State of Pursuit

by Summer Lane

  “Was he horrible?” I ask.

  “Who?”

  “Harry. Did he do this to you?” I touch his hands.

  “Harry didn’t lift a finger,” Chris replies. “He has people for this.”

  “I’m so sorry, Chris.”

  “Don’t be. It’s the price of being in charge.”

  “Nobody deserves torture.”

  He doesn’t answer. He just kisses me again.

  “If I could go back,” I say, “I wouldn’t have gone into that stupid drainpipe. I would have made Jeff go ahead of me and I would have come back for you.”

  “You can’t change the past, Cassie,” Chris answers, his voice gentle. “Don’t live in that place. It will destroy you. Believe me, I know.” He turns me around and tilts my chin up, meeting my eyes. “We could go over every scenario a thousand times and think of ways that we could have changed things, but it still wouldn’t change anything. So don’t look behind you. Keep moving forward.”

  Looking at Chris, I realize that this is the reason I fell in love with him.

  Not because of his good looks. Not because of his fighting capabilities. Not because of his leadership skills. But because he is a good man. A man of integrity and honor and respect.

  This is why I came to Los Angeles and risked my life.

  “I will keep moving forward,” I say.

  And for the time being, I put Vera’s words out of my mind.

  Chris is mine, now.

  It’s time to stop living in the past.

  We get lucky. We leave Toluca Lake and the rendezvous point at midnight. The streets are dark and cold. There are no lights. It’s amazing to me how a city that was once full of noise and light is now so dark and empty. It’s literally nothing but a husk of what it was.

  Chris leads the group, and it is obvious how glad everyone is to have him back. This is what we came here for. We came for our leader, we found him, and everything is right with the world.

  Well. What’s left of the world, anyway.

  We slip through abandoned streets in unit formation. At one point I stop to look at a limousine sitting at the curb. It’s rusted over. Weeds twist around the wheels. The rear windows are missing. Dried blood is caked to the exterior of the doors.

  I jog to catch up with Chris.

  “Did Alexander tell you about Mexico?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he replies.

  “And…?”

  “And what?”

  “What’s your theory? I know you have one.”

  He smirks.

  “If Mexico is fighting Omega,” he says, “then that’s good news for us. It’ll take the pressure off.”

  “What about China? They’ll be back.”

  “They will.”

  I sigh.

  “I wish we could just turn on the news and get all of the information,” I say. “Don’t you miss that?”

  “The news was nothing but part of the truth, anyway,” Chris shrugs. “This isn’t that much different. It’s just slower.”

  “You’re such a conspiracy theorist.”

  “Right. I’m a conspiracy theorist.”

  I playfully nudge his shoulder, but not too hard.

  He is our Commander, after all.

  “So,” I begin again. “The Mad Monks. We might run into them on the way home. They’re actually on our side. The rumors are exaggerated.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “They helped us navigate to Toluca Lake on our way in. They knew who you were.”

  “Even in wartime people gossip.”

  “No. You’re just really popular,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head, but I know he’s smiling.

  By the time we make it out of Toluca Lake, it’s been a few hours. We climb to the top of the far mountain – the same mountain where we entered the city. Twilight has settled over the horizon, casting an eerie gray pallor over the skyline. The ravaged ruins of the skyscrapers look like something out of a horror movie.

  “It’s something, isn’t it?” Manny remarks.

  “It was,” I say, sad.

  “It will be again,” Chris interjects, his eyes focused on something in the distance. “Come on.”

  He doesn’t linger. We slip over the ridgeline before sunrise, disappearing into the golden grass of the hills.

  Goodbye, Los Angeles.

  We will meet again someday.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We reunite with our horses. The Underground militia operatives are waiting for us at a Way House in the hills. It’s a small ranch house, surrounded by trees. The stable in the back is hidden from the air. We move out quickly. Chris talks to the operatives and I find my way into the stable. It smells like wet hay and animals. It’s a familiar, comforting scent.

