Текст книги "State of Pursuit"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

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 back 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.

“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 escaped and now I’m at Halo Point with some of my people, waiting for orders.”