by Summer Lane
“Cassidy, my girl,” he says. “Come to gawk at the Omegans in their natural habitat?”
I look behind the glass window, into the office. The hostages are lined in a neat row, their wrists tied together. Militiamen are guarding them. Some of the hostages look terrified. They are shaking and pale. One of them has vomited in the corner, and another’s forehead is bathed in blood from a head wound.
“Do they speak English?” I ask.
“Most of them do,” Manny replies. “A few only speak Chinese or Arabic. There’s a few Russian natives in there, too. But they’re all fairly bilingual – I guess they have to be to keep up with our militia intel.”
Makes sense. One of the hostages – a tall, Asian man with short black hair – is glaring at me. His gaze is steely and unwavering, and his eyes never move from my face.
“Who’s that guy?” I ask.
“The happy-go-lucky one?” Manny replies. “He’s the Intelligence Supervisor, according to what we found. Basically, he’s the head honcho of level three. They’re superstitious suckers, too, let me tell ya. They’re promising that we’re all going to die and that the devil will bring our ‘just-desserts,’ as he says.”
And based on the super-sized hate glare he’s sending my way, he means it.
“I want him interrogated,” I say. “I want to know everything he knows. Codes and passwords on every computer, disabling alarm systems, shutting down communication systems and barring the Omega satellites from connecting with this compound.”
“And if he doesn’t comply?” Manny asks, raising an eyebrow.
I think about all of the horrible things Omega has done to us.
“He will,” I say. “Eventually.”
Manny nods, understanding.
Uriah says, “You should just kill him. He’s not going to tell you anything.”
I glance at Uriah. He is staring at the Intelligence Supervisor, concerned.
“He might,” I reply.
“No. Not this guy. He’s a killer – that’s it.”
“He’s a computer guy, not an assassin.”
“I just know,” Uriah insists. “He’s not going to talk.”
I shake my head.
“Carry on, Manny,” I say.
“You got it, Commander.”
“We need to set up some kind of communication with Sector 27,” I tell Uriah, as soon as Manny moves down the hall. “Chris needs to know about the other militias. Think of the reinforcements! It would be a game-changer if every militia from all of the fifty states united as one. Plus, he needs to know that we’ve seized all of the weapons here.”
“It could be trouble,” Uriah replies. “All of those militias, with all of those commanders. Who’s going to be in charge of all of them?”
“It’s an alliance, Uriah. They answer to their own commanders.”
“It could complicate things.”
“It could end all of this. Things could go back to the way they were!”
Of course, things will never be exactly like they were before the Collapse. I doubt McDonald’s will ever make a reappearance in the post-apocalyptic landscape of North America. But hey – a girl can dream, right?
“It’s never going to end,” Uriah replies, darkly. “This doesn’t stop. Ever.”
When I look at Uriah in this moment, I realize something that I have never realized before: he does not want this war to end. In this war, Uriah has found his true identity. In that way, we are the same. But I want this battle to come to a positive conclusion.
Not Uriah. I can see it in his eyes, the bloodlust, the thirst for the adrenaline rush of a tactical mission, the sheer excitement of hand-to-hand combat. This is Uriah. This is who he is.
This revelation startles me, and I take a step backward.
“It will end,” I say. “Regardless of how it ends, it will.”
Uriah says nothing.
“Uriah, you have to accept that,” I tell him.
“I’ll accept it when you do,” he replies, flicking his dark gaze to mine.
I look away.
“Whatever,” I mutter.
Uriah takes a step forward, pressing his lips against my ear.
“You love it as much as I do,” he whispers. “We’re both creatures of war.”
I jerk back, inhaling.
“You’re wrong,” I say. “I’m not.”
He just smiles.
And as he does, a cold chill runs up my spine.
***
Twilight comes sometime during mid-morning. I’m standing on the roof of the compound with my arms folded across my chest, watching the dim, pinkish glow of half-light illuminate the surface of the Mendenhall Glacier. I take a deep breath and imagine, just for a moment, that I am somewhere peaceful and safe, and then I open my eyes and accept the events of the day.
Andrew and the tech team downstairs have been working feverishly to restore radio communications with Yukon City. By extension, they are trying to open up radio waves with California and Sector 27, so that we can tell Chris that there are militias everywhere. California is not alone – there are people who might be able to help us. More reinforcements than merely the Mad Monks.
This revelation could change the course of the war. With one, small piece of intelligence like this, we could become more powerful than ever before. We may be able to push Omega’s foot army out.
In the distance, I hear the steady, lone sound of a helicopter. I recognize it instantly, and I turn around, climbing the stairs to the top level, working my way to the third one where Manny is, and then finding Uriah.
“There’s aircraft coming in,” I say.
“Enemy?” he replies, straightening.
“Don’t know.”
I tell Manny to come with me, leaving the hostages with Vera’s platoon. We reach the first level of the compound. By the time we get there, everyone has gathered outside. The small beat of helicopter blades has become a physical thing – a gray Apache chopper is coming from the northwest.
“It’s one of ours,” Father Kareem states, simply, studying the aircraft with an expression of mild interest on his face. “I do not believe that we are in danger.”
