by Summer Lane
Chris, because of his natural leadership abilities, has grown to become the leader of our militia. People look up to him. Ever since the raid on the labor camp came off successfully, nobody’s even questioned the idea that Chris should be in charge. Below Chris there are other men who instruct the newbies. The first one is Alexander Ramos. Tall, tanned, slightly creepy. Chris told me that he was an active-duty Recon Marine home on leave when the world went haywire. Aside from that, nobody knows anything about him. He’s a man of mystery, and despite his gruff exterior, Chris seems to trust him.
Next we’ve got Max. Outside of his Omega uniform, he looks like a different person. No more Grease. His hair is cut short and the fine features of his face stand out against his brown eyes. He can’t be older than thirty.
Aside from him we’ve got a young man named Derek. About twenty-three years old, he’s got short blond hair and a tall, powerful frame. He’d only been in the military for a year before the EMP hit. An explosives specialist in the Army.
And then there’s me. I’m not an instructor. Heck, I don’t even know if I count as a student. But I’m here. I want to do everything I can to help this group – I owe them that much for rescuing me from prison. Besides, with no clue where my dad is, what choice do I have but to keep busy? If I sit around and think about all of the things I’ve lost since the EMP, I’ll turn into a delusional downer.
Kind of like Harry.
One of the first things Chris wants the new recruits to learn is how to handle a weapon. An army is kind of useless without weapons, and since Omega is equipped with guns and bombs, it’s only fair that we fight fire with fire. The militia has amassed stockpiles of weaponry from Omega storehouse raids, abandoned houses and other sources. Chris starts newbies like me at the very bottom. My knowledge of weaponry is limited to what my dad showed me when I was in high school. And most of that consisted of, “Do this if you’re attacked in a dark parking lot, then run like hell and call 9-1-1.”
There’s no 9-1-1 anymore, so I’ll have to think outside the box.
We start day one with something I like to call the “Dummy Course.” Chris and the other instructors roll out rugs and mats along the edge of camp and nail targets to trees. We’re all given an empty, harmless rifle and told to lie facedown on the rugs.
I settle onto the rug and prop myself up on my elbows, watching Chris assess the line of trainees. His lips twitch in an obvious attempt to try not to laugh at us. We must look pretty bad.
“Form good habits now,” Chris says, “and you’ll make active combat a lot easier for yourself and your team. You actually have an advantage if you’re completely new to this. You haven’t had the time to form bad habits, so everything you learn now will be the right way. You won’t have to unlearn bad habits.” He stops at the end of the line and kneels next to me. “I want you to learn how to shoot straight and steady,” he says. “Omega’s got numbers and firepower, but if we make every single bullet count, we can even out the playing field. We’ll be neat where they’re sloppy and we’ll be fast where they’re slow.”
He positions my left hand under the barrel of the rifle, bringing the stock into my shoulder. “Bring your right knee up,” he says. “Let your body relax.”
“I am relaxed!”
Well, not entirely. I could probably use some de-stressing therapy, now that he mentioned it. But now isn’t the time to get into that. I crane my neck to the right to try to see down the sights of the rifle. Chris places his hands on my head, moving it to a more relaxed position. “Don’t do that,” he instructs. “Just fall into it. Find the natural place for your cheek to rest against the stock of the weapon.”
“I can’t see through the sights if I don’t tilt my head.”
“Yes, you can. If you’re in the natural position everything will be easier.”
I try. It takes me a couple of hours to get the hang of it, and I’m not the only one who’s having issues. Sophia almost chokes herself to death when Max teaches her how to use her rifle sling. I tease her about it - until I have to do the same drill. It’s not as easy as it looks.
Next, we learn how to shoot standing up. This is a lot harder for me because I’m relatively wimpy and at first the weapon feels like it weighs twice as much as I do. Chris shows me how to use the rifle sling to take the weight off my arms, which helps, but thanks to weeks of manual labor under Kamaneva’s command, my arms are a lot stronger than they look and I adjust quickly.
For two days, this is all we do. We run through basic drills over and over with unloaded weapons. Alexander Ramos gives everybody long, detailed lectures about guerilla war fighting techniques, drawing in the dirt to illustrate his points. Chris shows us how to use the features of the terrain around us to our advantage, like hiding in plain sight or firing from cover. Max lectures us on Omega inside secrets. Their routines, their chain of command, their fighting methods.
Yet through it all, there’s a constant theme: simplicity. We’re learning to keep things simple, quick and lethal. We have to. Omega is way bigger than us, and the only way we’ll stand a chance against them is if our little army is better organized than theirs. Hit hard, hit fast, and get out. It’s really no different than the guerilla techniques used centuries ago during the Revolutionary War.
On the third day, Chris lets us shoot. We apply all of the techniques we’ve learned and set our sights on various targets at different distances. Chris doesn’t want us to blow through too much ammunition, so our practice with live fire is limited. But it’s okay. Some of us are hitting accurately enough to kill an Omega soldier up to four hundred yards away. Even I’m getting good at this, which is an amazing accomplishment in itself. Chris has noticed my skills improving, and he continually makes comments like, “Nice work, Cassie,” or “Good job.”
