Текст книги "State of Pursuit"
Автор книги: Summer Lane
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Wait a second.
I take a few steps closer to the back of the buildings. A deep crater is there. Black, charred, ashy soot is smeared along the remains of the structures. And in the center of the crater is a passenger jet. Or what’s left of it. It’s huge. The cabin alone spans the length of five shops. It looks like something exploded inside, causing the ceiling to rupture. The plane is sitting in two halves – as if it split right down the middle.
“This is one of the planes that went down the night the EMP hit,” I breathe. “I heard them go down. I saw the first one.”
“Nobody walked away from this,” Vera remarks. “They died on impact.”
“How many planes went down that night, do you think?” Uriah asks.
“However many got the brunt of the EMP’s attack,” I answer. “Some planes are protected from that kind of thing, and a lot of them were probably fine. But not all of them. Not enough.”
What a horrible way to die. Hurtling to your death in a metal box, in a room full of strangers. None of the people that died here would even know why they were going to die. They probably thought it was a bomb or a freak accident.
How many children were on this plane?
I shudder.
“We should keep moving,” I say. “It’s not safe to stop.”
I pull away from the decimated passenger jet, silently mourning the innocent civilians that died here. Everything within the city block has been totaled – destroyed by the explosion of the crashing plane.
I could have easily been caught in one of those explosions that night.
But I wasn’t. Why did so many people survive – and why did others die? Why did mothers and infants and children have to lose their lives? They were innocent. Why did Omega’s takeover require so much bloodshed?
It’s an impossible question to answer.
We find two more passenger jets within the next hour. All of them were either landing or taking off from the Los Angeles International Airport – or LAX, as it’s more commonly called.
Or was called.
I wonder if my mother survived the EMP? I think.
Since Omega’s invasion, I have often wondered if my mother is alive. Where was she when the EMP hit? Did she leave the city? Did she escape Los Angeles before Omega attacked it with a chemical weapon?
Despite the fact that I was never close with my mother, it bothers me that I will never know what happened to her. And I guess that puts me in the same boat as millions of other people. People that have no idea what happened to their family members and friends.
Through everything, my focus was on two things: survival and finding my father. Once I found my father, survival was still my main focus. It still is, I guess. Only now I’m surviving for a reason. Surviving to fight Omega another day.
“Here’s what worries me,” Uriah says in a low voice, falling into step with me. “If Los Angeles was attacked by a chemical weapon, are we breathing poison right now?”
“Unlikely,” Andrew answers, overhearing us. “I’m betting that Omega used Sarin. We’ll be safe to walk through the city without dying of radiation poisoning.”
“What’s Sarin?” I ask.
“It’s an odorless, deadly poison,” Andrew replies. “Before the EMP, there was a lot of it being used in the war in the Middle East. It’s a popular way to attack people without firing a shot.”
“How long does Sarin last?” I say. “The effects, I mean?”
“On the body? It doesn’t take more than a teaspoon to kill you.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t really linger in the air, though. We’d be dead already if it were still here.”
“Good to know,” Uriah says. “We could be breathing in poisoned air.”
“That’s the chance you have to take, coming back into Los Angeles,” Andrew points out. “Besides, if Omega has set up headquarters here, it’s got to be safe.”
Good point.
Then again, Omega might know something that we don’t.
As we burrow into the heart of the city, I see signs of Omega’s presence. Posters and billboards have been covered over with the Omega symbol: the white O containing the continents of the world. One poster is taped to the inside of an abandoned storefront window:
UNITE
OMEGA REQUIRES ALL CITIZENS TO REGISTER
FOR THE CENSUS
REPORT TO GENERAL HEADQUARTERS
COMPLIANCE IS MANDATORY
Uriah says, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that registering for the census is a command, not a suggestion,” Vera answers. “Anybody left alive in this city is probably registering. There’s no such thing as flying under the radar once you give them your information.”
“If they don’t already have it,” Andrew says. “Omega could probably pull up information on every citizen in the state based on Facebook pages alone.”
“But the EMP wiped out the computers,” Uriah replies.
“It didn’t wipe out everything,” Andrew counters. “Remember, Omega’s got satellites and televisions and access to the digital cloud. The EMP was directed to wipe out our access to technology – not theirs.”
“So you’re saying my Facebook page is still accessible to Omega?” Uriah says.
“You had a Facebook page?” I remark, grinning. “What was your relationship status?”
He grimaces.
“Probably ‘it’s complicated,’” Andrew snickers.
