by Summer Lane
“No.” Chris gives Manny a warning look. “Rivera and I share command. He’s got the guard forces and I’ve got the civilian militias.”
“Ah. By the way,” Manny says, digging in his pocket. “Your father wanted me to give this to you.”
He pulls a crumpled note out of his pocket and tosses it to me. I catch it neatly in the palm of my hand, unfolding it on the bar counter. I flick on the flashlight strapped to my belt. It’s an old piece of college ruled notebook paper. Dad’s handwriting is neat and clean, written in pencil.
I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you. But you’re not a little girl anymore, and you can make your own decisions. If this is what you feel is right, then I want you to know that I support you. I love you. You’ll always be my little girl. We will see each other again. I promise.
Love, Dad
I swallow thickly, overcome.
I read it over again. My Dad is a very non-emotional person. He doesn’t pour his heart out to people. This note is rare coming from him. It means a lot. I hand it to Chris without a word, not trusting my voice to be steady.
“Don’t get all teary-eyed,” Manny mumbles. “I’m just a messenger.”
I roll my eyes.
“Enough,” Chris commands, handing the note back to me. He touches me on the cheek – a gesture meant to instill comfort. “We’ve got work to do.”
I nod. I leave Manny with Chris, excusing myself. I need some fresh air. Talking about what’s about to happen isn’t doing anything for my nerves, and I often find that taking a quick walk eases my anxiety.
As I leave the Taco House again, I notice the humidity in the air. The high temperature. I’m pretty sure we’ve got some major weather headed our way. It is October, after all. A storm or two wouldn’t be unusual.
The other end of the encampment is the east side of the parking lot. It takes a long time to walk all the way over here. A tiny old convenience store behind a gas station is where the Colonel is. I check in with the guards and step inside. Dull lanterns illuminate the back of the building. Rivera is leaning against the counter, and Angela and Vera are there with him.
“Colonel,” I say.
He looks up, barely blinking.
“I’m busy at the moment.”
“I’m just checking in, sir.”
I take a peek at the maps they’re studying. They’ve circled different locations with sharpie pens, connecting dots with lines and scribbling around the edges.
“May I ask what you’re mapping out, sir?” I say.
“Strategy, Hart,” Colonel Rivera replies, straightening up from the counter. “Just reviewing what we already know. I’ve got a group of men scouting the surrounding area right now. They should be bringing back some valuable information by the time morning rolls around.”
“We agreed to keep our scouts within the Chokepoint,” I say, “because we don’t know how many enemy scouts Omega is sending out.”
We don’t want to lose men before the battle even starts.
“The National Guard is making sure the area is secure,” he states, emotionless. “Your Commander would agree with me.”
Would he? Was this something they discussed? I’m a Lieutenant. If there is any change to any plan, I know about it. Period. If Rivera is making independent decisions like this…
Colonel Rivera checks a couple of things before he heads out the door, leaving Vera and Angela and myself alone. “Manny arrived, I see,” Angela says. “Is he well?”
“He’s Manny,” I answer.
That’s an answer in itself.
“When Alexander’s platoon comes back, will we move our forces farther into the mountains?” Vera asks her mother. “Or will we wait for word from air support?”
“Whoa,” I interject. “Did you say Alexander’s platoon? Rivera sent Alexander out on a scouting mission to the Chokepoint?”
“That’s what he just said,” she states. “Were you not listening, Hart?”
“I was listening. He just failed to mention who he sent.”
“Alexander is under his command.”
“Alexander is under Chris’s command. If Rivera sent him out without consulting Chris…” I bite my lip. “Excuse me, Angela.”
I make a point of ignoring Vera in my goodbye.
Angela must notice the tension between us, but she has never asked why. Personally, I think that’s a great question. I wouldn’t hate Vera if she were actually kind to me and wasn’t always angling to steal my boyfriend.
I think I’m being pretty reasonable about the situation.
By the time I reach the Taco House again, Colonel Rivera has beaten me there. He’s discussing something with Chris, and judging by the raised voices, I’m guessing Chris just found out that the Colonel sent Alexander on a scouting mission without consulting Chris about it.
Frankly, it’s not that big of a deal. But Chris and Alexander are friends. Chris is probably angry that Rivera commanded his men and hurt that Alexander took the order without talking with Chris. Technically, we’re all volunteers and Alexander can do whatever he wants. If he wanted to go on a scouting mission, there was nothing stopping him.
But that doesn’t change the facts. Rivera shouldn’t have done this.
And we really didn’t need this kind of tension right before we move out tomorrow.
Don’t do this right now. We’ve got enough problems without crap like this.
“Cassidy,” Manny says, calling me from across the lot.
I clench my fists, following the sound of his voice. Spotting his lean figure near a streetlamp. “Don’t be so loud,” I hiss. “We’re trying to keep a low profile.”
“You’re going to want to see this,” he replies, his tone flat.
“See what?”
He nods toward the east side of the boulevard, at the mouth of the freeway onramp. A group of soldiers are gathering there, and there’s a hushed murmur breaking out. Curious, I join the group.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Nobody answers. A few militiamen are limping up the freeway onramp, bloody and bruised.