In Chris speak that means, “Wow. I’m very impressed right now.”
At the end of the week, Chris and the other militiamen in charge seem satisfied with our progress. Personally, I’m impressed with how far we’ve come in such a short amount of time. A week ago I couldn’t put a magazine into a rifle without fumbling around like an idiot. Now I can do it with my eyes closed.
“I feel so hardcore,” I remark, sitting cross-legged next to Sophia. We’re eating lunch. It’s a warm day. The sun is filtering through the tree branches, reminding us that it’s almost April.
“How so?” Sophia asks.
“Oh, you know. Joining the army kind of gave me a confidence boost.”
She laughs, but a few seconds later she turns her head.
“Harry,” she hisses from the side of her mouth.
I look over my shoulder. He’s sitting alone on the edge of camp, stabbing his food with a camping spork. He’s also glaring in our direction. Part of me wants to go over and start a conversation with the guy – he’s obviously lonely. But common sense tells me that it would just be a waste of time. Nobody is making Harry sit in the corner of camp, and nobody is shunning him, either. If anything, he’s shunning us.
“He’s bitter, isn’t he?” Sophia comments.
“Seems to be.” I shrug. “I think he’s mad at himself for screwing up. And I think he’s terrified of Chris, which is understandable. I’d be scared of him too if I was Harry.”
“Still...Harry’s weird.”
I return my attention to my lunch. Harry’s not really weird. He’s just...confused.
“Mind if I join you, ladies?” a gruff voice rumbles.
I look up, meeting the gaze of Alexander Ramos. I’m too stunned to say anything. He hasn’t spoken directly to me since the day I met him – and that was a weird encounter.
“You’re doing well,” he says, sitting down in a vacant chair.
“Excuse me?”
“In your training. You’ve advanced fast.” Alexander folds his hands together. “Both of you have.”
Sophia blushes. It makes me want to gag. Lately she’s been nursing an ill-concealed crush on Alexander, one that I keep trying to disco
urage. True, I don’t have any real reason to not like the man. I just trust Chris when he says that he doesn’t think Alexander is completely stable.
Then again, Chris seems to trust him.
Hypocrisy in the workplace, eh?
“You’ve got talent,” he continues, looking right at me. “And you should utilize it. Chris is going to try to hold you back because he wants to keep you safe. Don’t let that happen.”
I bristle at the suggestion that Chris would do that...but he’s right.
“I don’t know how he would hold me back,” I say.
“Easy. He’ll put you in positions where you can’t get hurt. Where you won’t be used to your full potential.” He leans forward. “Don’t let him do that to you. We need everybody’s talent on the line, here. You’re quick with your hands and your feet. You’re a good shot. We can use you.”
He takes a long breath, reaching for a cigarette.
How many of those does he have? I think.
“Thanks for the advice,” I say, uninspired.
“Don’t mention it.” He stands up, dusting his pants off. “Like I said before, be careful.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Just don’t let yourself be pushed aside. That goes for you too, Rodriguez.”
Sophia perks up when he mentions her last name. He walks away, flipping a lighter out of his pocket. I make a face and return to my meal.
“He’s handsome,” she sighs.
“He’s weird.” I brush my bangs out of my eyes. “I don’t know why he felt the need to tell us that. It doesn’t even make sense.”
“Maybe he’s just a nice guy who’s concerned about us.”
“Maybe...he was in charge until Chris came around.” I tilt my head back and try to put myself in his shoes. “If I were him, I’d probably be a little upset about it.”
Sophia ignores me.
We the eat the rest of our lunch in silence, thinking about our training, thinking about Alexander Ramos, thinking about poor, weird Harry. When we’re done, we join the other recruits for some more training. I find myself zoning out and struggling to stay awake as the warm afternoon daylight hits my face.
“Can you believe it?” Sophia whispers.
“Hmm?”
I blink a few times, lifting my drowsy head, focusing in on Chris’s figure standing over me. He’s looking at me with an expression of wry amusement – or annoyance. Probably the latter.
“What?” I say, stifling a yawn.
“Weren’t you paying attention?” he asks.
“Sorry. Sunshine puts me to sleep.”
Sophia smirks.
“He just said we’re going to hit Omega for real this time. Hard.”
Chris has my full attention now.
“What? The raid on the labor camp wasn’t real enough?” I quip.
“You’re ready,” he says, looking at me, then focusing on something in the distance. Ignoring my sarcasm. “You need firsthand experience.”
But I can tell by the look on his face and the tone of his voice that he’s not taking this lightly. Good. Because neither am I.
Are we ready for this?
Ready or not, here we come. That’s our motto for the next few hours. Chris is standing next to me on the edge of camp, cinching up his boots, rechecking his gear. The sky is dark, broken only by starlight filtering through the clouds. I’m standing there, twiddling my thumbs, full of nervous energy as I get my gear together in the near darkness of the forest. Rifle? Check. Sling? Double check. Shoelaces tied? Make that a triple check, and just to be on the safe side, I’ll throw in a double knot. Jeff’s knife is strapped around my thigh. It’s always been something like a good luck charm to me in the past, so I like to keep it with me.