Uriah whacks the back of Andrew’s shoulder, and I laugh for the first time in hours. But when you really stop to think about it, there’s a massive pool of information on the Internet that Omega could use to pull up information on anyone they want. That’s how they found out where my dad used to work. That’s how they knew Chris was a Navy SEAL.
The Internet. A scary place in more ways than one.
“I don’t know what book face is all about,” Manny comments,” but I never had one. And I’m glad I didn’t. Omega won’t be able to find anything on me.”
“They’ll be able to find something,” Andrew answers, “if they really want to.” He pauses. “And it’s Facebook, not book face.”
“Facebook, book face,” Manny rolls his eyes. “Same thing.”
“Citizens that are enrolled in the census,” Andrew continues, turning to me, “have to report weekly to General Headquarters. They only get a certain amount of buying power in the stores, and they’re given mandatory Omega jobs. Otherwise known as slave labor.”
“How do you know this?” I ask.
“I listen to the Underground radio.”
“It sounds like Omega’s turned L.A. into a dystopian society.”
“Dystopian? No. It’s blatantly obvious that things are controlled by Omega,” he says. “They’re not trying to hide it. There’s no illusion. The question is, who’s really in charge?”
“So nobody can buy or sell without Omega approval?” Vera asks.
“You’ve got to have a registered Omega identification card to buy or sell anything,” he explains. “And even then you can only buy a certain amount. I don’t know what people are using for currency. The dollar is worthless.”
“They’re probably selling their souls, for all we know,” Vera says.
During the fourth hour of our journey through the city, we change our route. The signs of Omega’s presence are very strong here, and as we progress, I hear something in the distance. Voices? Machines?
We move through an alley. I stop, eyeing a fire escape at the back of an apartment complex. “I’m going to take a quick look,” I say. “Stay here and keep an eye out.”
“I’ll come with you,” Uriah volunteers.
Of course.
I curl my fingers around the rusty rungs of the ladder and climb. The building is only four stories. I reach the top and roll onto the roof. I can see clearly in all directions from here. Miles of buildings wind across the landscape in every direction. I can almost see the ocean from here.
Almost.
Less than three miles away, the signature circular skyscraper of Los Angeles towers above the ground. The windows over the top half of the building have been painted red. The white Omega O is visible in the center.
“I think we found General Headquarters,” I say, sick.
“That’s the beehive,” Uriah replies. “Wow. They didn’t waste any time making L.A. their home, did they?”
I shake my head.
Uriah remains silent for a few moments. Then, “Listen, Cassidy…about the kiss. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have.” I maintain my crouched position on the roof. In the distance, there is movement. Lots of movement. People? Probably.
Uriah swallows, resting his fists against his knees.
“I just…I care about you, Cassidy,” he continues. I glance at his face, hesitating. His expression is one of hope.
“I know,” I reply.
And that’s all I say. What else am I supposed to do?
I don’t want to lead him on. I won’t.
I jump over the ledge and climb back down the fire escape.
“Well?” Manny asks.
“There’s people,” I say. “A lot of them.”
“All survivors,” Andrew tells us. “But we can bypass them to get to the Holding Center. I think.”
“You think?” Vera snaps. “You’d better be sure. We can’t risk running into any more gangs.”
“Hey, I’m just going by Underground intelligence,” Andrew fires back. “It’s not my fault if we walk into a firefight.”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” I interrupt, silencing them with a look. “We’re going to stick to the plan and keep to this route until we get to the Holding Center.”
It takes every ounce of self-control in my body to maintain a leader-like glare. To avoid dropping my gaze. I hold eye contact with Vera until she turns away.
We move around the back of the apartment building, walking down another alley. Garbage and human feces are piled in the gutters. The smell is horrific. We tie scarves around our faces to avoid being overwhelmed with the stench. I stop dead in my tracks, staring at two small human shapes crouched near the gutter. A little girl and what looks like her younger brother is pawing through the debris in the streets. Their clothes are nothing more than torn rags, skin smudged with dirt and grime.
They freeze, watching us with wide eyes.
“Oh, my God,” Vera whispers.
“We should help them,” Uriah says.
“No,” I reply. “We can’t.”
“But Commander—”
“—No.”
He makes a move to walk toward the children, then thinks better of it. He remains where he is, and we start moving again. The children are still motionless as we pass – almost as if they believe that if they stay still, they won’t be seen. It breaks my heart. Children are starving in the streets, digging through garbage and human waste to survive.
This is what Omega has done to us.