“Oh, my god,” I say, turning to the men. “Go get the field medics. Hurry.”
I gasp, recognizing Derek’s tall form walking up the ramp. A thick smear of blood mars his chest. “Derek, you went on the scouting mission?” I offer him my shoulders for support. He takes it, his breathing heavy. “What happened?”
“Ambush. Omega’s forward scouts,” he pants.
“Where’s Alexander?”
“He…fell behind.”
“What?”
Derek grits his teeth.
“I don’t know what happened to him. But he’s not here.”
A cold fist closes around my heart.
“Who else from our militia went on this scouting mission with you?” I ask.
“Just me.” Derek kneels on the asphalt, fighting to maintain steady breathing. “I gotta say, those Omega troops can pack a punch.”
“Where are you hurt?”
“Shoulder. It’s not too bad, it just hurts like hell.”
I get down on my knees beside him, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Alexander fell behind.
Alexander fell behind.
This is going to break Sophia’s heart.
Chapter Twelve
Air support has arrived.
But I’m not as excited as I should be. Sophia is in tears, panicked at the thought of losing Alexander. Truth be told, he could still be alive. But falling behind is usually just another way of saying he got killed.
And we all know it.
The realization that somebody I’ve known personally might be dead hits hard. Alexander was never a touchy feely emotional guy, but you knew where he stood. He may not have been overtly talkative, but at least he got the job done. I may have thought he was a suspicious character when I first met him, but he proved me wrong.
Alexander was my friend.
I lean my head against Sophia’s shoulders, both of
us sitting on the corner of a sidewalk behind the Taco House - Headquarters. It’s late morning. Hours have passed since Derek arrived with the scouting party, bloody and bruised. He’ll recover, but it’s a hard blow to have one of your best men injured and another one missing in action. It sucks. The only positive thing about this situation is the fact that a lot of the soldiers in the militia sector of the National Guard are furious over Alexander’s absence. They’re ready to destroy Omega.
“He’s not dead,” I say. “Alexander is way too smart to die on a scouting mission. You and I both know that.”
“I don’t know that.” Sophia wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve. “I can’t be certain of anything anymore.”
“He’ll be okay.”
“That is so easy for you to say,” she snaps, suddenly angry. “It’s always been you and Chris as long as I can remember. But now that I finally found somebody who loves me, he’s dead.” She presses the palm of her hand against her mouth, stifling a sob. I don’t take her outburst personally. How could I? How would I be reacting if it were Chris who fell behind and not Alexander?
I would be out there looking for him right now.
And maybe that’s the difference between Sophia and me.
I stand up and leave her in peace, having spent most of the day by her side in an attempt to comfort her. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can say to ease the sting of a loss like this. So I won’t try.
Air support arrived soon after Derek and his men showed up from their scouting mission. My knowledge of aircraft is extremely limited, but Chris seems to be pleased by the force that’s here, courtesy of what’s left of the United States Air Force. We’ve got high-cover fighter bombers to take on enemy aircraft – and keep them from bombing us here at base. We’ve got smaller aircraft, too, for scouting near the ground and keeping Omega’s foot soldiers at bay, if needed.
And two Blackhawks. Those are my favorite. Two hulking black masses of metal. When they arrived earlier, the ground shook and the windows in the Taco House nearly blew out as they landed in the parking lot. I’ve been told that they will be used to transport wounded soldiers and pick off the enemy from close range.
Frankly, the technical aspects of aircraft and their uses are way over my head. What I understand is that they’re here to help us, and all I have to do is stick to the plan and do my job – and we’ll all be fine.
Hopefully.
I see Chris standing on the road, speaking to Max and his brother, Jeff. His posture is rigid as he folds his arms across his chest. Losing Alexander will be difficult for him.
He could still be alive, I remind myself.
That’s just not likely. I’ve seen enough scouts go missing in the last year to know that what falls behind stays behind. I brush my fingers over my belt, looking down at my lucky knife. The multiple gadgets and gizmos attached to my waist, all courtesy of the National Guard.
Yeah. When I graduated from high school, a career in the military was nowhere near my list of life goals. It was either go to college and get a degree in criminal justice or spend the rest of my life working shifts at a café in Los Angeles. I mean, come on. Even though the world sucks, at least my skillset has improved, right? I can do more than pour coffee into a cup these days.
I find my way over to Chris.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
His mood is tense. He’s focused on the task at hand.
“Fine.” He pauses, glancing across the
street. “How’s Sophia?”
“She’s devastated.”
“That’s to be expected.” Chris heaves a deep sigh. “We’re moving out, Cassie. This is it.”
“I’m not afraid,” I say.
I’m such a liar.
“There’s not a person here who isn’t
afraid,” he states.
I blink hard, fighting tears for what seems like the hundredth time in twenty-four hours. Chris slowly reaches out and takes my hand, holding it against his chest.
“We will survive,” he says.
“Alexander didn’t even survive the scouting mission, and he was one of our best men.”
“What happened to him is a part of war,” Chris replies, his eyes darkening. “But Rivera should have consulted me. They both should have consulted me.”
