calmly shoots an Omega trooper who’d been creeping towards us in the hallway.

  Sneaky.

  “How did you know where to find me?” I ask.

  Chris pulls me backwards with his team – whoever they are – and pulls his scarf back over his mouth. “Long story,” he says, nodding at Grease, who’s ditched the Omega jacket and tied a blue armband around his upper arm. “I’ll explain later. Right now just do what I say and don’t ask questions, okay?”

  I nod, disappointed. Our happy reunion didn’t last long, did it?

  I’m still dazed by everything when we exit through a broken window and enter an empty playground area. Hopscotch squares are painted on the ground. Playground equipment has been left untouched. It’s eerie.

  We stay close to the side of the building, since it gives us more cover than if we were running down the middle of the sidewalk. We’ve got five people with us – four Blue Bands and Grease. Something’s off.

  “Who are all these people?” I ask. “Soldiers?”

  “Local militia,” Chris answers. “We’ve been...hold it.” He pauses. “Max?”

  Grease nods. He checks the corner and gives us the all clear. We run forward, entering the bus stop area where I was almost killed just a few minutes ago. The front gate around the school has been totaled. A couple dozen Blue Bands are ravaging what’s left of the facility, setting it on fire, shooting it up, blowing it up. Whatever they can do to be a pain.

  Omega is in total disarray. I search for Kamaneva on the ground, but her body isn’t there. She could still be alive, then. Great. “Let’s shut this party down,” Chris says, rounding up the Blue Bands. He whistles loudly and makes a circular motion over his head. “Let’s move out,” he yells. “Rally point Echo!” The militiamen have commandeered pickup trucks from the fields and thrown the ladders and buckets out. They’re loading half of them up with fuel containers and boxes of food and supplies. The other trucks are being stuffed with liberated prisoners.

  “Cassidy!”

  I turn at the sound of Sophia’s voice. She runs towards me, grabbing me in a frantic embrace. It’s kind of painful. “Oh, my god, I thought Kamaneva killed you,” she says, crying. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “Me too.” I glance at Chris, who’s handling this whole situation like a boss. “I think we were just liberated by a small army.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t know. Chris is with them, though.”

  “Your boyfriend?”

  I nod.

  Sophia stares at him. “Wow.”

  The few Omega troopers that aren’t retreating into the orchards or haven’t been killed yet try to pull off a last ditch effort to keep the prisoners from escaping by rushing the pickup trucks like kamikaze warriors. The Blue Bands are ready for them, though. Gunfire rips through the air as Chris grabs me by the waist, shoulders me into the front seat of a pickup truck, and sets me down in the middle seat. Sophia jumps onto the rear bed with a bunch of other prisoners who are both standing and sitting. Grease swings himself into the driver’s seat a
nd slams the door shut. The windows have been rolled down. Chris is sitting shotgun, his weapon ready.

  And here I am in the middle of it.

  Life is so weird.

  “Go,” Chris commands.

  Grease floors it. The pickup surges forward. I’m thrown backwards against the seat. The only thing that doesn’t send me flying out the open window is my death grip on Chris’s left arm. The other pickups are following our lead. We roar over what used to be the security fence. Remains of barbed wire and metal are lying twisted on the ground. I turn around in my seat and stare at the school. It’s a barbecue. Totaled. The buildings are destroyed, the grounds are burning and there are dead Omega troopers everywhere. Unbelievable.

  I face Chris.

  “Who are these people?” I whisper, trembling.

  “Friends,” he replies, kissing my forehead.

  “Your friends?”

  “Our friends.”

  “Well, that’s a first. I actually have friends now. Amazing.”

  He turns to focus on the road, giving directions to Grease and watching for enemies. But I don’t think Omega will be able to get backup troops in fast enough to stop us.

  Shocked and bewildered, I try to focus on what’s in front of us. Country roads, orchards, abandoned farmhouses and, in the distance, the foothills. Beyond that are the mountains.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Away from here,” Grease replies. “And by the way, you can call me Max.”

  I watch Sophia hanging on for dear life in the rearview mirror, wondering how many other trucks we’ve got following us in this freedom convoy. Probably five or six. A final, giant explosion lights up the early morning sky above the school. It’s the biggest detonation I’ve ever seen. A pillar of flames rolls through the air, turning inside out with inky black smoke. It mushrooms out in all directions.

  The school is gone.

  “Mission accomplished,” Chris remarks.

  “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” I say, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Yeah?” Chris leans closer. “I’m not the only one.”

  I guess he has a point. This could be a long road trip.

  Chapter Eight

  We drive for several hours. So far we haven’t been ambushed or blown up, so I take that as a positive sign. Negatively, I’m suffering from the aftershock of almost being publically executed by a Russian psychopath. Despite the warmth of the cab, I’m shivering from head to toe. A classic symptom of shock.

  Chris senses my discomfort almost instantly.

  “Cassie? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m just...a little wiped out, I guess.”

  I’m a lousy liar. He frowns and tips my chin up with his finger, looking at my eyes. “Are you sick? Wounded? Be honest with me.”

  “Neither.” I lean against his shoulder. “I almost got shot in the head. Just freaking out on the inside. No biggie.”

  Grease – I mean, Max – stifles a laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” I demand. “You know, I don’t get you. One second you’re an Omega soldier, and then you’re all chummy with a bunch of rogue militiamen from god-knows-where. Plus, you shot Kamaneva. What made you turn on Omega?”

  Chris chuckles, sliding his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close to his chest. “Max was never for Omega in the first place, Cassie,” he says. “He’s always been a spy for us.”

  “Who’s us?”

