State of Pursuit

by Summer Lane

  “Do we ride on the road or what?” Andrew asks.

  “I guess we don’t have a choice,” I shrug.

  We take the horses down the street; hooves clip clopping against the asphalt. It’s a sound that probably hasn’t been heard in Los Angeles for a hundred years. It’s funny how things go full circle. You eliminate something from culture completely and then bam. Here it is again.

  “This was super high end living,” Vera comments. “Toluca Lake was a celebrity city.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” I say. “I used to visit this place with my mom.”

  When I was a girl, we’d drive up and down every street, looking at the houses; pretending we were millionaires and that we could own any property we wanted. Come to think of it, it’s one of the only happy memories I have of spending time with my mother.

  “What are you smiling about?” Manny asks.

  “Nothing,” I whisper. “Just thinking.”

  He raises an eyebrow. But he says nothing.

  As we continue, I tighten my grip on Katana’s reins. The eerie silence of the neighborhood is creeping me out. The tension is thick in the air. At some point, something bad has to happen. It always does. I would be surprised if something didn’t happen.

  I’m not exactly a good karma magnet.

  “Woodbridge,” Manny announces. “We’re here.”

  A faded, dark brown sign sits on the edge of an abandoned park. Trees and bushes are overgrown. The pond in the middle of the park – once beautiful and well maintained – has only a few inches of stagnant water remaining. Clouds of mosquitos hover over the surface.

  “This used to be beautiful, too,” I remark.

  Coming here and seeing it like this…well, it’s disturbing. I feel like I’ve fallen into the zombie apocalypse. We’re stuck in a different dimension, but it’s actually the sad reality.

  “Stay on your horses,” Manny warns. “If we’ve played this right – and I think we have – our contact should be on the other side. By the playground.”

  Vera mutters, “We come to Los Angeles and meet up with an Underground contact in front of playground equipment.”

  “If it bothers you so much, you can always go back to Fresno,” Andrew snaps.

  Vera looks surprised to hear him talk that way to her. Instead of coming up with a stinging retort, she shuts her mouth and sets her jaw. Silent mode.

  Good. Silence is good.

  And then I see him. He’s sitting on the edge of a park bench on the right of the playground equipment. He’s wrapped up in a black coat and scarf, watching us. Motionless. Behind him is a row of wrecked housing.

  “Is that our man?” Uriah asks.

  “I guess so,” I say. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Manny leads the way.

  I bring Katana to a halt and dismount. The grass is dead – it snaps under my boots. The man on the bench doesn’t move. He stares at me, unmoving.

  As I get closer, Katana hesitates. I catch a whiff of something. It’s probably the stagnant pond – setting water smells disgusting.

  “I’m Yankee One,” I say, palms up. “And this is my team.”

  The man doesn’t move. In fact, he doesn’t even blink.

  I step closer. His skin is pale. I sniff the air.

  Oh, God. One eye is red and glassy, and I notice a purple bruise on the side of his face. He’s dead.

  “That is disgusting,” Vera complains.

  “So much for our contact,” Uriah says. He dismounts his horse and studies the corpse. “He’s been dead for a couple of days – no longer than that.”

  “Do you think Omega did this?” Vera wonders.

  “No. Gangs, most likely,” Manny replies. “If it were Omega, they would have questioned and tortured him before he died. This fellow looks like he was hit in the head once.” Manny examines the dead man’s head. “Yes. Blunt force trauma.”

  “Are you a doctor now, Manny?” Vera asks, blasé.

  “As a matter of fact-”

  “-We can take a trip down memory lane later,” I interrupt. “Somebody left him here for a reason.”

  “So we could find him,” Andrew states. “It’s meant to scare us.”

  “Well…” I look around. “Are we scared?”

  No one answers. I look around at my team, alert and in defensive formation, awaiting threats. Waiting for my word.

  “I’m going to take that as a no,” I surmise.

  In truth, I’m quaking on the inside. Our contact is dead, which means we’ll have to find somewhere to take the horses before we head into the city on foot. And anybody who is sadistic enough to leave a dead man sitting upright on a park bench does scare me.