  “Katana!”

  Her gorgeous, velvety fur practically glows in the early morning sunlight. She recognizes me instantly. I kiss her soft nose and scratch her behind the ears.

  “Hey, girl,” I whisper. “We made it back in one piece. It’s a miracle.”

  It doesn’t take us long to gear up. Mach – the midnight black horse that was previously Uriah’s mount – is chosen by Chris. He swings himself into the saddle with ease. Is there anything that he can’t do?

  Nope. He can do everything.

  I adjust to Katana’s rhythmic movement as we hit the trail. I’ve missed traveling by horseback, honestly. It’s fun – and a lot faster than walking. Even if it does make me saddle sore.

  I trot Katana alongside Chris’s horse as we journey along the trails. I keep my eyes open for signs of the Mad Monks, but everything is oddly quiet. There are no footprints, no areas of broken grass. I have trained myself to look for irregularities in natural landscapes – signs of human life. But here, I see nothing. And that disturbs me. If this is Mad Monk territory, I should have spotted something by now.

  Right?

  If Chris feels the same way, he says nothing. Instead he’s just eternally alert, watchful and cautious. In other words, he’s Chris. I feel incredibly relieved to not have to be the number one person in charge anymore, although we still maintain our security formation, and I am always watching for trouble.

  We camp when it gets dark and rest. I sleep on the ground near Katana, my head propped up on my backpack. The weather is getting colder. It’s nearly November, now. Almost one year since the EMP destroyed the world as we knew it.

  Not even a year. Wow.

  I see Chris talking to Alexander. They’re speaking in hushed tones while the militia drifts off to sleep, just out of earshot of the soldiers keeping watch.

  I fall asleep. Morning comes way too quickly. We saddle up and get moving again. The following days are uneventful. Peaceful, even. I wonder why we couldn’t have had this kind of experience on the way in to Los Angeles. I mean, we were actually in a hurry then!

  That’s life, I guess.

  By the time we make our way back to Arlene’s Way House, everyone in the militia is numbed with exhaustion. It has been almost three weeks since we left the National Guard to rescue Chris. In that timespan we have lost four soldiers, penetrated the heart of Omega’s stronghold and rescued Chris – along with about a dozen other militia officers. Our mission has been a success, despite the casualties that we took. It’s the first time in a long time that something has actually gone right.

  It gives me a little bit of hope.

  The trees surrounding Arlene’s house have paled in color since we were last here. Winter is coming. Dead leaves crackle and twigs snap beneath the horses’ hooves. I stay on Katana and watch the bushes and shrubs. The fact that I was nearly attacked by a German Shepherd the last time I was here has not been forgotten.

  “Notice something?” I whisper suddenly.

  “What?” Vera asks. She pulls up on her horse beside me.

  “There are no dogs.”

  The fence around the front of the house is empty. The sign that reads NO TRESPASSING is gone. I twist my head around and
look at Manny. He’s sitting motionless on his horse, a concerned expression on his face.

  “That’s not right,” I mutter.

  I slide my legs over Katana’s back and land on the dirt. Chris does the same.

  “What should we have been expecting?” Chris asks me, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well…not this.” I shake my head. “This is too quiet. And the sign…”

  Manny dismounts, followed by Uriah, Vera, Andrew, Derek, Alexander and the rest of the militia. I am the first one through the wire gate. It creaks loudly, unlocked. I grip a small handgun. Yet again, we are scoping out another perimeter. Looking for an enemy. I look at Chris. I look at Uriah.

  I say, “Do a quick recon of the house. Make sure nobody’s hiding here.”

  Uriah nods. Both he and Derek take some militiamen and fan out around the house, searching the property for signs of trouble. I stare at the front door.

  It’s standing wide open.

  “Arlene,” Manny breathes.

  He rushes to the front door and steps inside the house. Chris and I are right on his heels. The furniture in the front hallway has been smashed. The mirror on the far wall in the living room is shattered. Bits of glass are strewn across the floor, glittering in the early morning sunlight. A cold chill slides down my spine.

