State of Pursuit

by Summer Lane

  “Up north?” I wonder. “I wonder where he was going?”

  “I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “He was taking me with him? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It does if you’re an egotistical sociopath,” I say. “You’re right. He was probably hoping to use both of us to earn brownie points. A public execution would have gotten him another promotion.” I slam my fist against the couch’s armrest. “I don’t understand. There’s got to be more to this picture than what we’re seeing. This isn’t right. It’s just…there must have been a good reason. More than just revenge.”

  “I don’t know.” Chris nuzzles my waist, drawing me closer. “Thank you.”

  “For…?”

  “For being you,” he says. He sits up slowly, drawing me close to his chest. “There aren’t a lot of women that would do this for a man.”

  “You’re not just any man.” I lean my cheek against his skin, listening to his steady heartbeat. “And this isn’t just any normal situation. This is war. And I love you, Chris. There wasn’t a question of if we could come for you. It was when.”

  “I know,” he laughs. “Like I was saying. You’re one of a kind.”

  He kisses me. Deeply, heavily. It’s a kiss of relief and desperation and hope – all of those things wrapped into one. He gently squeezes my hips and I sit on my knees, my hands tangled in his hair.

  “Cassie,” he says softly, cupping the back my head in his hand. “There’s something you need to know. I’d rather tell you now…”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Just-”

  Someone knocks on the door. I bolt upright, flushed with color, breathing hard. Chris grins and pulls me back to him. I laugh softly and kiss his cheek one last time.

  “Commander?” It’s Uriah’s voice. “Derek and his team made it.”

  Thank God!

  I get to my feet and open the bedroom door. Uriah’s eyes are wide as he assesses me, red cheeks and all. Chris is lounging on the couch. He gets up – slowly – and walks to the door. He’s a good four inches taller than Uriah. That doesn’t take the hurt out of Uriah’s eyes, though, seeing the two of us together.

  “He’s okay,” Uriah reports quietly. “He’s downstairs.”

  He pauses, then,

  “Nice to see you back, Commander Young.” Uriah nods respectfully. He looks between us a few times, doing the math. “Congratulations, Cassidy.”

  “Who came on this mission?” Chris asks.

  “All militiamen,” I reply. “Vera, Derek, Manny, Uriah, Me…” I shrug. “Everybody. Alexander’s alive. He’s here, too.”

  “What about Sophia?” he says, leveling his gaze at me.

  “She…chose not to come.”

  “Where you go, she goes.”

  “She made her choice.”

  “I’ll meet you downstairs,” Uriah says. He slowly retreats, but not before giving me a baleful expression. One that makes me feel guilty.

  “She was wounded?” Chris presses.

  “She was…hurt emotionally.” I say. “After Alexander went MIA and Jeff-”

  “-What about Jeff?” Chris’ eyes flash. And that’s when a horrible realization hits home.

  Chris doesn’t know.

  He doesn’t know that his little brother is dead.

  “Chris,” I breathe. “I…I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  “Tell me what?” He stares at me, waiting. And then he starts to shake his head. “No. Not Jeff.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tears, hot and salty, pool in my eyes. “He died in my arms.”

  He stares at the wall, a muscle ticking in his jaw. I don’t dare touch him.

  “We were retreating,” I explain, my voice trembling. “We were in the drainpipe. There was nothing I could do. I tried, I swear. I tried.” I bite my lip. I know Chris, and the best thing I can do is leave him alone while he digests this news. “He died fighting, Chris. He died like a man.” I place both hands on his face and give him a soft kiss. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  What else can I say? What is someone supposed to say when someone you love dies? Nothing can be done about it. Nothing can be changed. There is no fix. It’s final. It’s over.

  Chris doesn’t speak.

  I respect his silence and slip into the hall. I need to give him some time. Chris loved his brother. He did everything he could to protect him. And now Jeff is dead, and Chris’s heart has been broken.

