State of Chaos (Collapse Series)

by Summer Lane

  “I didn’t say you weren’t capable or talented.” He sighs. “I just said I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I won’t.”

  A heavy silence hangs between us for a few seconds.

  “Cassie, I came too close to losing you before,” he says at last.

  “Chris, you don’t have-”

  “-Just hear me out.” He throws a glance in my direction. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this with me. If you feel like you’re not ready, or if you’d rather stay back at camp, you can tell me.”

  I place my right hand around the car door handle.

  “Believe me, I’d tell you,” I reply. “Don’t worry.”

  I take a deep, steadying breath. Chris has every right to be cautious when it comes to me jumping headfirst into a battle. How many times have I almost died in the last few months? How many times has he had to save my sorry butt, too? Yeah, I can see his point. But I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding in the foothills. I have to do my part to stop Omega, and after being imprisoned – and almost executed – I feel a personal desire to take them out.

  Call it revenge. Call it whatever you want to call it.

  I’m obligated.

  Chris doesn’t say anything for the rest of the drive. We travel in silence, wrapped up in our own thoughts. The tension is thick. We finally arrive at our destination, a small clearing in the middle of the forest a few miles away from the supply depot. We need to be far enough away from the compound so we can sneak up on them without rumbling up in a bunch of trucks.

  This will also be our primary rally point if something goes wrong.

  “Let’s go,” Chris says.

  I nod.

  He catches my chin between his fingers, pressing a kiss against my lips.

  “I...” He shakes his head. “Just be careful and stay close to me.”

  “Will do.”

  My heart twists a little in my chest.

  We get out of the truck. We’re about a half a mile away from the supply center. Nobody speaks. Nobody breathes. We fall into our platoons like we planned, keeping everything silent and efficient.

  I stay close to Chris’s shoulder as our platoon separates into the woods. The foothills are bright and beautiful in the moonlight, making it simple to navigate the path – but easier for Omega to see us coming if we’re not careful. In the distance, I spot the supply center. It’s an old warehouse surrounded by a parking lot. Omega trucks are parked there, and a big barbed wire fence has been erected around the perimeter. In the back, a cinderblock fence is lined with wiring around the top.

  Looks familiar.

  Troopers are guarding a few smaller buildings next to the main warehouse. That’s where they’re keeping the POWs. Chris crouches down and we all follow suit, lying prone, watching the buildings through the tall grass. Chris has his binoculars trained on the front entrance. The other three platoons are closing in on the warehouse, and pretty soon we’ll have it surrounded on all four sides.

  “I really hope they don’t have satellite,” I whisper.

  “Nobody has satellite surveillance anymore,” somebody says behind me.

  “I’ll bet Omega does.”

  I mean, why not? They’ve got working cars, don’t they? They’ve got generators. They might as well have their own satellite. Unfortunately, the thought that we could be watched from the sky is enough to make my nervousness skyrocket.

  Relax Breathe. Just stay calm.

  I’m an idiot. I can never get my body to cooperate with me when I want it to. And right now, all I want it to do is relax. My hands are shaking and my shoulders are trembling. The cold temperature is just making it worse, too.

  Chris takes my hand.

  “Hey,” he whispers. “We got this.”

  I force a smile.

  And just a second ago I was the one calming his nerves.

  In total silence, we move closer to the building. As we get closer, I can see that it used to be some sort of big repair shop, but Omega has, once again, commandeered something good and turned it into something bad. It makes me sick – and it reminds me why I’m here.

  Just stay focused, I think. Don’t do anything stupid.

  When we’re as close as we can get, we drop to into the prone position again. Our weapons are at the ready. I lay mine across a log to take the weight off my arm. It will help make my aim steadier. Our goal is to wait for Alexander’s team and Derek’s team to maneuver into place while Max and his men set up the fireworks.