I take his word for it – I have to.
The chopper slowly gets closer, then lowers itself to the ground on the photo point overlooking the lake. The din of its blades fills the camp, whipping loose dirt and rocks everywhere. I approach it, shielding my eyes with hands, Manny and Uriah with me.
The blades slowly wind down and the door opens. A woman jumps out, hauling a rifle and a backpack. She straightens up and heads straight toward me.
“Commander Davis?” I say, frowning. “What are you doing here?”
She grimaces, but continues to move toward me, stopping when she is just a few feet away from my position.
“Commander Hart,” she says. “We need to talk.”
I glare at her, remembering how, just a few hours ago, we were denied air support from Yukon City. How her leadership, influenced by Mauve Bacardi, could have gotten my men killed.
“Yeah,” I reply. “We do.”
She nods, then looks at Uriah. His eyes are stone cold. She averts his gaze and nods toward the compound. “Can we go in there?” she asks.
I nod, and she begins walking toward the building – her steps are hurried and her eyes are bloodshot. I wonder why she is here, and what’s wrong.
“You sense something fishy here?” Manny whispers.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Let’s find out what it is.”
We head back to the compound, into the first level. The bodies of the dead Omega troopers have been cleared out, leaving only bloodstains on the floors and walls. The intelligence boards are still up, displaying militia information and photos for Em to see as she walks in. Her eyes widen, and then she returns her gaze to me.
“This is incredible,” she says, breathless. “This… Is it true?”
“It’s true,” I reply. “Omega’s been monitoring the militias
from this base.”
“Dear God. I thought we were alone.” She places her hand on her chest, as if to calm herself. “Commander, I’m sorry about the air support. I did not plan on revoking it.”
“You’re going to be more than sorry,” Uriah mutters.
I hold my hand up, and he falls silent.
“I’d like an explanation,” I tell her.
“We were attacked,” she says.
I stare at her.
“What?”
“We were attacked by our own people.”
“Are you serious?”
“The civilians staged a coup.” She shrugs. “They were trying to assassinate Mauve Bacardi. It was…bloody. We weren’t prepared for it. We’ve always been prepared for a lot of things, but an attack from the civilians was not one of them.”
“Is President Bacardi still alive?” I ask.
“Yes. She’s in ICU; she might survive, she might not.” Em leans against the wall, and in that moment I see how tired she is. Like me, she is worn out by the aggressive society this apocalypse has created. “The point is,” Em goes on, “we were under attack, and we couldn’t get the choppers off the ground in time. It was my fault, and I’m sorry.”
I lick my lips. I take a deep breath. And then I say, “Don’t let it happen again.”
She nods.
“What’s the state of Yukon City now?” I ask.
“We’ve got the civilians under control,” she replies. “But there was a high casualty count. Over one hundred and fifty dead refugees.”
“God, that’s horrible,” I say. “How did they attack?”
“They stormed the Begich Towers,” Em answers. “They were trying to reach Mauve’s office. They got past the guards – killed three of them – and dragged her into the streets. They did horrible things to her, Commander. And all this time I thought she was invincible – incapable of unpopularity.”
“What did Mauve do to them?” I ask. “Something made them turn on her.”
“She started taking their food rations and giving it to the National Guard and the militias,” Em tells me. “It wasn’t out of hate or selfishness. It was just fear. She was afraid we’d starve.”
“I thought you guys had farms and livestock.”
“Most of it is depleted,” she admits. We have a lot, but not enough to support a population as big as Yukon City. We were never meant to expand this much.”
“So the people are starving, and they rebelled, and they needed somebody to crucify,” I say. “Mauve Bacardi was the number one target.”
“Exactly.”
“I guess that leaves you in charge of Yukon City, Commander Davis,” I say. “So you should get out of here and go back.”
I know I sound cold and uncaring, but facts are facts.
“I had to make contact with you somehow,” she says, as if not hearing me. “I couldn’t get you guys on the radio, and I had to find out if you had taken the base or not.”
“Omega sent out a frequency disruptor,” I reply. “Our radios are down.”
“I can’t believe you took this base. This was the impossible feat. You and your men…you’re dangerous. No wonder Omega hates you.”
I feel a bit of pride swell up within me when she says that.
“You’re not just here to apologize,” I state, making an educated guess. “There’s something else that you came here to tell me.”
Em’s eyes drop to the ground.
“Is it that obvious?” she asks.
I say nothing. My silence speaks for itself.
“Yeah,” she says at last. “That’s not the only reason.”
“Spill.”
She drops her backpack on one of the strategy tables, a look of pain flickering across her features. “There’s something that Mauve kept from you,” she says. “I mean, there’s something we both kept from you.”
I frown.
“Okay, what is it?”
“We have nuclear subs in the harbor at Whittier, in Yukon City,” she says. “It’s our big secret, and it’s the real reason the militias were assigned to the middle of Alaska.
We’re here to protect the subs. Arlene Costas never lied to you about the weapons in Yukon City. They’re there. All of them.”
I fold my arms. I remember seeing the black subs sitting in the harbor, thinking that they were simply old relics from a war fought decades ago; the Cold War, World War Two. All this time…right in front of us?