  “He didn’t know, did he?” Uriah is standing at the bottom of the staircase. The room is empty. The gentle murmur of voices can be heard in the living room. I shake my head. Uriah folds his arms across his chest, oozing tall, dark, and brooding – like always.

  “Look,” he says. “Will you promise me something?”

  “Depends on the promise.”

  “Don’t tell Chris about…my feelings toward you.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Why?” I say. “You don’t think he’d like finding out that you kissed me? Without asking?”

  Uriah flinches.

  “I really care about you, Cassidy,” he whispers, stepping closer. “And I don’t want that to be ruined. Please, don’t tell him. Not because I’m afraid of getting my butt kicked by a SEAL, but because I care about you. I want us to be friends.”

  I contemplate this.

  “You should have tried being my friend first,” I remark. “But I don’t mind starting over if you don’t.”

  He smiles. One of the few times Uriah True has ever done so.

  “Okay, then,” he says. “To friendship?”

  He offers his hand.

  “To friendship,” I agree. “You’re a good guy, Uriah.”

  In this moment, I realize that I may have not completely forgiven Uriah for what he has done…but I can forgive myself for everything that’s happened. I don’t need to feel guilty about losing Chris on the battlefield anymore. The problem has been dealt with. Chris is here.

  It’s time to let it go.

  “Should we, um, go see Derek?” he asks, clearing his throat.

  “Sure.” I grin. “Don’t get awkward on me, Uriah. Friends aren’t awkward.”

  “Well, I could debate that…”

  I laugh.

  We walk into the living room. It’s a wide space with a pool table. Militiamen and women are lying on the couches, resting. Gas lanterns give the room light. Derek is standing near the fireplace. He’s smudged in grease and dirt, but he looks fine. “Derek,” I exclaim. I embrace him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes ma’am,” he replies. “I hear our objective was achieved.”

  “It was.” I pause. “Did you have any trouble getting back?”

  “Some harassing fire. Some diversions. Nothing we couldn’t handle. Omega was busy searching the skies for you,” he says. “We’re faster than they were. We were ahead of the patrols.”

  “Good.”

  Vera taps me on the shoulder. She looks tired.

  “Cassidy, can we talk?” she asks.

  What is it with everybody and their brother wanting to talk?

  I nod.

  “Be right back,” I tell Derek. “Glad to see you made it back safely.”

  “Same to you, Commander.”

  I follow Vera out of the crowded area, into an empty dining room. There is almost no light here. Vera’s skin is pale, her hair is filthy and her clothes are dirty. Yet she still looks pretty, and in the past, that would have eaten at me. Why should she look great in the middle of an apocalypse while I look like something the cat dragged in?

  I’ve come to a point, I guess, where I simply don’t care anymore.

  I’m alive. Chris is alive. That is all that matters.

  “Cassidy, what I’m about to tell you is just between the two of us,” she says.

  I ask, “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I just…here’s the thing, Hart. I came out here with this rescue unit,” she continues, “and now we’ve found Chris, and we’re going to head bac
k to the National Guard base in Fresno. Happily ever after, right?”

  “It’s a far cry from happily ever after, but yeah,” I shrug. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is, I was wrong, okay?” she tenses. “You’re a good commander. And…yeah. That’s basically what I wanted to say.” She tosses her hair back. “I’m glad we’ve got Chris back.”

  “Me too.” I raise an eyebrow, suspecting a trick. “So that’s all. You just wanted to tell me that I was a good commander?”

  “Yeah.” She picks at the sleeve of her jacket. “And…Cassidy, I think you should know something. About Chris.”

  My heartbeat picks up. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because Vera has nursed an ill-concealed crush on Chris for as long as she’s known him. Or maybe because there’s something in her voice that seems oddly emotional.

  Emotional for Vera, anyway.

  “He was married,” she says.