Chris straightens up and places his hands on my shoulders. With his black clothing, he blends into the shadows around the campsite.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says. “I’ll be with you.”
“You can’t stick with me all the time,” I reply. “You’ve got a militia to lead. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll worry about you if I want to.”
He pulls me into a gentle kiss. I melt into him, desperate to touch him. I feel like this is some kind of goodbye.
That’s irrational, I tell myself. We’ll be back in no time.
But this is war. Anything could happen.
Across the camp, the muted shadow of Alexander Ramos is standing still, his arms folded across his chest, watching us. As Chris wraps his arms around me for a final, comforting hug, I place my head against his chest and watch him.
Don’t let yourself be pushed aside, he said. Stupid advice. Chris isn’t afraid of letting me help.
“Stick to the plan and follow orders,” Chris says, “and you’ll be fine. Don’t deviate. If things go bad, head to the rally point where the vehicles will be. You can’t mess around and wing it, Cassie. This is life or death.”
I nod.
“Yes, sir.”
He smiles softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
The militia hasn’t made a move against Omega since Chris and his group attacked the labor camp. This will be the first mission we’ve attempted since all the liberated prisoners became new recruits over the last few weeks. Our target is an Omega supply depot in Squaw Valley.
“Omega is using people like you and me to farm the land and collect the supplies,” Chris says, gathering everybody around the center of camp. We’re all dressed in dark clothes, blending in with the night. “They’re an invading army, and we can surmise that they’re an advance force prepping for the next wave of troops to come in, so they need our food to keep going. Not to mention our labor. So what we need to do is make it impossible for Omega to stay here by taking away what they need, and making sure any new forces in the area don’t have a reason to settle in. The best way to do this is to cut off their supply chain. We start by liberating the POWs and taking back the food supplies. Just like we’ve done in the past, but on a larger scale.” He takes a step back, locking gazes with me for a moment. “We’re not training anymore. This is real. You get one chance to do your job right, and if you hesitate, there’s a very real chance that you will endanger the mission or get yourself killed. It’s important that you follow orders. Focus on the objective. Continually keep the enemy reacting to our actions. This will keep you and your friends alive.”
He pauses.
“But the best soldier is the one who can improvise,” he continues. “There will be instances in which my orders do not fit with a given situation. You’ll be forced to make a tough decision. Think on your feet and do what you know is right. We can’t afford to take many losses. Every man counts. Take the road that will get as many of you out of that situation alive. Keep your group together and make sure you maintain communication with the members of your team. A battlefield is loud and chaotic, and it’s easy to get separated. Do exactly as you’ve been trained. Shoot, move, and communicate. Fighting rarely goes as planned, so yes, follow orders, but be prepared to adapt, improvise and overcome when things get hard.” He folds his arms across his chest, keeping his gaze steady. “We’ll be separated into four platoons. Each platoon will take one side of the depot, surrounding it on all sides. Only two platoons will attack at a time. Omega will turn to respond with fire, and then our next two platoons will open fire from the other side, as we discussed in training. It will keep them guessing. Our most powerful weapon tonight will be the element of surprise. Max and his team will be in charge of opening the gate for us.”
A few of the men chuckle. Max’s team is comprised of demolition experts and men who know how to make things go boom in a major way.
“While our three platoons are surrounding the depot,” Chris finishes, “Max’s team will be maneuvering to breach the front gate with explosives, essentially giving us a way to enter the property. We should be able to pin Omega’s forces against the rear concrete wall. They’ll be trapped. Nowhere to run
.”
The Omega center in Squaw Valley is a giant warehouse. It’s small in comparison to the one I was imprisoned, but it’s a good place for a small, fledgling fighting group like us to start.
Sophia gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before we separate into our platoons. There are four: Max, Alexander, Derek and Chris. Since my skillet is primarily marksmanship (my dad would never believe it), I’m with Chris’s group. He’s leading us around the front end of the warehouse. Sophia is with Alexander Ramos’s team since her talents are different than mine. Her platoon will round the back of the depot and focus on closer targets.
Each group is assigned a truck. I sit with Chris in the cab of ours, while the rest of our team piles into the back. My heart is racing. We’ve gone over our training a thousand times. I should be able to do this. But I’m still scared. No amount of training will ever change the fact that deep down, I’m just a teenage girl from LA who got kicked into a war zone.
Chris starts the engine and we take off, driving down the mountain roads. Luckily, the moon is bright tonight, making it easy to navigate the roads without headlights. We stick to bumpy back roads that cut behind the main highways – roads that are far away from the routine Omega patrols. The supply center we’re hitting is about an hour away from our camp, but it will take longer to get there since we have to go so slow to keep the engine noise down.
“Don’t drive fast or anything,” I mutter.
Chris simply smiles, but it’s a tight smile. Just because he’s a macho leader these days doesn’t mean he’s impervious to fear or nerves. I sometimes forget that he’s human, too. “We’ll be okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.
“I know.” He keeps his eyes trained on the road. “Maybe you should have stayed with my parents back at camp.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m fine.” I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m just as capable as any of the other recruits around here.”