It’s just as devastatingly sad as it is infuriating.
“This is third world status,” Uriah grumbles. “Why did this have to happen?”
“Because we’re all human,” I sigh. “And human nature sometimes screws everybody over.”
“They were just children, Cassidy.”
“I know.” I pat his shoulder. “I didn’t say it was right. It just is.”
And what I don’t say out loud is that we – as militiamen – are fighting to restore not just humane living conditions, but freedom. We’re already doing our part – and more besides.
As we continue through the city, the image of the starving children haunts my mind. I try to push it away, focusing on my objective:
Chris. We’re here to rescue Chris.
But the further we push, the more afraid I become. Streets and buildings that I was familiar with as a child have been destroyed. A clothing boutique where I bought my first pair of skinny jeans as a fourteen-year-old has been looted, covered with bright, vulgar graffiti. A bakery where I used to meet with my math tutor has been burned out. The faded sign advertising discount scones and cups of coffee is riddled with bullet holes.
“Anarchy is hell,” Andrew remarks. “Omega didn’t do all this. Citizens did this.”
“My dad said it was insane,” I reply. “It took him three days to get out of here after the EMP hit.”
“Was he on foot?”
“Yeah.”
He’s silent for a second. Then, “I was in Fresno. When the EMP hit.”
“What were you doing?” I ask.
“Watching a movie.” He laughs softly. “Me and my friends. We were at the theater, and all of the sudden the power just goes out. Nobody’s phones are working, nobody’s flashlights are working. The ushers are falling over themselves to get us out of there, and by the time we get home…my family’s not even there. They’re just gone.” He closes his eyes. “I have no idea what happened to them. They just disappeared. The cars were still in the driveway.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, quivering. “What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know.” A pained expression crosses his face. “That’s the worst part, I guess. Not knowing.” He stops. “But maybe it’s a good thing, too.”
Yes. Maybe.
Sometimes it’s better to be blissfully ignorant of the fate of the people we love, than to know what horrific fate they had to suffer. Or you end up like me, with memories of friends like Jeff Young getting shot on the battlefield.
I shiver.
No more of that.
Vera snorts, “I can’t wait to get out of this Godforsaken place.”
“We’re almost there,” I whisper. “Almost.”
We can’t be more than three miles away from the prison, and that knowledge makes my hair stand on end. Once we actually reach the prison, we have to do a quick recon, find a point of entry, infiltrate it, find Chris, get out and survive – all in the timespan of one day. It’s a daunting task, but come hell or high water, I’m here to save Chris.
And I will not fail.
Chapter Ten
The Holding Center.
It looks exactly like the picture Alexander showed us. It sits on the corner of a boulevard in downtown Los Angeles. It’s a basic jail structure, but an Omega symbol is now painted above the doorway, and the street rumbles with activity. Omega trucks are parked outside. Patrols make their rounds through the area.
A small aircraft base is stationed a block away from the Holding Center. It’s an open area of asphalt and cement. The three warehouses in the back were previously marked with a storage company’s insignia. It has now been replaced with an Omega symbol. Omega has cleared the entire area to make a runway and landing strip. I can clearly see two black helicopters from here.
We are crouched on top of a five-story building two blocks away, studying the layout. Alexander is on my right, Andrew is on my left. Uriah, Derek and Vera are silent as we scope out our surroundings. The techies – three people, including Andrew – review the coordinates and blueprints of the building for the hundredth time.
“Distraction, not destruction,” Manny says in a low voice. “That’s the name of this game.”
“It might turn into destruction if we screw up,” Vera replies.
“We won’t,” I say with confidence that I don’t feel.
My heart is beating wildly in my chest. Chris is inside the building just two blocks away! He’s so close…yet so far. I take a deep, steadying, calming breath and close my eyes. The fact that we have made it this far without dying is a testament to the fact that A) we’re a highly skilled militia rescue unit or B) we’re just lucky.
“So,” Vera says. She looks at me. “The plan, Commander?”
A faint breeze rustles my hair. I shove my bangs out of my eyes as silence falls over the group.
You know the plan, make it work, Chris’s voice whispers.
“Okay,” I say. “Here we are. We’re alive and we’re still very capable of kicking Omega’s butt. We’ll have to use a little finesse, though. Distraction, not destruction, like Manny says.” I stare at the Holding Center. “Thanks to Alexander, we know where the patrols are and around how many guards will be inside. Our advantage is that we’re small, fast, and know how to hit hard. If we create enough confusion, Omega won’t know what hit them. Our disadvantage is that we don’t know where Commander Young will be. He could be anywhere in the building, with any of the POWs. Finding him will be time consuming, and that’s where the element of distraction comes in handy.”
