by Summer Lane
Cheng shakes his head.
“No,” he says, confident. “They won’t. They want to preserve this city. They might damage it a little, but they can rebuild. They can’t touch it if they nuke it. Remember, Commander…Omega is many things, but stupid is not one of them.”
“You do realize that if the information you’re giving us is false, and if we walk into a trap, we’ll kill you, right?” I warn.
I never take my gaze from Cheng’s as I speak.
“I understand perfectly,” Cheng replies.
I lean back, satisfied with his answer. I look at Chris. He nods.
“Give us the coordinates,” I command.
Cheng grins once more.
“Now,” he says, “that’s more like it.”
*
Elle shows me where we can sleep for the night. The women’s quarters are nothing more than an unused strip of old, concrete cells and steel bars. Vera takes a bed next to me.
“I’m staying with my aunt and uncle above the Schoolhouse,” Elle says, smiling slightly. “You guys will have enough privacy in here.”
“Good,” Vera grumbles, flinging her pack onto a cot in her cell. “I’m sick of having to share my space with thirty unshaven, unwashed men.”
I laugh under my breath.
“We shared a cave for two weeks with the Angels,” I explain to Elle. “Not fun.”
Elle wrinkles her nose.
“Yeah, that sucks,” she agrees.
Bravo sits patiently at the cell door, watching Elle with laser-like eyes.
“How do you know Cheng?” I ask Elle, setting my pack down on my own cot. The cell is aged and cold. I am thankful to see a pile of wool blankets bundled on the foot of the cot. “I mean, was he someone you knew before the Collapse or after?”
Elle hesitates.
“It’s hard to explain,” she tells me. “I knew him from before I joined the militias. He was my friend. He helped me survive.”
“And you trust him?”
“I do. I didn’t always, but I do now.”
“What changed your mind?”
I watch her closely as she answers.
“Death.”
I set my rifle on the cot, feeling the weight of the weapon leave my shoulders. It feels good. I am sore and tired. I could use a bath.
“Death?” I repeat.
“You learn things about people when they’re confronted with death,” Elle says to me. “You find out who they really are. But he hates Veronica and Omega. You can trust him. I promise.”
I nod, slowly.
“Okay,” I say. “That’s good enough for me.”
And it really is. I may be suspicious of Cheng, but I trust Elle, and if she trusts Cheng…there is nothing I can do but take her word for it. This information about Red Grove is the best piece of intel we’ve snagged in months. This could really change things for the militias.
“There’s a shower and bathroom down the hall,” Elle tells me, pointing. “And the Chow Hall is just beyond it.”
“Thanks.”
“You’d better get your rest, Commander. You look tired.”
I smile, weary.
I say, “That’s an understatement.”
Vera leans against the bars of her cell, strands of tangled blond hair falling in her face. “I guess this is home for now,” she sighs. “Another five-star hotel, right?”
“It’s better than the cave,” I reply.
“Anything is better than the cave.”
I look at Vera, and I realize how hard this war has been for her. She lost her mother—I lost my father. She lost her platoon. I lost Sophia Rodriguez. We have more in common than we think, when it comes right down to it.
She turns away and lies down on the cot, her arm over her eyes. I watch her for a moment, then turn to Elle, who is standing in silence near Bravo. Both of them are watching me.
“This Red Grove thing,” Elle says quietly. “It could be dangerous.”
“Everything is dangerous, Elle,” I reply.
“No. I mean more dangerous. It’s different.”
I know what she is trying to say, but I try to ignore it. I don’t want to be afraid of Red Grove. I want to destroy it.
“We’ll be okay,” I assure her.
I say it more to calm my own nerves than Elle’s. If I say it, it must be true. Right?
I stand on the end of the cot and peek through the tiny slit window in the wall, overlooking the water outside. I see the Golden Gate Bridge barely peeking through the fog and the shoreline docks in the harbor.
“I wonder,” I murmur, “if Harry knows anything about Red Grove.”
“Harry Lydell?” Vera echoes lazily.
“Do you know any other Harrys?”
“No.”
“Well, then.” I jump off the cot. “In Sky City, Veronica recognized Harry by sight on the satellite feed. I wonder what he knows about her.”
“Who cares what he knows?” Vera replies. “We have Veronica’s son. He knows more than anyone.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “Cheng hasn’t seen his mother since the Collapse, and it’s not like they actively work together.”
“So…?”
“So I say we should talk to Harry and find out what he knows about Veronica.”
“Whatever,” she mutters. “I’m sleeping first.”
I shake my head, looking at Elle.
“Show me where the showers are,” I say. “I’m cleaning up, and then I’m taking the ferry back to the prison so I can talk to Harry.”
“Seriously?” Vera answers, sitting up.
“Seriously.”
“Chris wouldn’t like it.”
“Chris has his own problems to deal with. I’ll take care of this on my own.”
Chris is in the men’s quarters with the rest of the male counterparts of our team. They need a good night’s rest now more than ever. I will leave Chris alone for tonight. Alexander’s death has taken a heavy toll on him.
