by Summer Lane
“And Omega?”
“They believe I’m still in charge here.”
“And when they find out that you’re not?”
“They’ll want to kill me.” Beckham shrugs. “Such is the way of war.”
I look at him, then, and I realize that I’m actually starting to like Beckham, and that surprises me. Perhaps it’s because he’s brutally honest – or perhaps it’s because I have to admire him a little for the dangerous double agent game he’s been playing with Omega.
“You should have told me about Banner sooner,” I say quietly.
“I needed you to believe in him, too, for a short time,” he answers. “If you were going to wipe out Sector 13, I needed you focused. I deliberately let you back into the city, Hart. I wanted you back inside, and I needed Banner and Klaus to believe that you were blindsided and then killed. Now the story is official. Both the president and Klaus believe you’re dead. Right now, you have the element of surprise.”
I understand, and although his secrecy frustrates me…I get it.
“And how did you end being in charge of the troops at Sector 13, anyway?” Vera demands of Beckham, hands on her hips. “Did somebody just pick you out and give you the task or what?”
“Essentially.” Beckham looks away. “I was an up-and-coming young officer in the Army – nobody special. One day, I was called to the president’s office. This was right after Banner had been elected, and he was this incredibly powerful man with such an enigmatic presence. I was in awe of him; he was brilliant and charming. Hell, he was my Commander-in-Chief, and I was completely shocked and honored that he even knew I existed. He asked me to take the job of commanding a unit of troops in Nevada – he said it was top secret, and he said it was important work.”
“Why you?” I ask.
“I suspect part of it was because I had no living family,” Beckham admits. “I was just this product of the foster care system, went straight into the military after high school. At least, that’s one of the reasons. There would be nobody to miss me if I squealed on Sector 13’s real mission. I was also gifted in strategy, I have an unusually high IQ, and I was a nobody – an off-the-radar kind of guy. When they brought me into the base, I thought I was simply commanding a unit of soldiers who were ready to resist tyrannical forces. I was told we were on the verge of an invasion, and that I should be ready. I believed I was there to protect my country. I had no idea, and I was a fool.
“When the Collapse finally happened,” he goes on, “the president didn’t deploy us. I watched millions and millions of people die every day, and we just sat there, doing nothing…”
He trails off, and I see tears in his eyes.
“I began to suspect conspiracy,” Beckham continues, clearing his throat. “We waited, and the men grew restless. Finally, I had enough. I defied my orders and intended to take my men out of Sector 13 and join the militias. I assumed the president was dead, so I thought I was doing what was necessary to survive…but we couldn’t leave.”
“You couldn’t leave?” I repeat.
“I told you before that Sector 13 is better known as Area 51,” he explains. “We were stationed in a massive, city-sized underground bunker. Omega had sealed us inside. They weren’t going to let us leave. We were locked in.”
“God,” Vera remarks. “That sucks.”
“To say the least,” Beckham growls. “It became clear to me, then, what our true purpose was. So I waited. In time, the president did contact us for deployment, and our bunker was opened by Omega Special Ops forces. Chancellor Klaus was there. She had a long talk with me. She essentially gave me a choice: lead Sector 13 against the militias under her orders, or she would have me killed and immediately replaced.”
Here, Beckham actually smiles.
“I realized that I could do more damage to Omega from the inside than if I just let her kill me that day,” he tells us. “So we deployed to Cambria, and I tried to find some sort of damning evidence on President Banner that I could use against him to prove that he was part of Omega’s plot. When we went to Morro Bay for the convention with the state militias, I overheard his conversation with Veronica Klaus concerning the Angels of Death. He promised her you had been eliminated…that, of course, was before you infiltrated Compound C.” He makes a fist. “Veronica referred to him by the title of chancellor, as well. I can’t be positive, but I think Banner is actually-”
“Chancellor Damien Ramses,” I interrupt. “The president is Damien Ramses? God, Abbi Banner…she was trying to tell me who her husband was. She was actually trying to tell me!” This realization shocks me, and it confirms my suspicions: Abbi is sympathetic to the militias. “After we took the first family out of Compound C,” I say, “Abbi told me about the seven chancellors for the seven major divisions Omega has decided on for the New Order. Damien has been promised Africa, France, Spain, and England…”
“Yet he’s working with Veronica to conquer the West Coast?” Manny responds. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“But it does,” Beckham points out. “North America is putting up a fight. Chancellors are combining their power against us. I don’t know if you truly realize the enormity of the fight you have put up against Omega - they are in danger of losing the war. Don’t you see that? They’re throwing everything they have at you.”
Everything comes together, missing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally fitting into place.
“So Banner was with Omega all along?” I ask. “He’s been a chancellor all this time?”
“He was born a chancellor,” Beckham says. “It’s a bloodline thing, as I’m sure you know by now. He rose to power as the President of the United States for no other purpose other than to usher in its destruction. Everything he ever did was for Omega. He was never President Saul Banner – he was Chancellor Damien Ramses from the start.”
