by Summer Lane
Chris starts laughing again.
“Max is an extremely talented actor,” he says. “Probably the most talented guy in camp.”
I look around, spotting Isabel’s head of blonde hair near Mrs. Young.
“Isabel’s happy here,” I say.
“My parents have all but adopted her.”
“Good. Isabel needs parents.” I look at Chris. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Jeff said there was somebody named Alexander in charge before you came to camp. Who was he? Did the militia mutiny on him or something?”
Chris grins.
“No. Nobody was really in charge,” he replies, playing with my fingers. “People were just following Alexander’s commands because he’s a military guy and that was a lot better than sitting in the mud, wondering how to strike out at Omega.”
“But then you came to camp and everybody fell in love with you,” I joke, but I’m actually halfway serious. Chris has that effect. He’s logical, smart, common sense. Roll all of these attributes into one and you’ve got yourself a popular leader.
“No, I just have a different approach than Ramos,” Chris says.
“Ramos?”
“Ramos. Alexander Ramos.”
I blink.
“So is he still in camp, then?”
“Yeah. He’s a good soldier, he’s just got an attitude.”
I smirk.
“Like me?”
“No. Like an egotistical jerk.” Chris gives me a look. “Stay away from him if you can avoid it. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not a good guy, either. He can be...rough around the edges.”
I slide down to the ground and curl up on one of the camping mattresses.
“I guess that’s your way of saying he’s not a gentleman.”
“Exactly.” Chris ambles over and sits beside me, stroking my hair as I lay with my cheek pressed against a sleeping bag. “This is a good group of fighting men, and their purpose is to create enough chaos to keep Omega from taking such a deep hold here.” He traces my ear with his fingertip, moving down to my neck. “But it’s just like any other society. You have to watch your back. There will always be people who aren’t as nice as you think they are. Ask anybody who’s experienced any type of military environment and they’ll tell you to keep your eyes open.”
His fingers touch the gold chain hanging around my neck.
“You kept this?” he exclaims, surprised. “They didn’t confiscate it?”
I smile up at him.
“I guess that’s just God’s way of winking at me.” I touch his hand. “You know, when I was in that place, and they were killing people on the sidewalk, and Kamaneva was making us march through the locker rooms naked, I kept thinking about something.”
Chris’s jaw hardens. He’s angry.
“I swear, if I could kill everybody that ever-”
“-Don’t you want to know what I was thinking about?” I interrupt, feigning disappointment.
Chris visibly relaxes.
“Alright. Shoot.”
“I was thinking about you.” I press my lips against the center of his forehead. “I kept asking myself what you would do in my situation. And I knew you’d come for me – and you did.” I slide my arms around his neck. “Thank you, Chris.”
I’m so close to him that I can hear the rapid beat of his heart. He gently lays me back onto the sleeping bag and gives me a kiss. “You make it easy,” he whispers.
I told myself against his chest, feeling completely secure in his embrace. Nothing and nobody can come between us now. Exhaustion, starvation, trauma – whatever it is that’s eating at my nerves – melts away. I close my eyes and, for the first time in a very long time, I sleep peacefully.
Yeah. Thanks Chris.
What would I do without you?
Now that I’m done hibernating, I feel like a new person. It’s amazing what a little food and water can do. To say nothing of clean clothes, an environment that’s not totally bloodthirsty, and fresh mountain air.
Oh, and then there’s Chris.
Did I mention him? I guess I did. I think I love that man.
I’ve been sleeping on and off for about three days. The exhaustion of slave labor finally caught up with me, and after a little bit of time living in a dark hole, sleeping and dreaming about goose feather pillows, my energy is back. Cassidy Hart has returned, people. And this time around, there’s no grouchy, mouthy Russian woman to push her around.
Chalk one point up to my team, please.
Today is the first day I’ve felt like exploring the campsite, and as I do, I learn a lot about the Free Army. There are elderly couples, singles, children and families here. Everybody contributes to the maintenance and survival of the community as a whole. Women and men share an equal work burden. The women keep the supplies organized and make sure the food is used in a way that will feed the most mouths. Men constantly scout the area, and there are guards posted around the campsite at all times.
And all the while, Chris is taking the liberated prisoners from the labor camp and turning them into new recruits. Sophia and I are sitting on a fallen log, watching him walk back and forth, talking to them. Both men and women are wearing clean clothes. Like me, they’re so happy to be freed from enslavement that the idea of joining an army seems like a great opportunity.
And, also like me, they might change their mind later.
“You know what I think?” Sophia says.
“Hmm?”
“I think Chris Young is way too old for you.”
I roll my eyes.
“Age is but a number.”
“Yeah, but he’s a lot different than you are. I mean, he’s all logical and mature and you’re...”
“I’m what? Illogical and scatterbrained?”
Sophia chokes on a laugh.
“No. I just mean you guys are kind of different.”
“True. But we’re the same, too.” I pick at a loose thread on my pants. “Look what he did to save me. He took command of an army. How many guys would do that?”
Sophia shrugs.
“Good point. He must really love you.”
I lick my lips.