This is something I can do alone.
Vera rolls her eyes and jams her cheek back onto her pillow again, tired. Elle says nothing as she leads me toward the showers. It is nothing more than a long corridor of cracked tile and shower stalls. Several women are showering already when I arrive, toting a pair of clean clothes with me. There are no curtains; no privacy.
I strip down and turn the spigot, stepping under the steam of warm water. It feels like heaven. It takes me a long time to scrub all of the mud, dirt and blood off my skin from the weeks spent in the cave and the mission into Sky City.
The water at my feet is brown. I lather my hair with soap and rinse. I feel reborn as I towel off and pull on clean pants and socks, a crisp new thermal shirt and a black jacket.
When I am done, I wander into the corridors and cross over to the Chow Hall, a big room with long tables and plastic chairs. There are not many people here right now—it is not yet dinnertime. I search the area for a familiar face, my eyes finding Uriah, talking to a militia chef at the buffet table. He stops abruptly when he sees me, says something, and then walks my way.
“Cassidy,” he says. “You look…clean.”
I smirk.
“Thanks,” I reply. “So do you. Did you shower?”
“You couldn’t tell?”
“I’m just guessing. Your smell didn’t knock me over when I walked into the room, so it could only mean that you cleaned off, too.”
“I could say the same to you, Commander.”
“Hey. Being stuck in a cave for two weeks does nothing for the personal hygiene department.”
Uriah grins.
“I guess not,” he says.
I chuckle, feeling flushed with a rush of satisfaction—it’s nice to be able to talk about something other than war, even it lasts only for a moment.
“Uriah,” I say. “I’m taking the ferry back into the city. I need to talk to Harry about Veronica.”
Uriah folds his arms across his chest.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “We’ve been dragging him around all over the state for weeks and he’s never talked so far. What makes you think he’ll start now?”
“I don’t,” I shrug. “I just… This information about Red Grove. He might know something that Cheng doesn’t. Because he’s actually actively Omega.”
Uriah tilts his head.
“It’s possible.”
“So,” I say.
“So…what?”
“Will you come with me?” I ask, hesitant.
“To the prison?”
“Yeah.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why not Chris?”
I sigh.
“He’s got enough on his plate already,” I say. “This is something I can do on my own.”
Uriah raises his eyebrows, as if to say, You mean on your own with me.
He wouldn’t be wrong.
“Please,” I say.
He exhales.
“Okay,” he replies. “You got it, Commander.”
I nod.
“Thank you,” I say. “This won’t take long.”
I hope I’m right.
*
Uriah and I take the ferry back to the city. Captain Ray is more than happy to accommodate us. He lets us stand on the upper deck, watching the waves roll beneath the boat as we move toward the city. We are wrapped in tight, warm clothing, covering our faces and skin from the danger of radiation fallout. Thankfully, the bay breeze seems to be pushing the cloying air away from the city, into the east, and the moisture in the air—and the rainfall—is scrubbing the sky clean.
It is nearly nighttime. Torches are being lit across the city, throwing strange, medieval firelight on the buildings. It feels mystical, otherworldly.
We reach the docks, leave the harbor, and head down one of the main boulevards stretching away from the baseball stadium and toward the large building that is the militia prison for prisoners of war. Formerly the city jail, it sits near a once-busy intersection, well guarded by National Guardsmen.
“How long do you think it will take for the militias to execute Harry?” Uriah says as we reach the prison. “I mean, he’ll stand war trial. But then…?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t really care.”
We check in with the guards and go inside, being led into the sterile entryway. Guards scurry to and fro, changing posts and making sure every level of the prison is well guarded.
We go into the back of the building, where the first level has been turned into the maximum-security cellblock.
“Wait for me,” I tell Uriah, pausing at the corner. “He won’t talk to me if he sees you.”
Uriah nods.
“Meet me at the ferry?” I ask.
“Whatever you want,” Uriah replies.
I squeeze his shoulder, and Uriah slowly leaves. I steel my nerves and take a deep breath.
It’s only Harry, I think. You can do this.
I slowly walk, knowing exactly where the guards deposited him earlier today. The third door on the left. There he is. A single candle lights the room. I stop.
I watch him for a while, silently waiting in the shadows of the hallway, observing Harry’s tall, lean body lying on the bed. The environment is similar to Alcatraz, except that here, those locked in the cells are prisoners, not soldiers.
I take a step into the hall and walk to the cell door, leaning against the bars. Harry slowly opens his eyes. His soft brown hair is overgrown, and there is stubble on his cheeks. His eyes are as blue as ever. When he sees that it is me, a flicker of surprise flits across his face. He sits up, masking the emotion, and uses his hand to smooth his hair.
“Cassidy,” he says simply.
“Harry,” I reply.
“What brings you to this luxurious part of the city? It’s hardly been twenty-four hours since we parted. Tell me, did you miss me?”
“The pain was unbearable,” I deadpan.
His lip curls, the beginning of a sneer.
“Good.”