  I’m not entirely fearless.

  “He was supposed to take us to the Way House,” Vera says, tapping the dead man’s shoe. “Now what do we do? What do we do with the horses?”

  “Commander, on your six o’clock,” Uriah says.

  I turn quickly, noting the urgency in his voice. A man is standing on the edge of the park. His hands are up, showing that he is unarmed. My militia is already on him, surrounding him as quickly and efficiently as a pack of wolves.

  The man is dressed in sandy combat fatigues and a leather jacket. His jet-black hair is shaggy and overgrown. I blink, recognition dawning on me.

  “Oh, my God,” I say. “Alexander Ramos.”

  I don’t even think about what I do next. I cross the distance between Alexander and I. I throw my arms around his neck and give him a tight, relieved hug. He doesn’t return the hug – but he doesn’t shove me away, either. I take that as a fairly positive sign.

  “How is this possible?” I whisper.

  Alexander Ramos is supposed to be dead. Yet here he is, alive. “Ramos?” Derek grabs his hand. “What happened, man? What are you doing in Toluca Lake?”

  “We thought you were dead,” Vera states matter-of-factly.

  “Technically, you are,” Manny mutters.

  “Long story,” Alexander replies gruffly. He’s purely non-emotional about the reunion. Unsurprising. He was never the touchy-feely type. But I can bet that if Sophia Rodriguez had known that we would find Alexander on this mission, she would have come with us.

  “Are you supposed to be our Underground contact?” Andrew asks.

  “I am,” Alexander confirms.

  “Who’s the dead guy on the bench, then?”

  “He was your contact.” Alexander looks right at me. “He didn’t come back to base, so they sent me out.”

  I exhale. Yet another man dies this day.

  Suck it up, girl.

  “We should get moving, then,” I say. “We’ve had enough run-ins with gangs and mercenaries on the way here.”

  “Mount up,” Alexander commands. “Cassidy, I’ll ride with you.”

  I pull myself onto Katana’s saddle. She snorts softly. He swings into the saddle behind me, keeping an arm around my waist. Six months ago I would have thought this was awkward. Now it’s just standard procedure.

  “Go that way,” Alexander points, gesturing to a boulevard that shoots through a once prestigious neighborhood of mansions and apartment complexes. “We’ll go about two miles before we hit the Way House.”

  I tap Katana’s flanks with my boots and she trots forward. Considering the long journey she’s been on – that all the horses have been on – she’s holding up well. But she’s tired.

  “So are you going to tell us how you’re still alive?” I ask. “Or are you going to keep it a secret?”

  “It’s a secret,” he answers. “For now.”

  “Oh, come on, Ramos…we’ve had a long trip. At least give us a hint.”

  If he’s smiling, I can’t see it.

  “Later,” is all he says. But I do notice that he searches the platoon several times. He’s looking for Sophia, I guess. And when he doesn’t find her, he asks, “Where’s Rodriguez?”

  I answer, “She didn’t come.”

  He doesn’t seem
to believe me. “She always comes,” he says.

  “Well…she didn’t come this time.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s dealing with issues.”

  “She’s a basket case,” Vera comments.

  I shoot her a look. She shrugs.

  “What happened that I don’t know about?” Alexander asks.

  I pause for a few moments. Then, “Jeff is dead.”

  “What?”

  “And so is Max.”

  Alexander says nothing. After a few moments of heavy silence he says,

  “And Commander Young…do we know for sure that he’s alive?”

  “No. But that’s why we’re here.”

  “It could be a fool’s errand.”

  “It could be.”

  “Let me guess: the rescue unit was your idea.”

  A bittersweet smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

  “Yes,” I say. “But they volunteered.”

  “And you’re in charge?”

  “I was elected.”

  He grumbles something that I can’t hear.

  “How’s that working out for you?” he asks.

  “It is what it is,” I reply.