  This is bad.

  “Search the house,” Chris commands.

  Manny pushes his way into the living room.

  “Arlene?” he calls. “Arlene?”

  We search the kitchen, the bedrooms, the dining room –even the basement. There is no sign of life. “Commander?” Derek appears at the front door.

  “Well?” Chris says.

  “You need to see this.”

  Dread seizes me. Those five words never hold a positive meaning.

  Never.

  Chris and I walk outside, following Derek around the edge of the house. Manny is with us. The stench of death is sickening. In the backyard, near the stables, the bodies of five dead dogs are laid in a straight line. I cover my mouth to keep from gagging. Dried blood is splattered on the sidewalk. Flies buzz around the carcasses. Chris places his hand on my shoulder.

  I pray to God that Arlene’s body isn’t here, too.

  “She’s not here,” Derek says, looking at Manny. “There’s no sign of her.”

  “Doesn’t mean she’s not dead, too,” Uriah mutters.

  “She might have escaped,” Manny states. His skin is ashen – the first time I have ever seen him so upset. “I know Arlene. She would have found a way to get out.”

  “Who did this?” Vera asks, taking a disgusted step back from the dead dogs. “Mercenaries? Omega?”

  “This was meant to look like a gang did this,” Manny says. He points to graffiti on the far wall of the back patio.

  “But they didn’t.” Chris gives my shoulder a squeeze. “They didn’t take anything. They didn’t loot the property. What they broke inside the house was a result of some kind of a fight. Maybe Arlene had friends with her when it happened. They fought back.”

  “Do you know where Arlene might have gone?” I ask.

  “No idea,” Manny replies. “But I don’t care, as long as she’s alive.”

  “In the meantime, what do we do with these horses?” Vera asks.

  “Our vehicles are still hidden here,” Derek reports to Chris. “Well hidden. Whoever attacked here completely missed them.”

  “Thank God,” I say. “But yeah. The horses. What do we do with them?”

  “We leave them here,” Derek says. “We’ve got to get back to the National Guard. We don’t have a choice.”

  “They’ll die uncared for.”

  “No, they won’t,” Manny interjects. “There’s plenty of water and grazing land around here to keep them comfortable.”

  I lower myself into a crouch on the ground, resting my arms on my knees. The stables haven’t been touched, and it looks as if most of the property is still intact. It could have been worse…I suppose.

  “This house is a vital part of our communication with the Underground,” Manny points out. “We can’t leave it abandoned.”

  “So what? We leave someone behind to take care of the horses?”

  “Until the Underground can replace them, yes.”

  “Who wants to volunteer?”

  Silence. Yeah. That’s what I thought. Nobody.

  “I will.”

  I don’t know this man. He is one of the twelve officers we rescued from the Holding Center in Los Angeles. He’s unshaven – maybe forty years old. His eyes are bloodshot. He looks weary.

  “One man and thirty horses isn’t going to be enough,” I say.

  “How about twelve men?” He gestures to the officers around them. “We’ve been rotting in the Holding Center for almost six months, Commander Hart. We’ll be glad to do anything the militia needs us to do until they can send a replacement team.”

  “You’re officers, though,” Vera says. “Valuable.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’re all on the same level now.”

  “There’s a nice hidden stash of heavy weaponry on the property,” Manny says suddenly, stroking his jaw. “You boys would have everything you need to hold down the fort.”

  I glance at Chris. I can see that he is considering it.

  “The Underground would have someone to replace you in about a week,” Chris says. “Can you survive that long?”

  “We will do our best, sir.”

  “Hey, guys!” Andrew bursts out of the house. He’s holding a radio set and speakers. He sets it on the table. I turn away from the stench of the dead dogs. “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?”

  “I found Arlene’s radio. It was in her bedroom, hidden.” He pauses and turns the volume up. There’s a steady sheet of static before a short burst of dialogue:

  “Safe District, this is Hammer Point.” A man’s voice. Everyone holds their breath, staring.

