by Summer Lane
I climb onto the hood and look across the peninsula at the cobalt waters of the Pacific washing against the shores and cliffs. The highway is strewn with dead bodies. I stare at the destruction. There are bodies everywhere, and I shudder at the breadth of it. Admiral Boyd’s naval fleet is floating just offshore, and Omega Blood Sharksare hollowly wedged on land in some places, while others are sinking into the water, nothing more than masses of burning, twisted wreckage.
I shoulder my rifle and I pick my way through the roads, avoiding the open areas, weaving around the dead. And dear God, they really are everywhere. Omega troopers lie in heaps, as if systematically executed. Is this the product of some brilliant strategy by Father Kareem? Still, despite the thousands of bodies I see, I know that this is just the tip of the iceberg. If the militias have killed ten thousand, that’s little more than a drop in the bucket of one million.
As I make my way toward the city center, I see signs of militia movements. Buildings are burning and blackened craters punch holes in the street. The sky is heavily clouded, signaling the arrival of yet another storm. Wind whips my hair in circles, and I shiver in the cold.
By the time I reach the downtown area, I break through the militia’s perimeter. There is a checkpoint on the edge of the city, and when I approach the gate, limping, bloody and beaten, a militiaman standing guard excitedly yells, “THERE SHE IS! IT’S GENERAL HART!”
Militiamen and women gather at the gate, murmuring excitedly amongst themselves, and a group of soldiers rushes to greet me. The young man who first saw me grabs my pack and says, “Let me get that, ma’am.”
I force a smile, and then I wobble a little. He places his arm under my shoulders and helps me toward the checkpoint. Now that I’m here, and I’m back in the perimeters of the city, I feel weak. I stumble a few times as they pull me past the checkpoint, into the militia safe zone.
Safe, of course, being a relative term.
“We’ll take you back headquarters, ma’am,” the young soldier tells me. His patch reads Declan. “But you look like you need some, uh, medical assistance.” He tries not to stare at the blood covering my clothes. “We’ll take you to the hospital on-”
“No,” I interrupt. “Just take me to HQ. I need to meet with Father Kareem.”
I need to see that the rest of my friends are still alive.
“But ma’am,” he insists. “You’ve got a lot of blood-”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Lie. It totally is.
“If you say so, General.”
Declan grabs a Humvee and ushers me into the front seat. I sit with my rifle between my knees, staring blankly out the window.
“What happened, General?” Declan asks, getting into the driver’s seat. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking? A lot of us thought you were dead, and Father Kareem wouldn’t say if you were or not.”
“I got separated from my unit,” I reply, the lie coming quick and easy.
“And the blood?”
“I got caught in some crossfire. No big deal.”
Declan’s eyes flick to the pieces of pine on my jacket, the traces of smoke in my hair and the mountain dirt clearly stuck to my boots. He licks his lips, but he doesn’t comment on the fact that my story doesn’t really add up.
“So what happened here?” I ask.
“Two more waves,” Declan replies, shrugging. We drive through the downtown area, and I see wounded militiamen everywhere, being toted in the back of trucks – some even being hauled in wheelbarrows. Anything with wheels.
“Casualties?” I press.
“Not as many as you’d think. Maybe seventy-five?” He shakes his head. “The general is really smart; he’s got us using guerrilla warfare tactics even against numbers like this. Freaking genius, to be perfectly honest. We’re holed up in so many little nooks and crevices in this city, Omega can’t smoke us out. They have to keep coming to us, and we keep leading them into a kill zone.”
I exhale, resting my head against the window.
Father Kareem is a brilliant leader. Maybe he should remain the overseeing general of the militia forces permanently. My gift for strategy only goes so far. I’m more of a force my way to victory kind of girl. Fine planning and evaluation is not my best trait…although I’m good enough to have survived this far, so maybe I’m not giving myself enough credit. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Declan drives us through Monterey – which has been turned into a wasteland of battle once again – taking me to the new building which has been turned into headquarters: across the street from the Fisherman’s Wharf, peering into the sea, there is a big, white building with large windows. Formerly a nautical history museum, most of the relics are gone, but the edifice is spacious enough – and well protected – to host the leaders of the militia movement in one spot.
Declan drives to the front and I say, “Thank you, Private.”
He nods, then replies, “General Hart…we’re going to win.”
I glance at him, surprised: do I look that bad? Probably. Maybe he thinks I need a pep talk, and I guess he’s right.
“I know,” I say. “We are.”
He smiles, and then he’s gone, and I’m standing in front of the new HQ building with my gear, covered in dried blood and limping like a cripple. I make it to the front door. Two militiamen welcome me inside. They offer to help me, but I push them away.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Where’s General Kareem?”
One of the guards gives me a quizzical look and replies, “Um, the General is upstairs. And so is Father Kareem.”
He says the words, and a cold revelation occurs to me.
Did Kareem hand the leadership over to someone else after I left? After I trusted him to lead this city? Why would he do such a thing? I climb a flight of stairs and hit the second story. There are maps and tables scattered everywhere. I recognize some lieutenants. The first person I see is Elle, standing with Bravo.
