by Summer Lane
“We know how to handle trouble. Besides, we don’t have a choice,” I say. “Chris can only survive interrogation for so long. We’ve got a deadline to keep.”
“If we want to get to the city in under a week we have to,” Uriah agrees.
“Excuse me.” Andrew has worked his way through the mass of horses and militiamen. His dark sunglasses are hiding his eyes. Three radios are strapped to his belt. Our radioman, ever exceptional and alert. “I’ve heard a lot of talk about the Mad Monks on the Underground radio over the last few days, and we do not want to run into these people.”
“What have you heard, Andrew?” I ask.
“Civilian victims and Omega soldiers have been found in pieces,” he answers. “Omega, militia, civilian. They’re not showing any preference. They’re just killing randomly.”
“Why doesn’t Omega just take them out?” Vera says.
“They don’t have the time or the resources,” I reply. “Besides, what would Omega want with miles of dry brush and grass? It’s not their number one priority.” I look at Andrew again. “What else do you know about them?”
“We don’t know that they’re really monks.” He cracks a smile. “They dress the part. Robes and hoods and shaved heads, but other than that, all I know is that they like to kill things.”
“Sounds like an urban cult,” I remark. “There was a gang called the Metro Monks when I lived in Culver City. They were always a big problem for the Los Angeles Police Department. My dad used to talk about them a lot.”
“It could be an offshoot of the same gang,” Uriah suggests.
“It wouldn’t surprise me. Even the criminals left Los Angeles when Omega came. They’re locked outside, too.”
I look between Manny, Uriah and Andrew.
“What do you guys think we should do?” I say.
I need all the advice I can get.
“I say we risk it,” Uriah replies. “We’re in this to get Chris Young back, and if we bypass the territory, this operation will take a week longer than we planned and he could be dead. That defeats the mission.”
“But we can’t accomplish the mission if we’re dead,” Vera adds, flat.
“That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Uriah answers.
“It’s not like we couldn’t take the Monks in a fight,” Andrew adds. “We could. It’s just the possibility of casualties. That weakens our chances of success.”
“That’s how we live our lives anymore,” I point out. “We go through. Any objections?”
Silence. Good.
Mad Monk Territory, here we come.
Chapter Seven
“I don’t get it,” I told Chris. “How come you know so much about me, but I don’t know anything about you?”
He settled against a tree. The memory is still clear, despite the fact that it happened nearly a year ago.
“Don’t look at me,” Chris said. “You’re the one who likes to figure things out.”
“And you don’t?” I stopped to retie the laces on my boots. “I just don’t know a lot about you. I mean, I know where you come from and who your parents are…but I don’t really know you.”
“What do you want to know, Cassie?" he chuckled.
“All of your dark secrets.”
“Ah, but those are mine.”
“One of these days…” I trailed off, watching the sunrise on the horizon. It was beautiful. One of the few moments of peace we’d had in weeks. “I just want to know who you are,” I muttered.
That’s all I wanted.
It’s all I still want. There are so many questions about Chris Young that have always been left unanswered. As a twenty-eight-year-old Navy SEAL, his world experience has always been far advanced in comparison to mine. What made him such a good leader?
I don’t know. I don’t have the answer to anything these days.
Mad Monk Territory isn’t as scary as I thought it would be. The mountains are beautiful, rolling. Nothing here has been burned or decimated by Omega forces. Nature is still intact. We’ve been riding for hours, and I hate to admit that I’m sore. My hips, legs and lower back are strained from maintaining a position in Katana’s saddle for such long periods at a time.
I’m not the only one who’s feeling battered, either.
My militiamen are used to constant movement, hiking, climbing, and sneaking around. Sitting on a horse is a whole new ballgame. It hurts.
“We’ve got another full day before we hit Los Angeles,” Uriah says. “I suggest that we camp for the night and travel the rest of the way tomorrow. The horses need to rest.”
I keep my eyes on the trail, thinking.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to camp in this area,” I reply.
“There’s been no sign of hostile activity yet.”
“Exactly. Yet.” I shake my head. “We’ll scout for a good area to camp when we’re out of here.”
Uriah doesn’t continue to press me, but I can tell that he disagrees. He’s probably sore, too. But I don’t want to be ambushed by psychos. That would put a serious cramp in my style. We’ve already had enough surprises on this mission, anyway. I’m not up for any more.
As night falls, we rest the horses, feed them, and give them water. We eat a small meal ourselves – enough to keep us moving – and mount up again. In the darkness, we have to move slower. We don’t want our horses to trip on rocks or ledges. They’re not invincible anymore than we are, and we have to keep a sharp eye out for them.
“Oh, my God!” Vera gasps. She pulls back on the reins of her horse, coming to a halt. “Up ahead!”
It’s difficult to discern shapes and sounds in the darkness, but when I concentrate, I can see what she’s looking at. Dozens of poles have been pounded into the ground up ahead. They’re staked on top of a hill.
“What is it?” I breathe.
“People.” Vera doesn’t mince words. “Look harder.”
I have keen eyesight, and the closer I look, the more I see. Dead bodies are tied to the poles. They’re not very old, either. Clothing, hair and flesh are still intact.