“You have nuclear subs?” I say.
“Yes,” she replies. “Five of them, ballistic submarines. Each is capable of launching ballistic missiles on multiple targets, and they all carry at least one nuclear warhead.”
“Whoa, hold the phone,” Manny exclaims. “You’re telling us, that all this time, while we’ve been screwing around trying to find recruits and infiltrating Omega bases and the West Coast is being bombed to kingdom come, you all have been sitting on nuclear subs with ballistic capabilities and you didn’t tell us?”
His face is flushed red. He is angry.
“It was a militia secret,” Em says. “If the information were to fall in the wrong hands, Omega would have used it. You know that. You’ve seen how they worm their way into every level of society –every branch of leadership. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I didn’t trust you with the weapons.”
I place my hand on Manny’s arm, attempting to calm him.
“You didn’t trust us?” I echo. “The fate of the free world is at stake. I would suggest you get over your trust issues.”
I’m sorry.” She looks like she’s going to cry. “I didn’t want anybody else to die…but now, I can see that no matter what, people are going to die.” She heaves a great sigh. “I know that turning the weapons over to you now will be the best thing for us in the long run.”
“Where did these subs come from?” I ask.
“They’re Cold War subs,” she goes on. “The civilians are totally in the dark about their capabilities. Mauve, myself and Colonel Wilcox of the National Guard are the only ones who are aware of the ballistic subs’ load.”
Manny’s eyes flicker.
“Did Arlene know?” he asks, his voice low.
Em looks at him.
“She knew that we had weapons,” she tells him. “But that’s all. I swear.”
Manny doesn’t reply, but he looks a bit deflated.
“So did the slaughter of the civilians suddenly trigger your forthrightness or what?” Uriah asks, cold. “In my book, you screw us over once, and the trust is gone.”
“Like I said, the time has come to let someone know,” Em replies. “And if it’s going to be anyone, it should be you, Commander Hart. And Commander Chris Young. Your militias are doing something right – something selfless, something heroic. I know that you’ll use the subs for the greater good. I was wrong to misjudge you, and so was Mauve.”
I pull a chair out from beneath one of the strategy tables and plop down on it, taking this information in. Another bombshell on another red-letter day for Cassidy Hart.
“So we’ve got nuclear warheads sitting in the harbor at Yukon City,” I say.
“And biochemical weapons,” Em adds. “You can attach the biochemical weapon to the ballistic missiles and strike any city along the coastline without poisoning the entire state with radiation fallout.”
“What kind of biochemical weapons are you talking about?” I ask.
“Sarin gas, the same stuff Omega has used against us. It’s odorless and tasteless. It touches your skins and kills you, and it leaves no residue behind.”
“Just the dead bodies,” I whisper.
“Commander, just think about what we could do with this weaponry.”
“The United States doesn’t fight with biochemical weapons.”
“We do now,” Uriah interjects. “Whatever treaty or agreement the United States was held to disintegrated when the country collapsed. Sarin gas isn’t off the table for us. Not now.”
“We can k
ill Omega without killing the earth,” Manny says, staring at the wall. “Cassidy, are you hearing this?”
I nod, vaguely.
“This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for,” Uriah goes on. “We’ve got nuclear weapons. We’ve got bioterrorism capabilities. This is our moment.”
“Uriah,” I say. “Keep it down.”
I look around, suddenly paranoid that someone else has overheard our conversation. If this intel gets out to the wrong people, the information could leak to Omega, and they would anticipate our next move.
“This is a whole new level of warfare,” I say quickly. “We gotta be careful.”
“Careful?” Uriah slams his fist on the table. “Dammit, Cassidy. Omega has taken EVERYTHING from us. To hell with careful!”
I don’t flinch.
“What about the civilians or survivors who might be hiding along the coastline?” I ask. “If we send these weapons out to strike Omega, we could be killing our own, too.”
“That’s a sacrifice we’ll have to make,” Uriah says.
“We’re trying to preserve what we have left, not destroy it.”
“There’s no other way.”
“There has to be!” I yell. Hot tears form in my eyes. “I don’t want to do this, Uriah. I don’t want to be the one responsible for pulling the trigger on the West Coast.”
“No,” Uriah replies, grim. “But you’ll be responsible for letting California fall to Omega, which is the same thing. So I ask you this: would you rather be the one, or would you rather they do it?”
“That’s not a fair argument,” I mutter.
“You know I’m right. We came here for weapons! We came here for an advantage – well, this is it! You have to be willing to hit the red button, Cassidy.”
I say nothing. To do this would be to unleash instant death upon the Omega hotspots along the coast – San Francisco, Monterey, and Los Angeles. Places where Omega has congregated in the thousands.
“And what advantage would this give us, really?” I say. “Other than killing their men? Because we know there’s more men where they came from.”
“Omega would fear us,” Em replies quietly. “They would know that we could retaliate with something far more dangerous than a simple tactical strike mission or seizing their bases. And they would not just see the threat of such a biochemical weapon, but the results of it. It would shock them – it would show them that we mean business.”