Текст книги "State of Chaos"
Автор книги: Summer Lane
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Sophia takes a deep breath.
“But what if this is all for nothing?” she says. “What if we do all of this fighting and sacrificing and Omega still wins? Because if they’re really a huge army with help from places like Russia or China or whatever, we’re kind of screwed, aren’t we? When we were at the labor camp, they were having us harvest food for something big. You said they were getting ready to bring in more troops.” She looks me straight in the eye. “And then Mrs. Young said the big cities have been attacked with chemical weapons, and the rumors about a nuclear bomb on the east coast may or may not be true. How do we stand a chance against an army with that kind of power?”
I run my hands through my hair.
“We’re motivated.”
“And they’re not?”
“We actually have something worth fighting for.”
“What?”
“Freedom.”
She makes a face.
“How many people have said that,” she says, “and then died?”
“Millions.” I stand up, dusting the dirt off my pants. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather die for, though. I’d rather die fighting than hiding in a hole somewhere. Or in some disgusting labor camp.”
Sophia slowly nods.
“I guess so.”
“You guess so?” I hold out my arms. “Sophia, look around you! We were enslaved together, remember? Kamaneva almost executed me on the front sidewalk of an elementary school. That’s not normal, is it? We’re fighting for normalcy. We’re fighting for what we lost. I think that’s a worthy cause, don’t you?”
She rises to her feet, and when she speaks, I can tell she’s trying to avoid crying. “It is worthy,” she whispers. “You’re right. I just…sometimes I think I can’t do this another day.”
“We all feel like that.” I wrap my arms around her neck and pull her into a hug. “Nobody said fighting a war was going to be easy.”
“They sure didn’t. Your boyfriend makes it sound like a walk in the park.”
“He does not,” I laugh. “He just knows how to inspire people.”
We turn to watch him. He’s standing on the other side of the camp. His muscular arms are folded across his chest, his hair pulled into a tight ponytail. He’s listening intently to what one of the soldiers is saying. After a few beats of silence, he responds, pats him on the back, and moves on to the next person waiting to speak with him.
“He’s becoming quite a leader,” Sophia remarks.
I feel myself smiling.
“Yeah, he is.”
The truth is, we’ve all changed. We’ve all matured. We’ve all seen things that have forced us to grow up. It will bring out the best in some of us. In others, it will bring out the worst. But when it comes right down to it, at the end of the day, we’re all on the same team.
We’re all fighting to get our freedom back.
And that’s when the name hits me.
Freedom Fighters.
Chapter Twelve
If anybody would have told me seven months ago that I would be spending my college years as a guerilla warfighter with freaking Rambo as my boyfriend, I would have said they were crazy. But life is weird like that. And considering the fact that everybody’s lives have been turned inside out by the effects of the EMP and the invasion of America, everything’s been on a whole different level of weird.
Weird on steroids.
It’s July now, and the heat is brutal. There have been days when the hundred-degree weather is torture. It’s hard to keep cool. The only thing we can do is stay in the shelter of the trees during the day and move around at night. We’ve been consistently hitting Omega where it hurts: convoys, supply depots, anything and everything that will effect their ability to feed their troops or keep their morale up. This is not just a game of firepower. It’s a game of mind over matter. Which one of us is more motivated to win?
We’ve relocated our camp to a higher elevation. It’s easier to keep hidden when we’re farther away from the valley, anyway. And since Omega is constantly combing through the area searching for our “headquarters,” we constantly change the location of our camp, too. If we stay in one place for too long, we’ll be found.
The Free Army – or the Freedom Fighters, as we’ve come to be called – have become pretty well known in the area. Our forces have expanded. We’ve got a few hundred people in our ranks now, and Chris is becoming an impressive leader. He’s logical, fair and knowledgeable. People trust him.
I’ve become something different, too. Instead of just running with the pack, I work with Derek, Max, Alexander and Chris to train the new recruits. I’ve got responsibilities. I’ve got people who look to me for advice.
I never thought I’d see that day.
Despite the fact that our army is made up completely of volunteers – most of which are civilians who have never been in a fight in their lives – we’re well organized. Chris goes to a lot of trouble to train the new recruits, and to keep the older ones’ skills sharpened. Ever since the day Chris almost killed Harry Lydell, I’ve been painfully aware of the fact that all it takes is one wrong move to turn organization into murder. It’s easy to think that all you have to do is get a bunch of people together and fight the bad guys, but it’s not that simple.
It requires structure.
Chris is the head honcho in this camp, something along the lines of a mini-general, but he makes few decisions without consulting his officers first, which would be Derek, Max and Alexander, who are all platoon leaders. They each command a force of about thirty to fifty fighting men and women. I’m not in charge of a platoon, but I am in charge of training the new recruits. Yup, the “newbies” are all mine. I teach them the basics, go with them on missions and make sure everybody is doing their job. We work as a team, so we basically go on a majority vote. Everybody has a say in everything that goes on at the basecamp.