This is possibly the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard, and it really makes me wish I would have paid attention to the copious amonts of conspiracy theory documentaries that used to premiere on the History Channel before the Collapse.
Who knew something like this could be true?
“Why would Banner promote me to the rank of general if he wanted me dead?” I press. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“He was only painting a positive picture of himself,” Beckham shrugs. “He gave me orders to kill you, Hart. You were supposed to die a martyr, and the people would mourn your loss, and the president would never have to dirty his hands. He would appear to be a great, sympathetic leader and use your death to rally allegiance to himself.”
“Such a coward,” I say.
“He always was.”
“Well, if Admiral Boyd can hold the Omega troop transports back before they reach land-” I begin, but I am interrupted by an all too familiar sight. I see a flicker of movement on the horizon, and I catch a screeching glimpse of white contrails.
“ROCKETS!” I scream.
They look like small tactical strike missiles, and there is no mistaking the fact that there are four of them racing toward the coastline. It is so sudden – so quick – that I barely have time to take it in.
I grab my rifle, and Uriah helps Beckham to his feet. We clear the building and run for cover, diving behind one of the bigger building on Cannery Row. The strike missiles arch gracefully through the sky – quicker than a blink – and they impact the city of Monterey.
Beckham is the last one to dive for cover as the first missile strikes the end of Cannery Row. The aquarium explodes, the matchstick towers tumbling into the sea. Flames erupt on the block, and the earth shakes. Hot shrapnel flies everywhere and I brace myself against the brunt of the explosion.
Beckham stumbles forward, and I can see that a smattering of shrapnel has torn through his chest, and blood is soaking through his uniform. I blindly crawl to him, blinking through the searing smoke. He falls on me. I lower his head to the ground to avoid cracking it against the concrete.
“Beckham!” I shout.
“Kill him,” he gasps, grabbing my hand. “Kill Banner.”
“Beckham, don’t-”
And then he’s dead. Just like that. I’ve seen death a thousand times before, but his sudden departure shocks me. His eyes glaze over and his body goes still. I stare at him for a moment, damning Omega under my breath.
It’s not fair! We just got to know him – we just began to trust him!
I look up, smoke covering the street like a blanket, the fiery bursts of rockets lighting the city in the early morning sun.
Athena Strike is here. They’re early.
The fight has already begun.
Chapter Twenty
The smell of the smoke, the thunder of rockets, the glare of fire. I feel the heat, hear the guns, and I listen to the screams of dying men. I watch it all as if through a glass, shouting orders over the radio, feeling the sweat roll down my back, tasting the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. On the horizon, I see the outline of Boyd’s fleet holding out the oncoming Blood Sharks, but some of the transports are getting through. They come through the water like the creatures they are named after, swift and dark and full of a lust for killing.
We pull back to a better position in the city, higher, with a better view of the incoming troops. We are surrounded by hundreds of militia fighters. Beckham’s dead body burns somewhere in Cannery Row, and the only item we have salvaged is the radio, with which we can contact the rest of the militia defense on the west coast.
As I see three transports hit the shores of Monterey, I watch in horror as Omega troops erupt from the depths of their bellies, swarming the beaches and tidepools, crawling up the streets like black insects. They are dressed in dark uniform, visors on and body armor cinched tightly.
Bam! Just like that, three thousand troopers have arrived in the city.
I yell to Uriah, I yell to Manny, I yell to Vera and Andrew and Elle and Devin and Em…
It dawns on me at some point that now that Beckham is dead, I am the only general left alive. North America and the militias protecting it are my responsibility. The position of authority does not scare me. I am focused on the task at hand, and as I watch Omega flood our shores and I see Admiral Boyd’s fleet feverishly peppering the horizon with rockets, I understand fully that I am not here to be only a general: I’m here to be a friend to my men, and a leader to the point of death.
I can do this.
“This is just the first wave!” Uriah shouts. “See how they spread out?”
I see. Omega troops are spiraling in three different directions, circling around the back of the city. And then come the drones. They slice through the air. A few of them bring bombs and drop them in the middle of our forces, killing dozens of men at once.
“GET INSIDE!” I scream.
We find cover, and I order an entire squadron of snipers to focus only on taking out drones. I know that even if we survive this first wave, there will be more. Dozens more – if not hundreds. Athena Strike will wear us down, beat the strength out of us, drain our munitions, kill our morale, destroy our numbers…
“We can do this!’” I yell.
I am barely able to grasp the radio with my slick, sweaty fingers. I contact Father Kareem, and I tell him what I see. He uses the fierce, erratic fighting tactics of his Mad Monks to combat the Omega troops spreading out around the city.
I look to Uriah, and I nod, and he understands.
I take the Angels of Death to the rooftops, and we split across the buildings looking down on the city, at the soldiers coming up the streets. I settle into my sniper’s nest beside him, and he flips a piece of gum into my hand.
I take it and pop it into my mouth, the flavor and the motion of chewing bringing a sense of calm into my body. I press the stock into my shoulder and I focus on the soldiers below, knowing that even if I were to sit here and shoot for six hours, I could never kill all of them. But together, we can slow them down, and Father Kareem and the Mad Monks and the Cougars and the Strikers can corral them into the kill zone we have created here on the hill.