We say nothing for several moments.
“Veronica Klaus,” I say, cutting right to the point. “What have you told her about me? About everything?”
Harry’s eyes darken.
“Dear little Cassidy Hart,” he answers, dry. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. If you had any sense, you’d leave Veronica alone and focus on other things.”
“Veronica Klaus made the mistake of talking to us,” I retort, calm. “So it’s her fault that she is now a target.”
“Did you ever stop to think that perhaps she’s playing with you?” Harry says, standing. “That perhaps her precious, long-lost, noble son Cheng is lying about everything he knows just to draw you into her web of lies?”
I straighten.
“How did you know Cheng was here?” I demand, alarmed.
At this, Harry only smiles.
“Damn you, Harry,” I grit. “Why is everything always a game with you?”
“Because I love games,” he replies, taking one step closer to the bars. “And because you, Cassidy, are a magnificently entertaining player.”
“You’ve met her before,” I say. “I know you have. She recognized you at Sky City, during the satellite transmission.”
Harry says nothing.
“What do you know, Harry?”
Harry steps up to the bars and wraps his long, slender fingers around the steel. “Why would I tell you?” he returns, unperturbed. A cat playing with a mouse before the kill. “What would that grant me? Freedom?”
I swallow.
“I think that you and I are a lot alike, Cassidy,” Harry goes on, his voice velvety soft. “Both of us love authority, whether you admit it or not. We want to be in control, don’t we? And that love of control drives us to do things we never would have done in our previous lives. Imagine killing someone before the Collapse. There’d be hell to pay. But not here. Not anymore. This end of civilization has given us all a mighty power—the power to dominate, to kill, to reorganize. And like it or not, Commander, you are one of the few who are thriving in this new world. And that makes us alike.”
“I’m not like you,” I say, shivering in the damp cold. “I fight for what I love. You fight for yourself, and nothing else. You’ll kill anyone and do anything to save yourself.”
“And you would blindly sacrifice your own life for the romantic legend of it,” Harry laughs. “Be honest with yourself, Cassidy. You don’t really want to die. You want to live, and you want to have power, just like me. You want to be in control of your own life, and you want to stop being dependent on other people for your happiness.” He leans closer, too close. “Because what do other people do but judge you, hurt you, and ultimately…kill you?”
I stare at him, speechless.
A languid, self-satisfied smile spreads across his face.
He takes a step back.
“Cross Veronica Klaus,” Harry warns, “and she will not only destroy you, but everything you love. She is a fate worth than death, I promise.” I see a spark of fear in his eyes. “She is the devil.”
His words sink deep into my stomach, turning my gut into a churning mess of nerves. I do not believe what he has said. I am not a power-hungry monster, and I do not enjoy killing people. I kill in defense, and that is the end of it.
But still…
I shake myself, yet the seed of doubt has been sown, and Harry has achieved what he wanted: he has planted a sliver of fear in my heart.
“Have you been to Red Grove?” I ask.
At this, Harry’s face becomes stone. He grabs the bars again, and this time, there is a frantic look on his face.
“Who…where did you hear about Red Grove?” he demands.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It was Harrison Klaus. Cheng.”
“Have you been there?”
Harry shakes his head.
“Never,” he whispers.
And I believe him.
“You can’t go there,” Harry says.
“Why?”
“You will be courting your own execution.”
“I’ll worry about that.”
“Honestly, Cassidy. Why do you always have to meddle with everything?”
“Because I want Omega stopped.”
“Dear Cassidy, we have such a different political view of the world.”
I roll my eyes.
“Tell me what you know.”
“I know nothing of Red Grove,” he grumbles.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fine. Don’t.”
“You know something.”
“I know that Red Grove will bring you death. That is all.”
“Well, then,” I say, disappointed. “I guess you’re useless to me, aren’t you?”
Harry frowns.
“Don’t go there,” he says quietly. “It will not end well.”
“Whatever.”
“No, you don’t understand…she’ll…” He inhales, trembling. “She will turn her vengeance on me.”
I tilt my head.
“Why is that, Harry?” I reply. “Maybe it’s because no matter what side you’re on, you betray the people you’re closest to.”
I reach through the bars and grab his collar, jerking his face against the bars. He gasps for air, sputtering and coughing. The same red rage that consumed me in Sky City grips me now, rearing its head with all the ferocity of a tidal wave.
“I rest my case,” I hiss. “Your only concern is for yourself. Take your cowardice to the grave, Harry. You’re the one who has to live with yourself, not me.”
I let go of his collar and shove him away from the bars.
Harry chokes, his face splotchy red. He looks up at me, catching his breath.
“You have changed,” he heaves.
I say, “At least one of us has.”
I leave the cell, and Harry, and the dark corridor of the cellblock, and I return to the streets of San Francisco, the powerful and undying coals of anger still burning in my chest.
Chapter Six
In this new, devastated world, there is one rule: kill or be killed. And those who are too afraid to face this reality live like rats, hiding from Omega, denying the brutality of the war around them.