“Cassidy!” she cries.
She runs to me and claps me into a hug. I wince, but I force a smile.
“Hey,” I say. “You okay?”
“Me? God, have you looked at yourself? Where did you go? What the hell happened to you? You look terrible!”
“Rough day at the office.”
“Where did you go?” She lowers her voice. “Father Kareem said you had to leave to do something important. What?”
“Where’re the others?” I ask, ignoring her question.
“Andrew and Vera are out with the Strikers,” Elle explains. “Manny and Arlene are downstairs. They’re trying to figure out what our next move is.”
“And what about Em? And Devin?”
Elle lowers her eyes.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “They were on the frontlines last night and they went MIA. They’re probably fine…” She swallows. “But yeah. MIA.”
“Both of them?”
“Both.”
I run a hand through my hair.
I look up. I see Uriah. He is standing at the rail of the second story, overlooking a perfect view of the harbor and the wharf. It’s beautiful – almost pretty enough to give you the illusion that there aren’t thousands of corpses littered in the streets. He turns and he sees me. My heart leaps in my chest, because he’s alive, and because I remember our kiss and I am overjoyed to see him.
He takes in my appearance – the blood, the bandages, the way that I am forcing myself to stand despite everything. His expression tightens, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. I try to smile at him, but something seems wrong. I see tears in his eyes, and he looks away, stalking toward the stairs.
Tears? From Uriah?
I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face.
How could he just ignore me? After what happened between us?
“Cassidy,” Elle says. “Look, something happened while you were gone…”
“What?!” I demand. “What happened? What’s with Uriah and-”
I see him.
I see him and suddenly it all becomes clear – like crystal, like peering through a clean windowpane, the world opened up to me and changed in an instant.
I see the short, buzzed haircut and I recognize the tilt of broad shoulders, the electric green eyes looking into my soul, the expression of complete relief and surprise on a face familiar enough to me that it could be my own.
“Chris?” I say.
He stands near the rail, and he nods, slowly. I shake myself, quaking with disbelief.
Not possible, not possible, I think. I saw your casket. I went to your funeral.
I threw my ring into your grave and I said goodbye.
But he is there, and he moves toward me, and I cannot breathe. I am frozen. I am shocked. I feel the strength go out of my limbs and I vaguely realize that I am about to fall, because I cannot wrap my head around this…it doesn’t make sense, I don’t understand. His arms close around me and I smell his familiar scent, my body responds to his touch, so comforting. So much like home.
My cheek presses against his chest and I can feel his heart beating – steady, like always. I hear it, and then I start to cry. I shudder and as he holds me I have only one thought:
This can’t be real.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“It’s me,” Chris says. “Cassidy, look at me! It’s really me.”
I look into his eyes, and I choke, “I watched your casket get buried! How is this-”
“I’ll explain it. I promise.”
He kisses me. It’s warm and wonderful and everything I have been missing…but it’s different, somehow. Because I don’t understand and because I watched the militia bury him. I stood vigil over his grave for days, watching as hundreds brought flowers and tokens of affection for a man beloved by everyone in the state and everyone who has ever fought against Omega.
I pull away, bleary-eyed, and I say, “I don’t understand.”
He kisses my forehead.
“I know,” he whispers. “Come with me.”
He takes my hand and I limp slowly beside him. He puts his arm under my shoulders.
“Cassidy? What happened?”
I don’t answer.
“Have you been shot?” he asks. “God, Cassidy, are you-”
“I am FINE!” I yell. My voice is shaking, my tone strained. “You need to EXPLAIN TO ME HOW YOU’RE ALIVE!”
I am overjoyed that he is alive – I am! I have never felt such utter relief and gratitude…but I feel as if the wind has been knocked out of me, like the world has played some cruel and elaborate joke at the expense of my personal stability and sanity.
Chris nods.
“Come on,” he replies.
He looks away and takes my hand, leading me through the top level of the museum. There is a small area that has been cleared, and there are chairs here. He gently encourages me to sit down, and then he takes the chair beside me, holding both of my hands in his.
“Cassidy,” he whispers. “God, I love you.”
I stare at him.
“You’re dead,” I reply, numb. “How are you here?”
I believed with my whole heart that Chris was dead…We had a prayer and a funeral and a burial ceremony. I was alone, then. So alone.
“It’s a very long story,” Chris sighs. “And I’m not proud of all of it, Cassie. I’m really not. But it’s one of those things. One of those risks that some of us have to take for the sake of victory. For the sake of winning and securing freedom for future generations.”
I say nothing. I am so confused, and I can feel the anger rising up inside me.
“When the Sector 13 troops attacked Cambria,” he says, “I was comatose. It’s true. All of that was true – I almost died, but the surgery Doctor Woods performed was successful…” He smiles a little. “Or so they tell me.”
“I saw your dead body,” I say.
“You saw my unconscious body.” He bows his head. “Cassidy, General Beckham and a few of his men got me out of that burning building at some point after Uriah dragged you outside. When I woke up from my coma, I was in a secure facility in Morro Bay, a bunker under the ground.” He shakes his head. “Beckham was waiting for me. When I woke up, I had one hell of a headache, but other than that…well, I didn’t feel too bad.”