  We ride about two miles up the road, coming to an oversized lot closed in with a stone security wall and thick shrubbery. It’s impossible to see what’s inside. The front gate rolls open as we approach.

  Obviously somebody has been watching and waiting for us.

  We take the horses inside, coming to a halt on a huge cobblestone driveway. A Spanish-style mansion is surrounded by bushes and trees. Soldiers are milling around the front yard. They approach us and take the reins of the horses. Alexander dismounts and I follow suit, keeping Katana with me.

  “This is a Way House, huh?” I say. “Nice.”

  “It belonged to Jay Leno at one time, so I’ve been told,” Alexander remarks. “But that’s just a rumor.” He pats Katana’s flank. “Good horse.”

  “How many men did you start with, Cassidy?” he asks.

  I look at my platoon, weathered and beaten by the stress of the journey.

  “Thirty,” I say.

  “You’ve got twenty-six, now.” He tilts his head. “Not bad, Hart.”

  I don’t agree. Losing just a single person is losing one too many.

  “It wasn’t easy getting here,” I state. “Between mercenaries and Mad Monk Territory, we’re lucky.”

  “The Mad Monks are leftover remnants of mercenaries that betrayed Omega after the first attack on San Diego,” Alexander says. “Surprisingly, they’ve become good allies of the militias.”

  “Wait. The attack on San Diego?” I reply. “Are you talking about the attack by Mexico on Omega?”

  He nods. “Yes. A number of their forces…defected.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do any men defect?”

  “Because they’re cowards,” Vera interjects, folding her arms across her chest.

  “Or because they know something that the leaders don’t,” I murmur. “Or they’re in it for the money and the power. What do you know about Mexico, Alexander? Are they on our side?”

  “There’s a lot that’s unclear right now. All we know is that Omega tried to push into Northern Mexico and Mexican forces pushed them right out. Clear into San Diego.”

  “Is San Diego out of Omega’s hands?” I ask.

  Alexander shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he replies. “Our radio hasn’t been working. The last news we received was a week ago, and that was the message telling us that you would be headed this way.”

  Darn. It seems like everyone is in the dark about the Mexico question.

  “These people will take care of the horses,” Alexander says. “They’ll be waiting for you when you come back.”

  I slowly pet Katana’s nose. Her big, brown eyes study my face. “I’ll see you again,” I promise. “This isn’t goodbye.”

  It feels like goodbye, though.

  Someone takes her reins and leads her away from me.

  “What now?” I ask.

  “You come inside,” he replies, “and we give you what you’ll need to get Chris home.”

  A spark of hope ignites in my chest.

  Remember why you’re here, I remind myself. Stay focused on the objective.

  I look up at the mansion.

  Step one, completed. Beginning step two.

  Chapter Nine

  Harry Lydell.

  I stare at a picture of his smug mug. Alexander is sitting on a stool in an empty dining room. A projector powered by backup generators is giving everyone a peek of what we’re getting ourselves into. And for most of the people here, knowing our enemy is step one.

  My rescue unit has been fed and cleaned up in the last couple of hours. Uriah was treated by certified medics. Thanks to the medication and equipment on hand here, he’s no longer in pain from the bruising he took at the hands of the Mad Monks’ initial ambush. The horses are being kept in a makeshift stable behind the house. Militiamen and women patrol the perimeter 24/7, and roving scouts constantly circle the area, keeping an eye out for unfriendly forces.

  My team is sitting on the floor. I lean against the back wall, glaring daggers at Harry Lydell’s image.

  “Lydell is an Omega Prefect,” Alexander says. “This basically makes him a General.”

  An award for selling the militia out to Omega.

  “He oversees negotiations for Omega,” he continues. “The parley between Lydell and Commander Young was one of many duties that he performs.”

  “Harry said he was working for someone named Commander Cho,” I say.

  “Cho is dead,” Alexander answers. “He was killed. We learned this shortly before the radios stopped working.”

  “What’s wrong with your radios?” Andrew asks.