  “Roger that, Hammer Point,” Andrew replies, talking into the receiver. “Repeat.”

  “Yes, sir,” the voice answers. “I repeat: San Diego District is now under Mexican control. They have taken the city. Omega is pulling back into Los Angeles. The Pacific Northwest Alliance has gained a foothold in Northern California, including San Francisco. Rebel forces are converging in Sacramento. I repeat, Sacramento.”

  “Sacramento?” I whisper.

  “Pacific Northwest Alliance?” Uriah says.

  “What’s the RV point in Sacramento?” Andrew asks.

  “You’ll be given that information at a later time,” the voice says.

  “A later time?” I echo.

  “Thank you, Hammer Point,” Andrew says. “Over and out.”

  I look at Chris.

  “Who’s Hammer Point?” I ask.

  “Underground radio in Los Angeles,” Alexander answers for him. “The Way House where we stayed on the way into the city.”

  “So this Pacific Northwest Alliance is attacking Omega up north, Mexico is attacking from the south, and the National Guard is defending the central valley,” Vera states. “God, I hope Mexico and Canada are on our side.”

  “He said rebel forces were massing in Sacramento,” Uriah says. “What does that mean?”

  “It means things just got a lot more serious,” Chris replies. “Omega’s push on the west coast has stalled, and somebody’s finally got enough sense to unite the militia forces in Sacramento.”

  “What about-”

  I’m cut off by the radio.

  “Safe District, this is Halo Four.” The voice is female.

  Manny jumps up and grabs the radio.

  “Arlene,” he breathes. “This is Safe District.”

  “I heard you call in from Safe District and I knew it had to be you,” she replies. There is relief in her voice – and in Manny’s.

  “What happened to you?” he asks.

  “Mercenaries,” she replies. “They attacked about four days after you left. I es
caped and now I’m at Halo Point with some of my people, waiting for orders.”

  “Where’s Halo Point?” Vera whispers.

  “It’s a Way House in the central valley,” Andrew explains. “One of many.”

  “We’ve got the situation under control here,” Manny answers. And then he grins.

  “Operation Angel Pursuit was a success,” he says.

  “Thank God,” Arlene laughs. “Tell Alpha One that we’re happy to have him back. I’ll pass the news along. The militias will be thrilled.”

  The ghost of a smile plays across Chris’s lips.

  Manny explains our situation to Arlene. The color slowly returns to his face, and I realize how incredibly relieved he is that Arlene is alive. It makes me curious…

  I share a glance with Chris.

  Everything is changing, I think. The game has shifted again.

  “Get the horses into the stables,” Chris commands. “Gather your gear and transfer everything to the vehicles. Armor up, guns up. We’re heading home.”

  Manny continues to talk with Arlene for a while. Chris takes me aside in the house and asks, “What’s Manny’s relationship with Arlene?”

  “He won’t tell me.” I shrug. “Either he’s in love with her or they’re just really good friends.”

  “Huh.” Chris plays with the ends of my hair. “Cassie, if Mexico and this Pacific Northwest Alliance are fighting Omega, that means we could actually stand a chance of winning this war.”

  “I won’t believe it until I see it,” I say. “But it’s a nice thought.”

  “Ah, ever the eternal optimist.”

  “I’m being realistic. Omega’s got a million soldiers and chemical weapons,” I say. “Who’s to say that they won’t just get a nuclear bomb and kill us all?”

  “Because something must be stopping them.” He knits his brow. “The threat of retaliation, possibly.”

  “From who? Us? We practically have no military left.”

  “I don’t know. But I’d like to find out.”

  I press a kiss against his cheek.

  “Let’s find out together.”

  He grins.

  When he smiles, I’m reminded of what Vera told me back in Los Angeles – about Chris having been married. I get nauseas just thinking about it. I want to know if the story is true or not. But I am afraid to ask.