“We need to get the hell out of here,” Uriah says.
“No argument there,” I reply.
I swallow a lump in my throat. Seeing dead bodies is nothing new to me at this point. But this isn’t simple shock. This is sadism. We dig our heels into the sides of our horses and move away from the hill. My heart beats faster.
I don’t want to die like that.
I have to live. I have to get to Chris…
And then something happens that I have never seen before. A silent bolt of light flies through the air and hits the side of the trail. The grass ignites, creating a tiny fire. Manny slaps his horse’s side.
“Ride!” he yells.
More fiery bolts slice through the air. What are they? They’re silent. They don’t explode upon impact, either. I hunker down and hold on tight to Katana, shouting orders to my men.
That’s when I realize that the bolts are arrows.
Mad Monks!
What is terrifying about this attack is that there is no noise. No yelling, no gunfire, no explosions, no vehicles. Nothing but the pounding of hooves against dirt and the occasional thud as a militiaman is knocked off his horse. Up ahead, Uriah is struck by a flaming arrow. He loses his balance and falls off Mach’s back, slamming against the dirt. He tumbles a few feet and then drops again, rolling. His coat is on fire.
My militiamen whirl around on their horses and return to help the fallen militiamen. I raise my rifle to my shoulder and snapshot a few rounds into the grass, following the trail of the arrows.
Uriah continues to roll. He tears off the jacket and throws it to the ground, crawling closer to his horse – which has now taken off into the night, spooked.
I pull back on Katana’s reins. I reach my hand out for Uriah. He grabs my wrist and swings himself behind me, gripping my waist. I spur Katana forward. We keep our bodies close to the saddle, trying to avoid making ourselves an e
asy target. But there is nowhere to go. There is nothing but open fields in every direction. No woods. No cover. And there are at least twenty figures emerging from the shadows. They’re silent as cats – and so are their weapons.
This isn’t the kind of warfare I’m used to.
“Whoa!” I scream, pulling Katana back. A group of men with bows drawn and silver arrowheads gleaming against the moonlight is blocking the trail up ahead. A ring of men is closing in around us. The horses rear up. Flaming arrows plunge through the sky, into the ground, forming a fiery ring around us. Uriah shouts, but I can’t make out what he says over the sound of the horses whinnying and snorting.
The monks – or whatever they are – approach us. Uriah draws his handgun and the bows come up. I stay his hand.
“Don’t,” I say.
He slowly holsters the gun, wincing in pain.
The monks close in. They’re wearing beaten clothing, long robes over combat fatigues and shirts. They carry bows. A quiver of arrows rests across their backs. I notice that they all sport the same shaved hairstyle. But they are not armed only with arrows. They’ve got guns, too.
“Do we run for it?” Vera hisses. Her horse is spinning around, rearing up. “Cassidy?”
No. Running for it would be…inadvisable.
Someone will be sacrificed in the process. I share a glance with Manny. He shakes his head. It’s no good. We’re boxed in. We’ve been trapped by the same techniques that we use on Omega.
“Who trespasses on this holy land?”
A particularly tall, dark-skinned monk yells at us. Two white, vertical streaks are painted under his eyes.
I shout, “Travelers! We’re just passing through.”
“What is your purpose?”
“We’re going into the city!”
“The City of Angels?” The tall monk pulls his hood back, revealing a scarred face. “It is now nothing more than the City of Demons. This is the first I’ve heard of anyone attempting to get into the city.”
“We have our reasons,” Vera snaps.
The fire is still crackling around us. The monks stand their ground. But the horses have calmed down a bit, and I am resting on Katana’s saddle, making eye contact with the tall monk.
“Are you Omega?” he asks.
“No.”
“Are you thieves or vandals?”
“We’re with the National Guard.”
The tall monk regards me with a look of total skepticism.
“Are you in charge here?” he says.
“Yes.” I look around the circle again, consciously checking to make sure all of my men are here. “Look, we’re not here to fight with you. We just want to get to the city.”
“What’s in the city that’s so important?”
I don’t answer his question. Instead I say,
“We have business there.”
He studies our uniforms.
“You’re not dressed like mercenaries,” he states.
“That’s because we’re not,” I reply. “We’re militia. We were with the National Guard, and we’re on a special mission into Los Angeles. Please, just let us go.”
The monk strokes his chin. He looks thoughtful.
“Your name?” he asks.
“I’m Commander Hart,” I answer. “We’re enemies of Omega, and if you are with them, you are our enemies, too.”
His lips twitch.
“Father.” A tall, thin Monk emerges from the circle of hooded men and approaches the man that I have been talking to. “This woman, she may be of the prophecy.”
Vera’s mouth drops. I give her a fierce warning look:
Say nothing. Let them be crazy.
“She is of the Guard, and she is traveling into the City of Demons,” the thin man continues. He is staring at me with electric, nearly possessed eyes. “Am I wrong, Father?”
“You are not wrong,” Father replies. A new emotion lights his features: curiosity? Amazement? I’m not sure. “And her hair…is flaming.”
I self-consciously touch the ends of my curly red hair.