I raise the scope into my line of sight and I squeeze the trigger.
One down.
Only two thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.
***
The first wave is only the beginning. I know that.
But we are strong, and we hold them off. We fight into the night, into the twilight hours, until the sun rises again and I am so exhausted that I am convinced that I am sleepwalking. We retreat farther into the hills as Omega pushes us farther inland, and then we force our way forward again as we gain the upper hand.
On and on we go, this twisted game of tug-of-war, until I am moving on muscle memory alone and I think that I am too tired to go on.
And then, it stops.
The masses of Omega troops are gone and I realize, through my blurry half-reality of my exhaustion, that they are lying by the hundreds, dead in the streets. It is almost noon and a cloying stillness settles over Monterey. I can smell the blood and the sweat. Crows circle the city, drawn by the scent of flesh and death.
I lower my gun and I am suddenly aware of the complete lack of strength remaining in my arms. I lower my head and I feel sleep’s grip on me, threatening to drag me under.
We’re still alive, but this isn’t over.
Kill Banner, Beckham said. His last words.
The militias need someone to believe in, I think. Even if it’s Banner.
Yes, Banner must die, but the militias don’t need to know why.
I swallow and reach for my canteen, glancing at Uriah beside me. He rests his forehead against his hand, blinking against the harsh sunlight streaming through the clouds.
Banner has to die.
And like it or not, I have to be the one who kills him.
***
“I need you to do something for me,” I tell Father Kareem.
It’s night, and according to the intel Admiral Boyd is feeding us, we have just seven hours until the second wave hits. The west coast has survived the first wave entirely – our positions are still intact, but casualties in Oregon and Canada were particularly heavy.
Omega plans to wear us down – we can’t let that happen. We have to rotate our troops and have a resting period. We’ll die of exhaustion before we die of anything else, otherwise.
“Yes?” Father Kareem asks.
He is sitting on the edge of the sidewalk outside an old, empty house. From here, we can see the streets of Monterey, filled with thousands of dead Omega soldiers.
“I need you to take my place as general,” I tell him.
He raises an eyebrow.
“And why would I do that, my child?”
“Just until I get back,” I go on.
“And where are you going?”
“I have to do something. Something important.”
Father Kareem looks at me, deep wisdom glittering in his wild eyes.
“You are going to kill President Banner,” he states, gravely.
I say nothing.
“And why must it be you?” he asks.
“Because I’ll keep the secret,” I reply. “And because I can do it.”
“President Banner is heavily protected at Camp Freedom,” Father Kareem answers. “If you can even get past the guards stationed there, you’ll have to kill him in front of his wife and child. Are you willing to do that?”
“I’m willing to do anything to win this war,” I respond, emotionless. “And Banner has to die. He’s allowed too many people to suffer. Chris is dead because of Banner.”
“Your anger is controlling you,” Father Kareem warns. “Be careful.”
“Just answer me. Will you command these men until I get back? I shouldn’t be gone more than a day or so.”
“Or so?” Father Kareem shakes his head. “If you succeed, what will the militias think?”
“They’ll think President Banner died a mart
yr,” I say. “And that’s fine. They’ll elect someone else as president, and we can start over when the war ends.”
“If we survive,” Father Kareem points out.
“We will.” I look at him strangely. “You’re the one who always said that there was a prophecy about me saving everyone from the pit of hell or some crap like that, right? Don’t you believe your own prophecy anymore?”
“Of course I do,” he says. “But prophecies can change, and your choices today can affect our choices tomorrow. Take care not to make the wrong one.”
“Kareem – will you do it or not?”
“Of course I will.”
“Don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone. Especially Uriah.”
“He’ll know.”
“By the time he figures it out-”
“He’ll know.”
I exhale, frustrated.
“You hold off the second wave,” I tell him. “I’ll be back before the third.”
“With Banner’s blood on your hands.”
“Yes!” I growl. “With his blood. I’m going to kill him and I don’t feel bad about it.”
“Nor should you. He is an evil man.”
“Then why the guilt trip?”
“Because I just want you to understand who you are killing, that’s all.”
“I understand,” I say. “Thank you, Father Kareem.”
He doesn’t respond, and that’s okay. I know Father Kareem will take excellent care of my men until I return, and as much as it pains me to split off and do this…I have to. I can’t ask anyone else to carry the burden of this mission. After all, I’m going to assassinate the President of the United States.
I never foresaw this as my future when I was growing up.
I go back into the old house, slipping past the sleeping bodies of my team. Elle is huddled up with Bravo, Manny, and Arlene in the corner, and I envy their family unit – broken as it might be.
I gather my gear. I pull on a vest of Kevlar protection, meant to keep me from being killed if I’m shot. We’ll see. I intend to slip out of the city and take a car. I can make it to the foothills in just a few hours, and from there, I know exactly how to find Camp Freedom.