“A few of you will keep the guards busy at the front of the building,” I continue. “While the rest of us will infiltrate the building from the rear entrance. It’s the easiest place to penetrate.”
“I love being the distraction,” Derek comments, smiling dryly.
“Yeah, you do,” Andrew replies, smiling a little. “You’re going to use every trick up your sleeve to keep them at the front of the building. We may not know exactly where Chris is, but we do know that the prisoners are in the back of the building, in the cells. That means we need to keep the guards away from that area.”
“I’m planning on it,” Derek mutters. “Where will you be, Andrew?”
“With me,” I say.
“Alexander?”
“He’ll be with me, too,” I tell him. “Alexander knows the layout of the building best.” I pause. “Derek and his team will meet up with us at a rendezvous point once they’re done with their part of the mission. There will be too much chaos to try to hook up in the middle of the fight.”
The cold heat of adrenaline burns my gut. An all-too familiar feeling.
Will I ever get used to this sort of thing?
“I’d guess we have about twenty minutes,” I say. This is something that we already know, but I don’t want anybody to forget that we’re on a tight schedule. There is no room for mistakes. Not here.
“We can keep them busy and distracted for a long time,” Derek replies, looking at me, “but that’s only as long as they don’t bring in backup.”
“Which is why we’ll only have about twenty minutes,” I say. “If we can keep this isolated, we’ll be good to go.”
Despite the adrenaline rushing through my body, I feel steady – calm, almost. A controlled, directed anger. It’s a brand new feeling. And I like it.
“And if we can’t find Chris in twenty minutes?” Uriah asks.
It’s the unspoken question, and now it hangs heavy in the air.
“Then we’ll free who we can and get out,” I reply firmly. “And we’ll think of another way.”
In my heart, I know that if we fail, there won’t be another way. Omega will expect a second rescue attempt, and they will be waiting for us to try something. Harry Lydell would kill Chris. It would mean game over.
This is something that everyone knows, but nobody wants to say it.
There’s no reason to.
“We’ll wait until it gets dark,” I continue. “Remember, in and out. Make it quick. Improvise, adapt and overcome. I don’t want any friendly casualties. Understood?”
“Understood,” Uriah echoes.
“Good.”
I look around at the many faces watching me. All of them, good men and women – even the ones I don’t necessarily get along with on a personal level. They’re risking their lives for Chris – and for our cause.
“Vera,” I say. “I want you with me.”
She doesn’t reply. She simply nods, her expression a perfect poker face.
Life is short. It’s even shorter when you’re a soldier. Do the right thing, because tomorrow, you might not get the chance.
–
The alley behind the Holding Center is big enough for prisoner transport trucks and buses. Steam rises off the damp, rocky asphalt. An Omega transport truck is parked near the rear entrance – a rollup metal door, ten feet tall. It’s secure, so prisoners can’t merely jump out of the truck once the door opens and run away. The sound of muffled voices and shouted orders echo off the walls of the buildings.
We wait. More than anything, I want to jump up, force my way inside the building and get this over with. But doing that would be suicidal. If we don’t stick to the plan, we’ll all die – and that would suck. Big time.
“How much longer?” Vera hisses.
“It’s getting dark. Be patient,” I reply.
Manny is picking at his shirtsleeve, preoccupied with a loose thread on the cuff. He looks relaxed, as always. I envy his ability to shut the stress out. The ability to simply be.
“You know,” Manny whispers, “if we get away with this, it may be the first time Los Angeles has ever had a successful downtown jailbreak.”
“So we’re making history,” Uriah says.
“Glorious history.” Manny grins. “The best kind, of course.”
In the stagnant white noise of the back alley – the hum of the Holding Center’s generator, the echo of Omega voices – a detonation interrupts the rhythm of sound. The ground shakes a little. It’s so familiar that I hardly blink.
“That’s our cue,” I announce.
A red security light begins blinking in the back of the building. The rear entrance rumbles upward a few beats later and fifteen black-clad Omega troops pour into the alley. All young. All men. All very foreign.
Each of my team members has an assigned sector – a specific job, a specific point of focus. I am completely shocked that fifteen troopers have flooded out of the building – I hadn’t expected this much luck.