I’ve never heard Chris say those three little words to me before, but...that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me. I think it’s obvious by the way he protects me that there’s more to this than a simple crush.
“Shall we join the army today then?” I ask Sophia.
She shakes her head. Sophia’s dark skin is a stark contrast to the green tee shirt she’s wearing. She’s got the kind of exotic beauty I always dreamed about. But really, who cares about stuff like that anymore? Being pretty isn’t going to keep my butt out of Omega’s crosshairs.
“Tomorrow. Let’s just watch,” she replies.
“Okay.”
Chris is launching into a lecture (I’m starting to wonder if he’s got a laundry list of inspirational speeches memorized) about the kind of commitment it’s going to take for the new recruits to join the Free Army.
“It won’t be easy,” he says. “In fact, it’s going to be the most challenging thing you’ve ever done. You’re going to want to quit. You’re going to want to surrender. You’re going to want all of this to disappear.” He pauses, stretching the moment. The crowd is hanging on every word that comes out of his mouth. “But in the end it’s going to be worth it, because Omega can’t be everywhere at once. Our job is to create enough chaos to make them want to leave our homes alone. We’re not a big enough militia force to meet them on an open battlefield. We don’t have the manpower or the firepower for that. What we do have is strategy, and something to fight for. This is our home, and you have to decide if you’re willing to sacrifice everything to take it back from Omega.”
He stops and clasps his hands behind his back, instructor-style.
“Can you commit?”
There’s a dead silence. Isabel clambers across the log and squeezes me into a playful hug, her eyes
on the conversation going down in front of us. At last, somebody in line steps forward. “I can commit,” he says. He’s a tall, lean young man with a rifle slung over his back.
“What’s your name?” Chris asks.
“Andrew,” he replies. “And I’m in.”
Chris nods. A few other guys step forward and, after a few moments, the entire crowd of ex-POWs takes one step, signifying their decision. My chest swells with pride – pride for Chris’s leadership, pride for the people willing to give their lives to take down Omega.
It’s a rush.
“Thank you,” Chris says, rubbing his chin. “My men and I will start training you. It won’t be long before you’ll be able to inflict as much damage on Omega as they’ve inflicted on us. It won’t take much to turn all of you into their worst nightmare.”
After a few more minutes of talking, Chris lets another man start speaking. I don’t recognize him. He’s tall, blonde and blue eyed. He looks young. His plaid button up is tucked into his blue jeans as he speaks.
Chris looks over at me, ghosting a smile.
“He’s got it bad for you,” Sophia grins.
I feel myself blushing.
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“You’d be crazy if it wasn’t.”
The blonde guy wraps up his talk, and then Chris is moving the group away from camp. I’m assuming they’re going somewhere to train. I stand up and stretch.
“We should train, too,” I say. “I want to help.”
“Me too!” Isabel starts walking back and forth on the log, balancing like a tightrope walker. “Chris says nobody’s too young or old to help win this war.”
Sophia winces at the word war. I don’t blame her. It’s a loaded word.
Small, but loaded.
“I’m going to grab lunch,” Sophia says. “Mrs. Young is making something. I can see her from here.”
“I’m coming with you,” Isabel replies, jumping off the log and taking Sophia’s hand. The two of them have become pretty close in the last few days. “Coming, Cassie?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”
Something catches my attention at the other side of camp. Sophia and Isabel start walking towards the Young’s tent as I go the other way. A tall, powerful man with dark, cropped hair is standing with his arms crossed. He’s studying me. Judging by his appearance, I’m going to make an assumption: he’s ex-military. He has to be with his build, hairstyle and presence.
“Hey,” I say, approaching.
He cocks an eyebrow.
“I’m Cassidy,” I continue. “Are you helping Chris train the recruits?”
He shifts his stance, giving me a cold once-over.
“Ramos,” he replies, his voice gravelly. A smoker’s voice. “Alexander Ramos.”
“Oh, I know who you are.” I stop myself. “I mean, yeah. I heard about you.”
“Really?” He smells like smoke.
I furrow my brow as he pops a package of cigarettes out of his pocket.
“Smoke?” he asks.
“No thanks.” I watch him take a cigarette out. Light it. “Where do you get those? I don’t think they’re selling them at the local gas station these days.”
Alexander snorts.
“A lot of people leave them behind in their houses,” he says.
I notice the lines around his mouth. “Well, I just wanted to...introduce myself,” I say lamely. “Have a nice day.”
I turn to leave, but he catches my shoulder.
His hands are huge – almost three times the size of mine.
“Cassidy,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
I take a step backwards under the intensity of his gaze.
“Yeah?”
“Be careful,” he warns.
“What are you talking about?”
He shrugs and takes a long drag, giving me a farewell wave. Then he stalks off like I never existed, leaving me alone on the edge of camp. How weird is that?
I shrug off his strange behavior as the “attitude problem” Chris was talking about and head back to the Young family tent. Mrs. Young has cooked up some lunch, and it smells delicious. I’m surprised Omega can’t track us down based on the scent of our campfire cooking alone.