Yes. Flaming. Whatever.
“Tell me, Commander,” Father says, “Do you go into the City of Demons to destroy the evil ones who infect our home?”
I blink. And then,
“Yes.”
I don’t even have to look at Vera to know that her mouth is still hanging open.
“If this is true, and you are of the prophecy, any enemies of Omega are friends of mine,” he replies. “I am called Father Kareem, and these are my men. We are the Monks of the Order of the Arrow.”
“What’s with the robes and the flaming arrows?” Uriah demands, keeping one arm around my waist.
“We are the true monks,” Father Kareem says calmly.
And apparently that’s supposed to explain everything.
“How far are we from the city limits?”
“Not far,” Father Kareem replies. “This is our territory, though. We can take you where you need to go, on the condition that you are discreet and pay proper homage to the Order.”
He smiles slightly.
Father Kareem gestures to the horses. “These are magnificent beasts,” he remarks.
I can’t disagree with that.
“So. Father Kareem,” Manny says, “can we get a move-on here? We’re on a tight schedule. Lives hang in the balance.”
If Father Kareem is annoyed with Manny’s bluntness, he doesn’t show it.
“Lives are always in the balance,” he says.
“We need to get to Toluca Lake,” I tell him. “Do you know the way?”
“I do.” He gestures to his men. They lower their bows and arrows. “We’ll be there by morning.”
I close my eyes for a brief second and thank God.
The monks are not our enemies.
For now.
Chapter Eight
“So this is Los Angeles?”
We rein our horses and stop to overlook the sprawling urban landscape below. Uriah is not impressed. Neither am I, to be honest. The last time I looked across the skyline of the grand city of Los Angeles, the EMP had turned the city into pure chaos. Airplanes fell from the sky and flames lit the boulevards. Civilians roamed the streets in mobs, looting and vandalizing.
This is different.
This is dead.
In the early morning sunlight, the skyscrapers are little more than empty husks. Many of them are burned and falling apart. Others are riddled with gaping holes. Giant, pockmarked monuments to a fallen civilization. There is no noise. The sound of aircraft flying overhead is gone. Traffic helicopters are nowhere in sight.
The remains of the 405 freeway twist through the city. From our vantage point, the thousands of abandoned vehicles on the interstate look like a mass of dead insects. Everything is gray. Morbid.
Quiet.
“You’ve never been to L.A. before?” I say.
“I’m from San Francisco,” Uriah replies. “Never traveled much.”
“Well,” I sigh. “Los Angeles wasn’t perfect…but it wasn’t like this, either.”
“This gives me the creeps,” Vera mutters. “Where is everyone? I thought L.A. was an Omega hotspot.”
“It is,” Manny replies, popping his flask open. “This was a city of ten million people – most of them either dead or fled. Now it’s an Omega base. They’re just not making themselves real visible.”
“Intelligence reports say that Omega troops are coming through the Port of Los Angeles, anyway,” Andrew adds. “That’s a few miles away. I don’t think Omega has enough troops to send out more than random patrols.”
“There’s no steel ring around this city,” Uriah remarks.
“We’ve brought you this far,” Father Kareem says. “You can find your way from here.”
I start, because I’d almost forgotten that the Mad Monks were still with us. In daylight, their clothes are bland. They blend in with the grass and shrubs along the mountains. I glance around, studying the men. The gro
up is diverse, with ethnicities ranging from Indian to Korean. They almost seem like ghosts. Silent and stony. Unmoving. Father Kareem is the only one who has spoken to us since they walked us the three miles to the border of Toluca Lake.
“Thank you for your help,” I say. “This shortcut saved us hours.”
“Yes, it did.” He raises an eyebrow. “Commander?”
“Yes?”
He pauses. Then, “Bring Commander Young back alive.”
I stare at him. I’m not going to ask how he knows that we are here to rescue Chris. I’m not going to confirm or deny the information. I simply nod slowly, salute him, and watch as he silently returns to the hills. I watch all of them until they vanish from sight, reminding myself that yes – they were real. It wasn’t some kind of weird dream.
“Where are we meeting our Underground contact?” Vera asks.
“About a mile,” I say, pointing to portion of trees and burned houses in the distance.
“How far are we from Hollywood?” Andrew comments.
“Around seven miles, I think.” I shrug. “I never used to spend time in Hollywood, except on weekends. Sometimes I’d visit the Boulevard with friends and see a movie.”
Oh, those were the days.
And to think I used to complain about them.
“Lead the way, Manny,” I say.
He nods, slipping the flask back into his duster, keeping it folded inside of his flight cap. I ease Katana down the trail and we dip behind the mountain again, out of sight. We could shave a few hours off of our journey if we cut right down the mountain, but that would leave us exposed to anyone watching the hills.
And after all of the trouble we’ve had, the last thing I want is attention.
We push forward. The closer we get to meeting our contact, the more nervous I become. The hills become smaller, and we enter into a residential area. Toluca Lake, according to our maps. The houses are gorgeous. Mansions. Much of the shrubbery here is either overgrown or dead. Most of the houses have been vandalized. Streaks of graffiti line rooftops and fence posts.