  A few minutes of tense silence pass before Chris finally says, “Now.” We can’t see the other platoons. We can only go by time – and hope that everybody does their job according to the plan. There are at least ten troopers standing guard on this side of the supply building. Two inside the fence, two outside the fence at the entrance, three around the warehouse itself and two more patrolling the front of the storage buildings being used to house prisoners. We’re close enough to see the white O stitched into their uniform sleeve. Close enough to hear their conversations.

  Close enough to take them out.

  Chris gives the signal for us to open fire by taking the first shot. It’s perfect. A trooper drops dead at the front entrance. As he does, our group starts firing from the cover of the grass and the trees, and more troopers fall. When Omega finally starts regrouping and hitting us with return fire, we drop into the grass. The other two platoons open fire, shooting at Omega from the opposite side. Omega scrambles to get it together, but it’s not happening. This goes on for a while. We trade off coordinated volleys until Omega’s numbers are significantly reduced. Shoot, drop, let the other side pummel Omega while we reload. Rise up again, shoot, drop. Rinse and repeat. Omega troopers keep falling. Our numbers remain the same.

  One or two desperate troopers duck for cover and yell for backup, but as they do, the main gate explodes. Just like it did at Kamaneva’s camp – only now I recognize the militiamen’s handiwork.

  I duck my head as the explosion sends a wave of heat over our hiding place. I keep my weapon aimed at the entrance, sweeping back and forth, looking for an Omega trooper that might appear in my sights.

  The explosion at the front entrance lights up the property and gives us access to the property. Omega troopers are scrambling around to figure out what the heck is going on. It’s like the rescue at the labor camp all over again – only this time, I’m on the other side of the fence.

  Chris gives the signal. He takes half of our group and bounds towards the building, leaving me and a few other militiamen behind to cover them. I watch them storm the camp along with Alexander, Derek and Max, systematically taking out Omega’s lines of defense. If anything, they make it look too easy.

  But I know better.

  Chris is just that good.

  Omega troopers are running out of the building, trying to stop the militiamen from rushing the camp, but there’s not a lot they can do. Our forces are already inside. Explosions rock the ground like thunder. Gunfire rips the air. Yelling, screaming. Fire, smoke, heat. It takes every ounce of self-restraint in my body to stay on the ground and not run after Chris to try to help him.

  But this is the new me. I actually do what I’m told...most of the time.

  As I’m watching the scene unfold, I notice an Omega trooper coming around the corner of the big warehouse. He’s armed and, because of the thick smoke, hard to see. He shoots one of our men. I suck in my breath, dropping my head, looking down my sights. I don’t even think about what I do next. I just aim, squeeze, and shoot. He’s at least two hundred yards away, but it’s a good shot. He drops instantly as my bullet hits him right in the chest.

  I release a breath and close my eyes.

  Somebody – I don’t know who – claps me on the back and says something congratulatory. A sick feeling pools in my stomach and I fight the urge to gag. I intentionally killed someone. Granted, I did it to keep him from killing someone else, but still. The realization hits hard.

 
There’s no time to feel guilty. Everything’s moving fast. Alexander reaches the entrance and gives the all-clear signal, and the rest of us jump to our feet and storm the camp with the remainder of our forces. Omega is overrun, dropping their weapons, throwing their hands in the air. I enter the property with my weapon raised, the stench of burning metal and gunpowder burning my lungs.

  “Cassie, stay behind cover!” Chris yells, appearing from the smoke. He grabs my arm and pulls me behind the corner of the warehouse. “Stay out of the open.” He pauses, looking at the Omega trooper on the ground. “Nice shot.”

  His gaze falls to the other side of the camp, and his features harden. Alexander is rushing the last of Omega’s defense with all of his troops. I watch three militiamen get shot and killed in the process. We can’t afford those kinds of losses.

  “Stay here,” he orders.

  Something about his tone screams danger. I stay behind the corner of the warehouse and watch as he makes his way across the parking lot, weaving through the battle zone like a boss. Derek cuts through the property, guns blazing, a feverish glint in his eyes. I’m guessing he’s enjoying this. Max takes off after Chris. I watch them, wondering what the problem is.

  “Sophia!” I yell, waving her down.