“He told me that President Banner wasn’t going to stop until he killed me,” Chris continues. “He told me who Banner really was, and what his purpose was. He told me about Sector 13 and what they were planning. He wanted me to lead an attack against Sector 13 and kill Banner directly.”
Here, Chris stands up and paces.
“I wanted to,” he says. “God, I really did. I knew that if Banner thought I was dead…he would never see me coming.”
“What are you talking about?” I demand.
“Beckham had a plan,” Chris goes on. “And, seeing as how he was holding me prisoner, I didn’t have much of a choice but to follow orders, Cassidy. Beckham forced me to fake my death. It was better that way…and everyone had to believe it. Even you. I had to trust that you could lead the Freedom Fighters alone. I swear, I never knew Banner was going to manipulate you into trying to rescue his family…but once I found out, it was too late. You had already left. I was still comatose at that point.”
“What did you do once you woke up?” I ask.
“I’ve been gathering troops,” he replies. “Of the nineteen states that convened in Morro Bay under Banner’s leadership, four of them didn’t show up. That’s because they were with me.” He locks eyes with me. “I built an army, Cassidy, courtesy of General Beckham. I’ve got twenty thousand troops at my command right now. I could never have gotten away with it if Banner had known I was alive. They would have hunted me. They had to believe I was dead. Beckham forced me to do it…but he was right. Omega never saw it coming.”
“So,” I breathe. “You faked your death…so that you could secretly build an army behind Banner’s back and come back and crush Sector 13?”
“Yes,” Chris answers, swallowing. “The militias on the coastlines are holding up because of the reinforcements I brought in: reinforcements that Omega never planned for because they didn’t know we had them. Reinforcements Banner and Klaus never planned on.”
“Is there anything else I should know?” I ask, staring at the window.
“Yes,” Chris answers. “That I love you with everything that I am, and I’m sorry I had to let you believe I was dead. I didn’t want to, you have to know that. I know it was painful, and I wanted another way out…but I knew we would be reunited again eventually. Beckham literally held me at gunpoint. The man would do anything for this country, and I can’t blame him. I did what I had to, and now I’m here and-”
I stand up, slamming my fist against the table.
“Do you have any idea how much I have suffered?” I grit. “Losing you killed me. Do you not understand that? Do you not get it? How could you do that to me? How could you not trust me enough to even get me a message? Something like, Hey, by the way…that funeral we just had was fake.”
“I wanted to,” he insists, and I can see fear in his eyes. “I tried. But it was too risky. I couldn’t get a messenger through. Banner was watching everything. So was Beckham. Sector 13 was watching. I had to be careful. Cassidy, Beckham would have killed me if I’d tried to screw up the plan. Besides, you know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think-”
“What did you think?!?” I explode. “Did you think it would be a wonderful idea to torture your fiancée with the terrifying illusion that her future husband had been killed? And then leave her alone to lead the militias by herself?”
“I knew you were strong enough to handle it.”
The true shock of what Chris has done sinks in, and I feel as if I can’t breathe.
“Losing you killed me,” I say again. “But this? This is worse.”
“Cassidy. Please listen-”
“No.” I hold up a hand, and he takes a step backward. “You left me alone. You let me suffer. You let me t
hink you were dead.”
“You would have done the same thing, and I would have understood.”
“You’re wrong.” I shake my head, and tears stream down my cheeks. “I would have never hurt you like that. I would have thought of another way, after everything we’ve been through, Chris…I would have thought of another way.”
“I’m sorry. But this wasn’t my choice. Beckham held a gun to my head, Cassie. He didn’t ask me nicely, okay? It was do this or die. I wouldn’t have done it this way if I’d had a choice.”
He looks defeated – something I’ve never seen in him before.
Logically, I know he didn’t choose this. I know Beckham forced him into it. I know Chris would never do this on his own, without letting me in on the secret, somehow.
That doesn’t make it any less painful.
I grab my pack and start to walk away, but Chris stops me.
“You weren’t alone,” he says firmly. He circles around and halts in front of me, blocking my path. “You had him.”
I blink at him through the tears in my eyes, fighting through the feelings of betrayal and hurt rising in my chest.
“I can see it in your face,” he whispers, and he turns his gaze toward the ceiling. “God, of everything I was afraid of, this was the worst.”
“Let me go,” I snap.
“You love him,” Chris says, and his eyes are full of sadness. “I’m right, aren’t I? You thought I was dead…and so he took care of you.”
I glare at Chris.
“Uriah has been there for me,” I growl. “And you know what? He’s never lied to me.”
The words are cold and cutting. True words, in a sense.
I realize for the first time that Chris has withheld information from me since the day we met…he failed to trust my judgment in San Francisco with the nuclear weapons, and he refused to accept the hardened new warrior who replaced his naïve teenage girlfriend who blossomed only after the apocalypse.
But Uriah…he has never mistrusted me.