Collapse Series (Book 10): State of Hope

by Summer Lane

  I feel numb and hollow from Uriah’s sudden and shocking departure, and I tell myself: It’s for the best. Chris is back, and he is my endgame. He always was. I can’t be a teenage girl and love two men at the same time. That’s stupid and impossible…

  Yet I do love them both, each in their own way. Like I love everyone here – all of them are family to me. I think back to Monterey, and the realization that everything we fought for was coming to a close. I had gone to the medical tent to make sure I hadn’t broken my stitches, and Chris had found me alone, dropping something into my hand…

  “Someone saved it from the grave,” he said.

  I closed my fist around the gold ring and chain he gave me, long ago. I had thrown it into the grave when I thought he was dead.

  “How?” I asked.

  “It’s a secret.” He smiled a little and then knelt down beside me. “I know that I lied to you, and that what I did hurt you, and I’m sorry. I really am. But I think you understand now that what I did and what your father did was for the good of this country.”

  “I know,” I replied. “I understand.”

  “So…” he tapped my hand. “Will you wear the ring again?”

  I looked at him then. His beautiful eyes, so full of hope and love and bravery. He was still the man I met on the freeway on my way out of Los Angeles before I was a soldier, when I was just a teenager and an innocent, simple girl trying to make her way in a world gone to hell.

  “Not right now,” I told him honestly. “I’m different. I’ve changed, and I know you say that you’ve accepted it, and I’m glad. But I need some time. I need to be alone for a while. Can you understand that?”

  He nodded. “I understand.”

  “Thank you.”

  He closed his fist around my hand.

  “Keep the ring,” he whispered. “Wear it when you’re ready.”

  He kissed my forehead.

  I knew then, it was going to be okay.

  Now, as I look at Chris, sitting on the end of the row, I am filled with such anguish that I can hardly contain myself. I feel like standing and screaming, like shaking my fist at the universe and cursing it for all the pain we have endured. This war has done so much damage to me – and to the people I love. The games that we have been forced to play have been almost too much to bear.

  Chris catches my eye, and he smiles.

  I smile back.

  It’s going to be okay, I tell myself.

  Arlene steps to the podium, and she smiles. The doctors here at Fort Beckham have been able to supply her with medication that we had no access to before what is being called the Victory Age. She has regained her ability to speak; as such, she was overwhelmingly voted as our Speaker of the House.

  “Welcome,” she says. “We at Fort Beckham are honored to have everyone here today. It is our outstanding privilege and joy to be able to convene here in Free America, within the boundaries of the Western Republic. We thank you for your alliance, for your loyalty, and your sacrifice.”

  Applause.

  “Today we are gathered to openly read and vote on the nominations for the presidency,” Arlene continues, her voice echoing within the building. “Last night, the leaders of the militia movement cast their votes, and it has been made plainly clear that we all agreed on the person who should lead us.”

  I look at Chris, and he is solemnly watching Arlene, avoiding the curious gazes of the crowd. I remember last night, casting my nomination vote for Chris, and knowing that everyone else was doing the same.

  “He’ll make a wonderful president,” I whisper to Vera.

  “I know,” she agrees. “Everyone else knows it, too.”

  Despite the pain of this morning, I feel the pride and love for Chris’s accomplishments trickle into my chest, and I smile.

  “The Western Republic is welcoming survivors and refugees into our midst by the thousands every day,” Arlene goes on. “The military is being rebuilt, and the rest of the globe is ready to ally themselves with us to make sure that Omega never again inflicts such horrors on our people. Our president will not only be the head and face of negotiations with the rest of the world, but he will be the Commander-in-Chief of our United Militia Forces.” She smiles again. “As we move forward into this new chapter of peace, healing, and resurrection, we will look to a leader who is of the people and whom we can trust with our very lives.”

  She takes a deep breath, and she shares a glance with Manny. Her voice wavers, and I can see that she is fighting tears.

  The importance of what we are doing here today is not lost on any of us. We are exercising our freedom, something that Omega very nearly took away from us. It is nothing short of a miracle that we are here today, and I will always be grateful that we survived.

  Sure, we have a long road of rebuilding ahead of us…

  But we made it. That is what matters.

  “In a clear majority vote,” Arlene announces, “the militias have overwhelmingly nominated General Cassidy Hart to the Office of Presidency of the Western Republic.”

  I stare at her.

  No. I heard wrong. Obviously I heard wrong.

  I look at Chris, and even he is staring at Arlene.

  This is a joke. It has to be. I’m a general, yes. I’ve done a lot of fighting and leading in my time, sure. But president? Dear God, no! This has got to be a mistake.

  But the applause starts, and it is thunderous. I feel the shock course through my veins, the terror that this is some ridiculous mistake, but it’s not. This is reality, and it is happening right here, right now.

  Arlene is clapping, too, and everyone in the room slowly rises to their feet, continuing the applause. Chris stands, nodding at me, and Vera squeezes my hand.

  “Stand up,” she hisses.

  She is grinning.

  I force myself to stand, and I look around.

  Arlene says, “General Hart, do you accept this nomination?”