  Her head pops up and she runs over, clad in the same black clothing I am. She’s sweating. Besides the trail of blood running down her cheek, she looks unhurt. “Are you okay?” she asks, breathing hard.

  “Yeah, fine. You?”

  “Good. Something’s going on with Ramos, though.”

  “I know.”

  Something slams into my right shoulder, smashing me against the warehouse wall. I see stars and lose my balance, falling to the side. Sophia yells something and I hear a loud thud. I scramble to my feet, an Omega trooper right above us. He’s using the stock of his rifle to attack us, which means he must be out of ammo. Blood and soot is smeared all over his face.

  I roll out of the way, narrowly avoiding a painful encounter with his boot. By the time I manage to climb to my feet, he’s already attacking Sophia. I slam the stock of my own weapon into the back of his neck. He screams and stumbles, hitting the warehouse. I hit him again and, as he falls, Sophia plants a deadly kick to his head. He goes limp.

  “Dead?” Sophia breathes.

  “No. Unconscious.”

  Panting, I kneel down and dig through his pockets. Nothing. The dude is out of weapons. I turn my attention to the far side of camp. Chris is fighting side by side with Alexander. Max is doing the same and it looks like Derek is joining in.

  “We should help,” I say.

  “I don’t know. Neither of us can fight like that.”

  As we speak, liberated prisoners start running out of the containment units. There can’t be more than fifty people, but it’s enough. They overwhelm what’s left of Omega’s defense, making our job a lot easier. No more than ten minutes later, the supply center is nothing but a smoking memorial to Omega’s disgusting labor camp. Their men are either dead or disappeared – most of them dead. Burning embers are littered across the ground. Ashes are falling from the sky, coating my hair and skin. Dead troopers are everywhere. Several of our own militiamen are sprawled across the parking lot at unnatural angles. Fiery blazes are spreading across the edges of the property, crawling towards the buildings.

  I bend down and gag, overwhelmed with the stench of burning flesh and human blood. My vision blurs with tears. This is the reality of war. Horrible killing. Chris is walking towards me through the smoke, his face covered with black smudge marks and sweat. He kneels beside me and places an arm around my shoulders. “You did good, kid,” he says, pressing his lips against my temple. “I’m proud of you.”

  I cling to his arm as we stand up together. Refugees are piling into commandeered Omega pickups as fast as they can. Supplies are being stuffed in with them, to be packed into our own vehicles back at the rally point. Militiamen are planting more explosives around the buildings. They’ll detonate as we leave – which needs to be soon if we want to make a clean exit before Omega brings in backup.

  “I had it!” Alexander growls from behind us.

  His expression is lethal. Chris keeps his arm around me, undeterred.

  “We’ll talk later,” he states. “Get in the truck.”

  The veins are bulging in Alexander’s neck. He’s furious. I watch as he stalks away towards the truck. Chris’s grip on me is unbreakable as he leads me back towards another truck.

  “What was that all about?” I croak, my throat dry from all the smoke.

  “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Chris.”

  “I’m not.” He opens the car door. “I’ll tell you later,” he promises. “Good job.”

  I crawl across the seat and settle down in the passenger side of the cab, kicking out trash and empty water bottles. By the time Chris jumps in the truck and revs the engine, we’ve got at least seven new vehicles, half of those loaded with fuel and food. It’s an epic win. Chris floors it, and as we hit the road, the explosives detonate, turning what’s left of the property into smoking ruins. I hold my head in my hands, bracing myself for the aftershock of emotions that will definitely come once the adrenaline rush wears off.

  Tonight we sent a message to Omega.

  The hunted have become the hunters.

  Chapter Eleven

  Coming back to camp is like returning home from deployment. Granted, our deployment only lasted a few hours, but you get the point. The Young family and Isabel are waiting for us, along with other members of the militia who stayed behind to guard the camp. The rush of adrenaline is still simmering in my blood, keeping my senses sharp. It should wear off soon.