“Isn’t it normal to send out scouts, though?” I ask.
“Normal, yes. But the risk of losing someone never goes away.”
“What’s done is done,” I say. “We’re here, we’re ready to fight and that’s all we can do. You can’t change what’s happened – and neither can I. You can’t focus on that right now, or we won’t be able to move forward with this assault.”
Chris, still holding onto my hand, pulls me closer.
“You’re a wise woman,” he whispers, sliding his finger under my chin. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
He kisses me softly, sending a jolt of electricity down to my toes.
“Mother of God, what’s going on here?” Manny swaggers up from behind a parked Humvee, twirling his flight goggles in one hand. “Can’t you go kiss her somewhere else?”
“No, as a matter of fact I can’t,” Chris replies, fixing an annoying glare on Manny. “You ready to fly, old man?”
“I was born ready,” he replies. “And old is an incorrect term. I prefer aged, like fine wine.”
“Yeah, good luck, old man.”
“No respect from the youth of today.”
“I’ll see you when this is over, Manny,” I say, swallowing.
I’m saying goodbye. Because this might be the last thing I ever say to him. “Stay safe.”
“I’ll be safer in the air than all of you.”
I move forward and impulsively give him a hug. He freezes, unsure of how to respond. For the first time since I’ve known him, I’ve taken him completely by surprise. I step back, give him a two-finger salute and turn away. I slip my arm through Chris’s and walk with him towards Headquarters. When we reach the doorway, I look back over my shoulder.
Manny is still standing there, watching us.
Chapter Thirteen
It’s not like I haven’t seen this before. Trucks. Soldiers. Nervous tension heavy in the air. Yeah, I’ve seen this plenty of times. In fact, as I sit in the backseat of one of the officers’ vehicles with Chris, I find myself strangely numb to the entire situation. Like I’m moving through a dream.
Maybe I’m just exhausted. Maybe I’m just so stressed out from everything that I can’t feel nervousness anymore. Or, maybe, I’m just ready for whatever comes my way. I’ve finally accepted the status quo.
As we roll down the interstate, a hollow feeling of dread seizes me.
Not so impassive after all, apparently, I think.
The freeway curves upward in the distance, winding into the Tehachapi mountain range. Below us, the freeway branches into two different interstates, the 1-5 and the I-99. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable.
Last time I was here my Mustang had been stolen just hours beforehand, destroyed by panicked civilians turned thugs who were trapped on the road after the EMP.
Mobs aren’t your problem anymore, I remind myself. Omega is the problem.
Oh, sure. That makes me feel better.
We stop below the slope of the freeway, maneuvering our vehicles behind buildings on the side of the interstate. A massive warehouse on our right, and another small rest stop on our left. Our convoy makes a literal boundary line across the road, all the way from one side to the other. It’s a huge span. They set out a blockade along the roadway and then back up. Where the freeway begins to lift up into the mountains, a huge concrete ditch stretches from one side to the other. It’s the perfect place to hide. A strategic trench.
Our men and women slide into the trenches and barricade themselves in. Our trucks are placed in pockets along the road, like miniature fortresses of steel. In the end, our force of one thousand troops ends up camouflaged and hidden inside ditches, behind buil
dings and under freeway onramps.
Because how else can one thousand stand against five thousand without a little ingenuity? Chris and I step out of our transport at the end of the ditch. My radio is attached to my hip. My camouflage gear blends in perfectly with the yellow-gold tone of the grass and weeds at the base of the mountain. The air at this hour of the morning is crisp and cool. A layer of fog has settled over the hills.
“That’s unusual,” I mutter.
“What’s unusual?” Chris asks.
“The fog. It doesn’t usually get foggy this early in the year. It’s only October.”
He smiles thinly. Our conversation has been strained today. The anxiety level around this place is through the roof. I climb down the side of the ditch and walk through the empty path at the bottom. It’s like a hive of soldiers, all of them geared up with their helmets and rifles and radios. I stop and look down the row of men on both sides of the ditch.
Looks like a picture from World War Two, I think.
And that makes me think of Walter Lewis, the man who helped us escape from Bakersfield a year ago. He had been a pilot during World War Two. He was the first one to make the comparison of Nazi Germany and Omega’s invasion.
Who knows? Maybe a hundred years from now the battle that’s about to go down will be as famous as the Battle of the Bulge or D-Day. Maybe all of us will go down in history as heroes.
Cassidy Hart, defender of mankind.
I could roll with that.
Angela and Vera are at the other end of the ditch, Max is with Jeff with one of the convoy blockades behind us and Sophia is with them. Derek is back at the encampment at Headquarters, his injuries unable to heal fast enough to get him out to the front lines today. And Alexander…
No, I can’t think about that. Not today.
Instead I focus on Colonel Rivera, climbing down into the ditch with us. The tension between him and Chris is palpable after what happened with Alexander’s scouting party.
“Any new information?” Chris asks stiffly.
“They know we’re waiting for them, just not exactly where,” Colonel Rivera replies. “They’re just a few miles away.”
“What do they look like?”