  I look at her for a long time, and then I look at my father, who is smiling and waving his fist victoriously in the air. I look at Chris, who is gazing at me with pride, and at Andrew, Vera, and Manny, who are boisterously joining the enthusiasm of the crowd. Even Bravo is wagging his tail beside Elle.

  To accept the nomination means to accept that these people will vote me in as president. It will mean that I will have to take on an entirely new form of leadership and responsibility, beyond anything I’ve ever faced.

  I suddenly feel young and childlike…but then I think about what I have done, and who I am, and I feel an unmistakable rush of confidence. I am awash in the gratitude that, despite all odds, the militias are bathed in victory and that we stand here, today, with the opportunity to begin again.

  I look to Chris, and he mouths, “It’s okay. I love you.”

  I blink away tears.

  My world will change, yes. But if I can make a difference, if I can help to maintain our freedoms and protect the people I love, this is the life I must live.

  “Madame Speaker,” I say with confidence, holding my shoulders erect. “I accept the nomination.”

  Epilogue

  What is the cost of victory? What is the cost of war?

  I can tell you. Victory is a goal obtained only by sacrifice and blood. War is a bottomless pit of loss and despair, something that never lets go. Something that never ends. You can reach the point of victory, but the lives lost and the price paid is a heavy burden to bear. I can never forget the faces of the people who died in this fight against Omega. Forever, they will be ingrained in my memory, suspended in time as the people they were – ghosts of the past, uncorrupted and untouched by the scourge of the apocalypse.

  When I was a child, my biggest aspiration in life was simply to make it to the next day, and truthfully…I live life much in the same way, now. I look at the world around me, and I think: I will live today, and I will think about tomorrow when it gets here. Don’t look too far ahead, Cassidy.

  But the truth is that tomorrow is hope
ful. For me, and for the people I love, we have the possibility of a future. Omega has been defeated. We hold the keys of rebuilding in our hands. We have the ability to choose where we want to go, and how we want to go about resurrecting our fallen society.

  Things will never be the same. That much, at least, is true.

  The ground we walk is consecrated with the blood of millions of innocents who died at the hands of Omega. Their foul and infectious touch will be a black memory for centuries. Yet I will be able to tell my children, someday, that despite the odds…despite the evil…good people rose up and resisted. Good people fought for their families, their homes, and their freedom. Good people – people like you. People like me.

  It’s strange to think that the world has now been divided into two eras: Pre-Omega and Post-Omega. The great minds of our time now refer to the battle with Omega as the Great Global War, and the relative peace we have found after it as the Victory Age. However, for those of us who know Omega and truly understand how deep their roots run, we are painfully aware that this will not be the last fight, and this will not be the last era of peace.

  Omega has been mortally wounded and weakened, but the fact remains that they still exist…and perhaps they always will. Our job is to now constantly be on our guard, to ally ourselves with the countries of the world and stand firm against the dark forces of evil that threaten to pervade everything we love and hold dear. If we can stand together, we can stand forever. The apocalypse taught us that.

  Out of the ashes, we grew something beautiful. Unification and brotherhood.

  I take on this new mantle of leadership with humility and disbelief – the trust people have placed in me has always surprised me, because I never saw myself as a leader. Pushy? Sure. Impatient? Definitely. But a leader? Never.

  The war changed me. The world changed me.

  I am a testament to the fact that even the most average of all of us can rise up and stand against the darkness. As president, I see myself as a gentle but firm guide to the people of the Western Republic, encouraging survivors to rebuild, to produce, to grow, and to protect themselves. I trust Chris to lead our militia forces, creating a barrier between us and any enemy that may arise against us.

  I certainly have no illusions. There will be enemies. There always are.

  We will be ready.

  My hope is that my friends and family can rebuild their lives into a semblance of happiness and peace, to enjoy the time they have on this earth. I want people to live prepared and ready to fight…because if we are always ready, the wolves will be afraid to come knocking on our door, and I know this to be true.

  In this exciting new time, I will watch as the country slowly pieces itself back together, strong and independent states united under one coalition. I will watch as Elle lives a contented and safe life with Manny, Arlene, and Bravo. I will watch as Andrew and Vera marry and find their places within this new government we are constructing, and I will watch as Father Kareem and his people disappear into the mountains to live in solace and solitude. I will watch as my father maintains his position of commander within the United Militia Forces, working under the command of General Chris Young to secure the perimeters of our growing and newly resurrected country.

  Outside of Fort Beckham, where the fields are wide and the foothills surround us on all sides, the militias erect a memorial. Bordered by a wrought iron fence, our best craftsmen clear out the land and build a round stone building. Inside, they carve the names of thousands of militiamen and women into the walls and ceiling. As the years pass, more and more names will be added. People visit the memorial and bring flowers and candles. A militia flag and American flag hangs outside the entrance, and the lights are never turned off. It is a constant reminder that the victory we achieved now did not come without a price – that we did not simply get lucky, and that we should never take a single moment of peace or freedom for granted.

  Somebody died for this. Somebody suffered for this.