Nevertheless, my heart twists in my chest as I bring my rifle up to my shoulder and train my sights on one of the fifteen troops. Vera, Manny, Uriah, Alexander and myself each pull the trigger on our weapons. A sporadic smattering of rifle fire fills the air, echoing off the alley walls. Troops collapse at odd angles, dead before they even hit the ground. It’s eerie. Our aim is so perfect that there is no screaming. Just fifteen gunshots and fifteen dead patrols on the asphalt, pooling in blood.
“Go, go, go!” I yell.
This is our chance. The rear entrance is open. We were not expecting this – I was expecting that we would have to blow it open.
Thwap!
A bullet whizzes by my head. I jerk to the side and roll into a crouch. A guard is standing in the open doorway, frantically making an effort to close the entrance. Uriah takes him down. The dead trooper hits the ground with a thud. We push inside the door. And we move on toward the objective.
Good job, Derek! I think.
We stack and go, clearing the hallway corners and taking out moving targets.
It’s cold and stale. Yelling and gunfire can be heard within the concrete confines of the building. The epicenter of the noise isn’t too far away, either. Just at the front of the building, where Derek and his team are creating a distraction.
“Right, right, right!” I say.
This floor is empty. We veer down a wide hallway. Two Omega guards are fumbling in the corner for their weapons, probably left behind to guard the back of the building. My team is deadly. Vera and Uriah kill them instantly with controlled rifle fire.
Perfect.
This hallway is filled with cells. It’s a standard county jail, with cement flooring and metal bars. The stench of vomit is powerful. We spread into the area, breathing hard, sweating. Check left, check right, scan for threats and the objective – Chris. The first cell holds a skinny man, the second cell holds a woman covered in hundreds of lacerations. My brain registers the fact that this is a torture chamber, but I have no time to dwell on it. We are moving too quickly.
In all, there are ten cells – all of them hold prisoners that I do not recognize.
“Bingo!” Uriah yells. There is a main switch at the end of the hallway – a literal emergency door release in case of fire. I slam my fist against it and the cell doors unclick. They are unlocked. The prisoners seem dazed at first – unable to believe that their cells have been opened.
I don’t have time to make a speech.
“Keep going!” I shout. “Move it!”
Panic hasn’t seized me…yet. I was expecting to find Chris here, on the first floor. I don’t recognize any faces. None. Is he dead? Did Harry Lydell already order his execution?
Alexander grabs my arm and says, “This isn’t everybody.”
I nod and move swiftly to the stairs.
A lone guard is coming around the corner. I catch the movement of his body out of the corner of my eye. A symphony of keys jingle on his belt. I automatically shoot him in the chest, never hesitating for a moment. He hits the ground with a thud, a strangled scream still in his throat.
I drop to my knees and yank the keys from his belt.
We run through the hallway, taking another corridor that dives to the left. This one is longer than the others, and more heavily guarded. We quickly kill six more guards, and as the Omega casualties pile up, the timer in my head starts ticking faster. The more security we encounter, the longer it takes to reach our objective, and we’ve got just minutes to hit, rescue and run.
I spot something on the wall, above a door.
“Whoa, look up!” I say, skidding to a halt.
It reads: DIVISION FIVE
A cellblock we haven’t searched yet.
I share a glance with Manny.
We go inside.
The hallway here is short with fifteen compact cells. Each one is nothing more than a door with a small slit for a window.
“Chris!” I shout. “Where are you?”
I pull back the metal sheet on the window and peek inside the first cell. An emaciated figure is sitting in the corner. A woman. An officer.
I toss the keys to Uriah.
I say, “Get them out.” Then, “Chris Young! Are you here?”
Uriah discards the keys that he took from the guard in the hallway and finds the main switch to the cell doors – they open, just like they did on the floor below. The prisoners inside the cells are starved, beaten, and bruised. Many of them are covered in scabs and dried blood. The living conditions remind me of the Omega slave labor camp I was imprisoned in.
I come to the last cell. The man in the corner has long hair and a lean build. My mouth goes dry.
“Chris?” I say.
He looks up, but it’s not Chris. Someone else. I have a borderline heart attack.
“He’s not here,” I state, numb. “Chris isn’t here.”
“He’s here somewhere,” Uriah replies, shaking me. “Don’t give up.”
God, please. Give me a break! I’m begging you!
Injured and weakened officers stumble into the hallway, disoriented and confused.
“We’re Americans!” I say simply. “We’re here to get you out.” Then, “Do any of you know where Commander Chris Young is?”
I might as well ask. Seriously. What have I got to lose at this point?