  I blink.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My mother,” she continues. “She was in the Navy in San Diego. She knew Chris Young before the EMP. Chris was married before everything went down. He never told you that, did he?”

  I stare at her. I feel ill. Very, very ill.

  “You’re joking,” I say. “Stop it.”

  “I’m not joking, Hart.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just been…it’s been on my mind, okay? I don’t know why. I was never going to tell you because honestly, I didn’t care about you. But now…things are different. You deserve to know.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I state.

  “I’m not lying. Ask him.”

  “You’re saying Chris is married or was married?”

  “I don’t know. I just know that my mother knew who he was, and he was married at the time.” She’s wearing an expression of frustration. “I don’t know the details. I just know what my mother told me.”

  “I still don’t believe you,” I say.

  I turn to walk away. Vera grabs my arm. I give her a warning look.

  Don’t touch me.

  She’s not as stupid as she used to be. She lets go and takes a step back.

  “I’m not lying,” she presses.

  I ignore her and walk away.

  There are a lot of things I can handle.

  This is not one of them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was born into a broken marriage. My parents divorced when I was a child. The separation was the healthiest thing that could have happened for me. I was no longer exposed to constant bickering or screaming contests. Suddenly, there were no noises in the house. Only empty silence.

  It was different. But it was good.

  I remember telling myself that I would never get married. I never wanted to deal with the heartbreak and humiliation of divorce. I never wanted to live like that. I wanted normalcy and stability, and for that I was convinced that I could depend on nobody but myself.

  When society collapsed, I acted independently to find my father, but in the process, became very dependent on Chris Young for survival. Depending on someone for survival is one thing – depending on them for happiness is an entirely different matter. It has taken a long time to extricate myself from the web of dependence I entangled myself within. Where I used to hesitate, I’m confident, and where I was once petty, I simply don’t care anymore.

  But the bombshell that Vera dropped on me rocked the foundation of my relationship with Chris. If what she says is true, then there really is a lot that I don’t know about the man I’m in love with. Maybe the real question that’s bouncing around inside my head is this: Why didn’t Chris tell me himself? Was he ever planning on telling me, or was he going to keep it a secret for the rest of his life? Or is there any truth to the story?

  At any rate, my stomach is a writhing mess. I’m pacing at the front door, waiting for the militia to gather their gear. We’ve been here for twenty-four hours. Omega hasn’t found us, and it’s time for us to begin our journey back to Arlene’s Way House in the Tehachapi Mountains.

  I haven’t spoken to Chris since I told him that his brother was dead.

  I have barely been able to deal with the pain of that loss myself. Focusing on rescuing Chris was the only thing that kept me together. Now that I’ve achieved my goal, the loss hurts like a fresh wound.

  “Are you okay, Cassidy?” Uriah asks.

  He’s sitting on the steps, cleaning his rifle.

  “Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Just tired. You?”

  “Same.” I can tell that he doesn’t buy it. “What did Vera say to you?”

  “Nothing.”

  I say it a little too quickly. Uriah stands up and slings his rifle over his shoulder. He walks closer, smiling faintly. “Cassidy,” he says. “Whatever it is, remember that you’ve got people here who really care about you. You’re not alone.”

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  Footsteps on the stairwell snap me out of it. I take a reflexive step backward and meet Chris’s gaze. He’s wearing black combat pants and a black shirt. He’s leaner than he was a few weeks ago – a side effect of suffering torturous interrogation and malnutrition. He’s shaved the excess scruff from his face and pulled his hair back into a tight ponytail. He has eaten a couple of times since he’s been here, but he’ll need more food if he’s going to get his full strength back.

  “True,” Chris says, giving Uriah a stony expression.

  “Commander,” Uriah replies, saluting. “Good to see that you made it, sir.”

  Chris looks between us and I realize that I have unconsciously taken another step backward. Despite our earlier conversation about being friends, Uriah seems incredibly uncomfortable under Chris’s glare. Uriah excuses himself, mumbling something about checking on the militiamen in the living room.