  When our truck pulls into camp, a pickup screeches up beside us. Alexander kills the engine on his pickup and storms out of his vehicle, slamming the door behind him. He stalks around the front of our truck and confronts Chris. I scramble out of the car and run around the pickup bed just as Chris steps out of the vehicle.

  “Why did you do that?” Alexander demands. “I had the situation under control!”

  The other pickups are pulling into camp. The militiamen are high on victory, laughing and grinning. A sudden hush falls over the crowd as they notice the confrontation going down between Chris and Alexander.

  “You had a situation,” Chris replies calmly, “but you didn’t have it under control.”

  “What was all that crap about ‘the best soldier can improvise?’” Alexander hisses, getting in Chris’s face. “I improvised, Young, and you screwed it up.”

  “You were making a mistake.” Chris crosses his arms. “Go see to your men. We’ll discuss this later when we debrief.”

  Little Isabel pokes her face out of the crowd and runs towards me, wrapping her arms around my waist in a hug. I kiss the top of her head, holding my breath.

  “I won’t forget this,” Alexander warns, rolling his shoulders back.

  “Good. Don’t.” Chris closes the pickup door. “And one more thing.”

  Alexander raises his eyebrows.

  “Don’t question my orders in combat again,” Chris says quietly. “You’re dismissed.”

  It’s not insulting. Just a reminder of who’s in charge.

  Alexander stalks away, the vein in the center of his forehead bulging, his face a dark shade of red. Almost purple. The entire militia has their eyes on Alexander as he shoves his way through the crowd, swearing under his breath. Yet he doesn’t continue to argue with Chris, and that alone is the deciding factor in this mini-mutiny moment. Chris calmly unfolds his arms and takes a look around the camp. People disperse, whispering under their breath. I meet Chris’s gaze.

  “You handled that well,” I comment, forcing a smile.

  He nods.

  Mrs. Young pushes her way through the crowd, reaching for Chris. It’s one of those rare moments when her long gray hair is hanging loose to her shoulders, framing her petite face.

  “Chris
,” she says, embracing her son. “You’re safe. Thank God.”

  Chris doesn’t reply. He just hugs her back and closes his eyes.

  “I’m glad you’re safe, too, Cassie,” Mrs. Young adds, pulling me into a hug.

  “And I’m sad I had stay behind and guard this stupid campsite,” Jeff sighs from the corner of the tent. “Did I miss all the action?”

  “Oh, sure. Nothing like death and blood to put some pep in your step,” I reply.

  He rolls his eyes. Whatever. He’ll see what it’s like soon enough.

  “What was Alexander upset about?” I ask, crossing my arms. “I mean, I could be wrong here, but he wasn’t exactly stoked about our victory.”

  The militiamen are unloading the commandeered trucks. Everything from water bottles to boxes of canned goods have been confiscated from the labor camp – plus, we’ve got nearly fifty hungry new recruits if the liberated prisoners decide to join us and fight.

  “Alexander has a different style than I do,” Chris says, taking a seat on a camping chair. He pulls his hair loose from his ponytail, letting his long hair frame his face. “It’s not entirely his fault – I was trained the same way, but the difference between us is that I’m looking at our group as a rescue unit rather than a kill squad.”

  “I have no idea what you mean by any of that,” I state, squeezing next to him on the chair. “Explain, please?”

  Chris sighs.

  “In the military, they train you to defend your brothers and kill your enemies,” he answers, keeping an eye on the pickups. “They train you in such a way that you’ve already mentally accepted the fact that there will be casualties on your side. Losses are accepted and acknowledged ahead of time. That’s the price of war.”

  Sophia worms her way through the crowd, walking towards us. She gives me a nod to let me know she made it back to camp safely, and wanders off into the crowd, giving us our privacy.

  “As a SEAL, I was trained to kill,” he replies. “We specialize in counterterrorism, special reconnaissance, guerilla warfare, even. But we go into that situation knowing that somebody in our group may die – even though we’re doing everything we can to prevent that.” He pulls my hair away from my face, examining the bruise on my forehead. “What happened to your forehead?”