“You know, Chris was telling me that you thought your father might have been taken to the city as a war criminal,” Mrs. Young says, setting a bowl down in front of me. “But after what I’ve seen of Omega, I don’t think they’d bother.”
She makes an attempt to smooth back her wispy gray hair as she sits down and joins Sophia, Isabel and myself at a table. “What makes you say that?” I ask.
“Because Omega doesn’t just single people out of the crowd,” Mrs. Young says, “unless they have a very good reason. As far as I know, your father just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“They made a point of leaving the warrant of arrest up for everybody to see,” I answer. “Why would they do that if they didn’t think he was important enough to single out?”
“Your father sounds like a smart man, from what you’ve told me,” Mrs. Young continues. “And I could be very wrong, Cassie, but I feel like Omega wouldn’t waste their time taking war criminals back to the cities.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Sophia asks.
“There’s nothing left of the cities,” Mrs. Young says, stirring her bowl of soup. “Rumor is Los Angeles was attacked with a chemical weapon not long after the EMP. I’ve heard from other people in camp that a lot of the major cities in the country were hit with a chemical weapon, too.”
Sophia stops eating. The color drains out of her cheeks.
“I thought New York was nuked.”
“There are those rumors, too.” Mrs. Young studies the branches of the trees before she goes on. “I don’t know a lot about military strategy like my son, but if I was an invading army, I would want to take over everything – not destroy it and rebuild it. If it’s already in place, why waste all that time building everything from scratch?”
“A chemical weapon would wipe out the population,” I say, realization dawning, “but it would leave the infrastructure of the city in place. Omega could literally clean out the dead people and then move in.”
Sophia covers her mouth.
“That’s disgusting!”
“It could be exactly what happened.” I fold my hands together, getting a plotting look on my face. “You might be right.”
Then what did happen to my dad?
Did Omega arrest him and send him to a labor camp? Was he killed on sight? I have no idea, and I’m afraid that if I spend too much time thinking about it, I’ll go crazy. So I focus on something else.
“Who do you think Omega is?” I ask.
“An alliance.” Mrs. Young doesn’t hesitate with her answer. “We know Russia is involved. Alexander is from the Midwest. He said he suspected Syria and North Korea were involved as well. There could be more.”
“Well, somebody decided to gang up on us,” I sigh. “How nice.”
After we finish lunch, I decide to go for a stroll around the campsite. My strength has returned and I want to familiarize myself with everything before I start training with the rest of the recruits.
Then again, thinking of myself as a “recruit” is kind of hilarious.
I was never the type of person who engaged in strenuous physical activity outside of jogging, hiking or riding a bicycle. And suddenly I’m going to join a guerilla militia group and fight against an invading army. God has a great sense of humor.
On the east edge of the camp, a few guards are stationed around the perimeter. Many of them are actually hidden in the forest a good distance away from the camp, just in case somebody tries to sneak up on us. It’s always good to be prepared.
As that thought crosses my mind, Harry pops up out of the bushes. He’s wearing combat pants that are two sizes too big, and he’s holding a stick.
A big walking stick, by the looks of it.
“Um...” I
say. “What are you doing out here?”
He draws back, clutching said stick, and drops his eyes.
“Guarding,” he replies.
“What’s with the stick? Getting in touch with your inner caveman?”
He doesn’t crack a smile.
“I’m not allowed to have a gun,” he says.
Gee, I wonder why.
“Look, Harry,” I begin. “I know you didn’t set me up on purpose. Kamaneva was the devil in disguise. I was angry with you at first, but I’m not anymore. I understand why you did what you did.”
Forgiveness is not something I dole out on a regular basis. In fact, I have been known to hold a grudge against late postal carriers and waitresses who forget to put lemon in my water. But this is different. Harry didn’t betray me because he’s a bad person. He betrayed me because Kamaneva was.
“I should have been stronger,” he replies, exhaling. “I should have refused. That’s what your boyfriend would have done.”
“You were scared. It’s okay.”
“Well, there comes a point when you’ve just got to look after your own skin,” he snaps, glaring at me. Mood swing alert. “That’s what I was doing. Any logical person would have done the same thing.”
One second he’s apologizing and then next he’s making excuses for himself. I’d say Harry Lydell is having a little emotional crisis right now. I would be, too, if I’d set somebody up to be executed.
“Forget it,” I sigh. “I just wanted you to know I’m not angry with you.”
“Bloody likely,” he mutters.
“Whatever. Be that way.”
I leave, upset. I’ve never had anybody reject mercy before. Is that even possible? If I did something bad, I’d want somebody’s forgiveness...wouldn’t I? Maybe it’s just a pride thing. Harry’s obviously embarrassed that he sold me out to Kamaneva.
He’ll get over it.
If I can, he can, too.
Chapter Ten
Rest and relaxation can only last so long before A) something goes wrong or B) you have to get back to work. I consider life one big long list of As, but today is an exception. It’s time to get back to work.
The liberated prisoners are being turned into a guerilla war fighting group to be reckoned with. The militiamen are training them every day – hard. As a result, the Free Army has dozens of new citizen soldiers, both young and old. And Sophia and I are among the newest recruits.