  Years will pass, and we will grow old together, and we will hand over the protection of this place to our children, and we will pray that they will stand and fight as we did if ever the time comes for them to do so.

  I am not the girl I once was, and that is okay. I am a new woman, because this is a new world, and I will do what I must for the people I love. Fort Beckham is my new home, and for the first time since the Collapse, I am safe.

  Nothing is perfect, but we have a chance now.

  We have hope, and that is all I ever asked for.

  The End

  Thank you, readers.

  Thank you for taking this journey with Cassidy Hart.

  It’s been the run of a lifetime.

  Read on to discover what’s in store for the Collapse universe.

  The post-apocalyptic world lives on, and so does Cassidy.

  Turn the page to read!

  Resurrection: Shadows of Omega

  Chapter One

  California, Bakers’ Village, near Tejon Ranch

  I sit with my hands folded neatly in my lap, but my fingers ache for the feel of a gun, the weight of a weapon in my arms, the smell of battle in the air. I lift my chin, nauseous with nerves, seated in the front row of a meeting hall. Several hundred people stand in the audience, exuberantly listening to a man onstage speaking about matters of farming, trade, and national security.

  I tap my heel on the floor, uncomfortable. I feel as if I’m choking, confined to my seat. The man on stage – I don’t remember his name, and these days, there are a lot of people I don’t remember – is a militia leader from the Midwest, and he has come to negotiate a trade deal with California, part of a nationwide effort to rebuild our economy and rebuild our lives.

  As president, I know that I should be excited and interested in the proceedings here today, but I am exhausted. I have been traveling from city to city, from the bottom of California in San Diego to the top of Washington State, for two months. I have stopped in dozens of cities, attending victory parades and speaking with militia leaders from all around the country.

  We have emerged victorious from a long and costly global war, and as the newly elected President of the Western Republic, our resurrected yet infantile government in these days of rebuilding, there are many people who want to meet with me.

  Mostly, I travel by convoy. Sometimes, I travel by airplane, my good friend Manny Costas serving as my pilot. I have been gifted a security detail all my own, a group of well-trained militia fighters who protect me at all times.

  And I hate it.

  My life blood is on the battlefield, and after years of mastering the art of warfare and sharpening my skills as the best sniper on the West Coast, being escorted from city to city and coddled like a porcelain doll is almost more than I can bear.

  I am not fragile, and everybody knows it.

  But the fear that I could be killed remains, and thus the militias have decided to protect me.

  In these days after Omega’s defeat, thousands of Omega loyalists still remain in the states. They are the underground, viral resistance forces who fight against the rebirth of freedom, and who loathe the militias for destroying Omega and claiming our home for ourselves once again.

  They thrive in this apocalypse, just as we thrive on the hope of rebuilding.

  My presidency so far has been showy. I visit hospitals, cemeteries, and memorials. The country is in ruins; we are an archaic society, trying to force some semblance of modern civility back into our lives. It is a nice thought, but it will take years to get back to where we were before the Collapse. California itself has broken into multiple agrarian societies, each town and city supporting itself with farming and animal husbandry.

  Everywhere I go, I see destruction, the aftermath of the war. There are some areas of the country that the militias render a red zone, poisoned by radiation fallout. Borders are constructed, the Air Force begins to rebuild itself, and the people living in the Western Republic begin to make an outcry for a more structured governme
nt. They want roads again – they want laws and justice and education.

  They don’t understand how hard it is to build something. We have to be careful as we resurrect what we lost. If we don’t do it right, we could inflict yet another collapse on ourselves, and we wouldn’t survive it. Not again.

  So as the militia leader from the Midwest continues to talk, occasionally smiling at me, I stare at the window, at the blue skies outside, and I wonder where Chris is…General Chris Young, the leader of the United Militia Forces. He is working on securing the perimeters of the boundaries of the Western Republic, building our defenses so that we will be protected if Omega loyalists – or anybody else – ever attacks us again.

  I sense movement to my left, and I flick my gaze toward the door.

  Vera Wright moves into the room, casting a glance at me as she enters. She wears black slacks and a breezy jacket, listening closely to the proceedings, patting her perfect blonde hair into place. Since I was elected president by the militia leaders months ago, she took the position as my head of security. I was okay with that. I’d known Vera forever…she was a friend and comrade, one of my best lieutenants during the Great Global War, as the people call it these days. To me, it was just the War.

  Beside her, her husband moves in. Andrew looks older than he did just a few months ago: he has filled out, and marriage has been good to him. He seems vibrant and alive. When he stands beside Vera, he radiates happiness. I am happy for them, but I have to look away.

  I almost had happiness like that. Almost.

  I shake myself and push the thoughts away. It’s hard not to dwell on the fact that everyone I know seemed to obtain their version of happily-ever-after, and while I know I’m lucky to be alive…I can’t help but feel utterly alone.

  My father is traveling with Chris, maintaining control of his men, the Rangers. Manny Costas, Arlene, and their niece, Elle, are living peacefully on the outskirts of Fort Beckham in Squaw Valley, quietly helping to rebuild the community there.