  “It’s not a problem on our end. Omega’s gone radio silent.” Alexander stands up, pointing to Harry’s face. “Lydell is also in charge of the Officer’s Prison. It’s a POW holding center for high-ranking militia officers. They’re interrogated here, and most of them are eventually executed.”

  Executed?

  “How long do they hold them there before they’re executed?” I say. It’s a question that I have to force myself to ask. “Days, weeks?”

  “It depends on the importance of the prisoner.” Alexander raises an eyebrow. “Chris is important.”

  That’s all he says.

  I take it as an implication that there’s a chance that Chris is still alive.

  “Why haven’t you already tried a rescue mission?” I demand.

  “We did try,” Alexander states. “And we failed.”

  “Why?”

  “We weren’t able to penetrate the security system.” Alexander’s chest heaves as he takes a deep breath. “But we know the layout of the base now. It wasn’t for nothing.”

  I fold my hands between my knees and take a deep, steadying breath. The projector flips to a new image. It’s a photo of a squat concrete building. Cars and Humvees are parked out front as perimeter barriers. Armed men can be seen stationed on the roof.

  “This is the POW Holding Center,” Alexander explains.

  “How did you get these photos?” Vera asks.

  “We’ve got cameras that escaped the effects of the EMP,” he replies. “The Holding Center is in downtown L.A. I’ll give you the exact coordinates in a moment. What you need to remember-” he looks directly at me, “is that security is going to be tight. This was a county jail before the war, a temporary holding center for prisoners being transported to court appearances. There are few weaknesses in the structure. No big windows to climb through. You’ll have to go in hard and fast. You’ll need the element of surprise.”

  “Sounds like a good time,” Manny remarks.

  “Sounds like suicide,” Vera says.

  “How many guards are we talking about?” I ask.

  “Thirty to forty at the site,” Alexander answers. “And you’ll be downtown, whic
h means the city itself will be thick with Omega. The civilian population that remains is submissive to Omega, so don’t expect any help from them.”

  “Cowards,” Uriah mutters.

  “I think terrorized, enslaved individuals would be a more apt description,” Manny replies.

  “You have to get in and get out fast,” Alexander presses, ignoring their negativity. “The Holding Center is near downtown L.A., so they’ve been landing helicopter and small aircraft at a base next door.”

  “We’re walking into an Omega military base,” Uriah states. “We’re so dead.”

  “We’re not dead yet,” I counter. “This isn’t harder than some of the other stuff we’ve done.”

  That’s not necessarily true, but I’m trying to stay positive here. After everything we’ve been through – from surviving the ambush in Sanger to standing up against a million man Omega invasion force – I know that we’re capable of pulling this rescue off. It’s simply a matter of executing a good plan.

  Go into a fight with the mindset of zero casualties, Chris would say. That’s not how I was trained, but it’s how we have to treat the militias, because our troops are finite. We can’t send in more troops when we run out. We’ve got to keep our guys alive.

  That’s the thing. I’ve already lost four men on this journey. From a purely professional standpoint, my mission to reach Los Angeles would be considered a major success. But from a militia mindset, every single man is important. Losing just one is too many.

  “You’ll be going into the city on foot,” Alexander continues. “It’s the fastest, most effective way to infiltrate the urban area. You’ll be able to slip unnoticed past the patrols...probably.”

  “What about gangs?” Uriah asks.

  “Where’s there’s Omega, there won’t be gangs,” Alexander replies. “Out here you’ll find them, but not inside the city. Omega’s got too much firepower.”

  “We know how Omega works,” Uriah says. “I think we can get to the Holding Center and get inside. It’s getting back out that concerns me.”

  Same here, I think.

  “Any thoughts, Alexander?” I ask.

  Sure, I’m the Commander. But I’m not above asking for help.

  “I’ve got a few,” he answers. And this time, he almost smiles.

  Alexander Ramos was Chris’s friend. There was a time when they were begrudging allies; I can remember when they did nothing but argue. But as the weeks and months of grueling militia life passed, they became more than commanding officer and soldier – they became friends.