  Chris raises an eyebrow. I shrug.

  He kisses me quickly on the forehead, brushing his hand on my hip. The two of us head to the living room. The militiamen are geared up and ready to go. Manny is sitting on the couch. His leather coat has been stitched up at the shoulder, where the bullet pierced the clothing…and skin. He’s a bit pale, but other than that, he looks better. Healthier.

  “Manny,” I say, taking his hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a million dollars,” he replies, grinning widely. “I should get shot more often. I’ve been told I’m a miracle fast-healer.”

  “I believe it,” Chris says.

  “Chris Young.” Manny stands up, grasping Chris’s hand. “My boy. Welcome back.”

  “Thank you.” He claps Manny on the shoulder. “Nice work with the helicopter, Manny. Good job.”

  “It was impressive, if I do say so myself.”

  “Commander,” Derek exclaims. “Good to see you back, sir.”

  The two men embrace briefly. Of everyone here, Derek has been with Chris’s militia the longest. Even before I joined. Except for…

  Alexander Ramos.

  He’s standing near the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest. A hush falls over the room when Chris approaches. Two men – both of them thought dead. Both of them survived. And both of them, begrudging allies and now friends.

  “Ramos,” Chris says.

  And that’s it. They shake hands, embrace for a moment and nod respectfully. It’s a solemn moment of recognition. They both care about each other, even if they won’t say it out loud.

  “Welcome back, Commander,” Vera says.

  She’s seated on the couch armrest near Manny. Chris acknowledges her words with a brief tilt of his head. For some reason I find it extremely satisfying. And then the room practically hums with unspoken words as Chris stands in the middle of the group of militiamen and women.

  “I want to thank you for what you’ve done,” Chris says. “A rescue unit in the heart of an Omega stronghold? Suicide. But here you stand, successful. It is my honor to be your Commander. I couldn’t ask for better soldiers.” He looks directly at me. “Some of you have
performed above and beyond expectations. Thank you. This war has not torn us apart. It’s brought us closer together. We know what we want now: we want our lives back. And it’s given us drive and motivation. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t believe in the promise of freedom as much as I do. I want you to know that everything you do is worthwhile. Every drop of blood that has been spilled is not in vain. There is a purpose. There is an end goal.” He stops to clench his fists, and I know that he is thinking of his brother. “And God willing, we will be victorious.”

  “Amen to that,” Manny drawls, slapping his hands together. “What do you say we pack up and head home, Commander?”

  “Yes,” Chris and I reply at the same time.

  Force of habit.

  Chris’s lips twitch.

  “Yes,” he says again. “What we said.”

  I leave the room and climb the stairwell, heading to the bedroom. I gather my gear as quickly as possible, checking my weapons and ammunition. A million emotions are swirling inside of my head:

  Relief:

  We survived the rescue mission into Los Angeles.

  Confusion:

  What is Chris not telling me about his past life?

  Fear:

  What will I have to deal with when we return to Fresno?

  I sense Chris’s presence before he even steps into the room. I look up quickly, hands trembling as I zip my backpack shut. “Are you feeling good enough to head back?” I ask. “You were pretty beat up when we got here.”

  “I’m a fighter,” Chris replies, gently grasping my waist from behind. “And so are you, Cassie. Everything’s going be fine. You know that. Hang onto that hope.”

  I want to say, Vera told me something that’s driving me crazy!

  But I don’t. Not yet.

  Chris places his hands over mine, closing his fingers over my trembling fists. He kisses the side of my neck, locking me into an inescapable embrace. His breath tickles my ear. “What’s bothering you?” he whispers. “Something’s not right.”

  “I’m just tired,” I say. “It’s been a long two weeks.”

  “It has.”

  I study his hands. For the first time, I notice the angry red lines crisscrossing his wrists. The scars of torture. I close my eyes, silently thanking God that we found Chris before he was executed.