  “This militia,” Max says. “We’re called the Free Army. But...we’re not really big enough to be considered an army.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Chris points out. “We did just level an entire labor camp with a couple dozen men. Not a bad day’s work.”

  “Okay, since when have you been involved with a rebel army?” I ask Chris, looking up at him. “Last I saw you, you were going hunting. And you were late.”

  He brushes my bangs out of my eyes.

  “Yeah, I was.” He moves closer, feeling the rough ends of my hair between his fingers. “I’m sorry, Cassie. When I came back and you were gone, I looked everywhere for you. It didn’t take me long to figure out what happened.”

  “We ran into each other a couple of weeks after you got picked up by Omega,” Max adds. “The troopers had just raided a community in the hills and taken most of the people there prisoner.”

  Sophia’s community, I think.

  “Max was a narcotics officer back in Sacramento,” Chris explains. “He was an undercover agent.”

  “A real secret agent?” I ask, awed.

  “Kind of. I’d go undercover and pose as a drug dealer. Work a case. Get the bad guys.” He shrugs. “Like what I just did with Omega.”

  “It’s dangerous work,” Chris concludes. “Max is a perfect spy.”

  “But Max was there during my first day at the prison camp.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been spying on Omega for a few months now,” Max replies.

  “Here’s what happened,” Chris explains, smiling at my confused expression. “I found the Free Army not long after they took you to the labor camp. There were only a few men at that point. Not a lot of organization. Not really any leadership. A good bunch of men, though.”

  “How did you find out where I was?” I ask.

  “Max.” Chris takes a deep breath. “He was already a spy. He’d been delivering messages to the militia anyway, and I contacted him to see if you were at the labor camp. Obviously you were, so I started planning.”

  “How did you get all these people to help you?”

  “Well, this labor camp is a pretty big link in Omega’s supply chain,” Chris says. “They’re using prisoners to send food to other troops, plus they’ve got fuel supplies and backup generators. Taking this out hurt them, plus I got you back.”

  “So this was an attack...not just a prison break?”

  “Correct. A lot of these prisoners will join the militia. We need new soldiers, anyway.” Chris nudges my forehead with the tip of his nose. “You look puzzled.”

  “I am!” I sigh. “So now you’re in charge of all these people?”

  “People tend to follow Chris,” Max comments. “It just happened.”

  “So you are in charge.”

  He shrugs.

  Ah. Great. My boyfriend is now in charge of a rebel army leading raids on Omega supply chains. I’m not sure if I should be happy or conflicted about this.

  “You look worried,” Chris remarks.

  “I’m not. I’m just tired.”

  “I know. We’ll be there soon.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Back to base.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “I’ll explain everything in more detail later,” he says in a softer voice, “when you’re feeling better.”

  I nod. He’s right. I’m a little too spaced out right now to absorb any more important information. We make our way back into the lower foothills, zipping through familiar territory as we pass Squaw Valley. A lead weight sinks to the pit of my stomach as we travel. Last time I was here I woke up in the back of a semi-truck with my head crammed into the wall. Won’t Omega know that this is the first place to look for escaped prisoners? The same place they picked them up? Wouldn’t they figure out that everybody would head back to their homes after they escaped from prison?

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Chris says, ghosting a smile. “And don’t worry about it. We’ll be safe here.”

  “What? Can you read my thoughts based on my facial expressions now?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Just when I feel myself falling asleep, the truck sputters to a halt. I sit up straight, peering at our surroundings. We’re high enough in the hills to be considered “in the mountains,” but I know better. We’re probably around the snowline, putting us at three thousand feet. There are trees, creeks and forests. It smells like pine and wet earth.

  “This is it?” I ask.

  “This is it.” Chris opens the car door and steps
outside, holding his hand out for me. “You’re going to love this.”

  I take it. My skin prickles with goosebumps in the cool afternoon air. The rest of the trucks are pulling up behind us. I was right. There’s about five or six of them, half of them packed with prisoners. The other half are packed with supplies raided from the camp. Militiamen are jumping out of the vehicles, surrounding Chris. I stand beside him, uncomfortable with being at the center of the ring.

  “Good job, boys,” Chris says. “That was some of the best work I’ve seen from you yet. Omega will be scrambling to figure out what happened. By the time they call in backup, the camp will be gone, and their supplies will be destroyed or ruined.”

  Everybody starts cheering. The rest of the militia men have removed their facial scarves and sunglasses, and for the first time I get a glimpse of their faces. Young men and women. Some of them don’t even look old enough to be out of high school. But here they are, fighting a war.

  And then I see Harry Lydell.

  He tries to duck his head and turn to the side to avoid my gaze, but it’s too late. The damage is done. I cover my mouth with my hands just as Sophia comes up behind me, pointing.

  “What are you doing here?” she demands, seething.

  “Who is that?” Chris asks, following my line of sight.

  “Harry,” I say, staring at the ground.

  He spreads his arms out, waiting for an explanation.

  “You were working with Kamaneva, last time I checked,” Max says, walking up to Harry. He grabs him around the collar, drags him to the center of the trucks and holds him there with one arm. Harry is sweating and shaking from head to toe.

  “Please,” he begs, “Kamaneva forced me to turn you in, Cassidy.”

  “He turned you in?” Chris looks surprised. “If you turned her in to Omega, why did you think you’d be safe coming with us?”

  Chris curls his fingers around the front of Harry’s shirt, overshadowing the Englishman’s lean frame. His eyes are steely – he looks mad. “You’re a dead man.”

  “You don’t understand,” Harry says, choking. “Kamaneva was going to kill me.”