My question goes unanswered. So I ask again, louder. This time, someone speaks up. It’s the prisoner that I thought was Chris.
“He’s upstairs,” he croaks. His voice is broken by exhaustion. “I don’t know if he’s coming back or not.”
A stone drops to the pit of my stomach.
“Stick to the plan,” I tell Uriah. “We go upstairs.”
Half a dozen officers manage to drag themselves into the hall with the help of my men. “Okay,” I say, “stick with me. Officers?” I turn to the newly freed prisoners. “Run like hell and don’t stop until you’re safe.”
The clock is ticking. Omega is now totally aware of our presence inside the building, and I’m guessing that we have seconds to locate Chris and get out of here before backup rolls in.
The prisoners separate from my team. We leave the hallway and head for the stairwell. We have studied the blueprints for this building so many times that I feel like I’m reenacting some sort of memory.
Manny and Uriah open an exit door and we enter the stairway. The metal steps echo as we stay in formation, climbing to the next level. Emergency sirens screech through the chamber.
We enter the stairway. Omega guards and officers are frantically crawling all over the office cubicles. Computers with lit monitors are sitting on every desk.
Computers. Working computers.
An Omega guard fires off a round and hits Manny in the shoulder. He drops to one knee and brings his pistol up, firing back. The soldier is slammed backwards in a spray of blood.
“This is an office area!” Uriah shouts. “Where’s Chris supposed to be?”
“With Harry,” I say.
I don’t know how I know this – I just do.
I looked at the layout of the Holding Center more than anybody else. Harry Lydell’s office is here – and if Chris is still alive, that is where he must be.
“Manny, are you okay?” I ask, breathless. I help him to his feet. He clutches his shoulder as blood gushes out of the wound. “Oh, my God. Uriah?”
“I’ve got it,” he says.
Manny looks pale, and he is wincing in pain.
“Keep going,” he warns. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“We’re not leaving you,” I state.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Bam, bam, bam, bam.
Fire and return fire. Gunpowder and smoke and screaming sirens. And I see Harry’s office. Two big doors in the back of the room. I recognize them instantly from the layout plans I studied. A jolt of adrenaline seizes me. This is our last chance. We’ve barely got any time left.
“Just go!” Manny yells, sweat dripping down his face.
In that moment I know that I have to make a hard decision: save Manny or save the team? I swallow the horror of that realization. He slowly nods his head. He is down.
“We’ll be back for you,” I promise.
It’s a false promise. We are out of time.
We move across the office, systematically coordinating our movements like a SWAT team on a raid. Our presence here is definitely not a secret anymore. By the time we reach the office doors, every single Omega trooper that stood in our way is either down or dead. We are just that efficient.
“Duck!” Uriah shouts.
I don’t hesitate. I just do as he says. He fires a round over my head and a trooper falls dead, half of his body concealed behind the corner of a hallway. Well hidden. Almost the death of me.
“Thanks,” I say.
He nods.
The office doors are marked with simple bronze plates that read:
DISTRICT PREFECT: HARRY LYDELL
The doors are locked and the wood is too heavy to break.
Tick tock…
“Come on, hurry up!” I command. “We’re running out of time!”
Andrew straps a strip charge to the door and we take cover behind some metal filing cabinets. Five, four, three, two, one…Boom! The explosion shatters the door, sending splinters of wood everywhere.
I approach the door. I want to be the first one through. We push the doors aside and walk into the office. Desk, chairs, and a window overlooking the street below. Omega soldiers are rallying around the front of the building, returning fire, blindly attacking distant muzzle flashes. Smoke is rising around the building, a flood of gray fog on the Los Angeles avenue that has become a battlefield.
Brilliant, Derek, I think proudly. Keep it up.
But the office is empty, and my heart sinks again. Harry is nowhere to be found. Uriah walks around the desk and pulls open the drawers. He stuffs his pack with papers and maps. I just stand there, frozen for a moment. Disappointed. The hope drains out of me.
If Chris isn’t in this building, then he’s not alive.
It’s as simple as that.
Panic seizes me. I fight to keep my breathing even, to maintain a grip on my nerves. I can’t have a breakdown in the middle of a rescue operation. These men are counting on me to get them out of here alive.
“Manny, is there anywhere else we can look?” I ask, looking back toward the wall where we last left Manny.
No answer.
“Manny?”
Uriah gives me a confused look, Andrew searches the room.
“He’s not here,” he states. “What the hell?”
“He was just here!”
“He couldn’t just disappear.”