But sometimes things aren’t so simple.
When an organization gets big, there will inevitably be people who will betray you. In this war, betrayal can lead to the death of everybody in the militia, so it has to be dealt with swiftly and effectively. In the event that somebody commits a horrible crime, the officers convene with Chris. All it takes is three command level officers to vote for a punishment to make it happen. So far we’ve been lucky. We’ve only had to punish people for petty crimes like stealing extra food rations, hoarding ammunition and getting into fights. But at some point, somebody will do something so big that we’ll have to figure out how to handle the situation.
Maybe we should just build a jail.
At any rate, we’re not the only guerilla war fighters in the area. Other militia groups have been popping up in the state, an encouraging piece of information we learned from the Underground, a network of rebel militiamen who carry messages up and down the state for people like us. Like undercover pony express riders, they travel on foot from one destination to the next, passing on messages to fellow rebels. They have a dangerous job. They travel alone, they travel fast, and they travel light. The cover of darkness is their best friend as they run from camp to camp, sending messages between the rebel “communities.” If they’re caught, they’ll either be killed or tortured to death.
So of course their number one priority is to avoid getting caught.
Everything has gotten faster, cleaner and more efficient. The Freedom Fighters are turning into a well-oiled resistance front, and I’m starting to find my groove. I never thought I’d fit into a society like this, but life has a way of surprising you. For the first time in my life, I actually feel like I belong somewhere. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, I haven’t decided yet.
“I have some new information for you, Cassie,” Chris says one day. The scorching July heat is all but singeing my eyebrows off, so I’m huddled under the shade of a tall tree. The camp is busy with activity – there is no such thing as an idle moment here. Even our sleeping hours have purpose. “Cassie?”
I blink and look up, yawning.
“Sorry. I was dozing.”
He smiles and sits down next to me, one of the few moments lately when he’s been relaxed enough to do this. As the weeks have passed, the stress and pressure of being in charge of this militia have changed him. He’s even more logical and methodical than he used to be. He’s a lot busier, too. People depend on him to make life-changing decisions. It must be difficult to carry a burden like that.
“What’s up?” I say.
“Underground gave us some new information,” he replies.
I lean forward. “Is it good or bad news?”
“Both. The good news is, there’s a rebel militia force called the Mountain Rangers headed our way.”
I nod. We’ve all heard of the Rangers. They’re second only to the Freedom Fighters in notoriety. “What’s the bad news?” I ask.
“The bad news is, we have to decide if we want to join forces with the Rangers or if we want to keep our group separate. Joint operations change the dynamics. Right now our men work really well together. Bringing in an ally could either mess things up or make us stronger.”
“We don’t know enough about the Rangers to make a judgment, do we?”
“The Rangers are, as far as we know, very similar to our militia. They use guerilla war fighting tactics, they’re quick, they’re hearty and they’re no friends to Omega.”
That makes them on our side, I guess. But Chris is right. Exposing ourselves to anybody is a monumental risk.
“Why don’t you meet with their commander and talk to him about it?” I suggest. “Just you and him. Don’t drag everybody else into it until you’re absolutely sure that we need their help.”
“We don’t really need anybody’s help,” Chris replies. “But we could do a lot more with an extra force.” He stares at something in the distance, thinking. “That’s not a bad idea, Cassie. I should do that.”
“Can you get a message through to the Rangers using the Underground?”
“I should be able to.”
“Who’s in charge of their group?”
“I don’t know. Everybody’s got codenames.”
“Right. Alpha One.” I grin. “What’s their leader’s codename?”
“We’ll find out.” He stretches his long legs across the dirt, threading his fingers through mine. “The Underground also mentioned a huge Omega supply depot being stocked on the outskirts of the foothills. A lot of food and water are going in there. Omega’s tightening up security around the place – it’s important.”
“So we need to hit it, then?” I ask.
“Essentially.”
“Do we have enough manpower for that?”
“I think so. We’re outnumbered, but we’re smarter. And faster.” Chris looks down at our hands. “How are you holding up?”
It’s a sudden question. And something he hasn’t asked me in a while.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not very descriptive.”
“I am.” I bite back a smile. “I miss you, though. Even though I’m around you all the time, it’s like you’re not really here. You’re always so busy.”
Chris presses the palm of his hand against my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “But you understand, right?”
“Understand that people need you?” I nod. “Yeah. I do. I just miss you, that’s all.”
“I know.” He kisses my forehead. “You’ve adapted extremely well. You’re a good soldier. I’m not the only one people are looking up to, you know.”
“I know. That’s what scares me.”
“What? Respect?”
I gaze up at him.
“I guess so. When people respect you, they expect a lot from you. There’s so much responsibility. People’s lives are at stake.” I sigh. “I don’t feel up to being a hardcore rebel leader all the time.”
Chris takes both of my hands in his.
“That’s why people like you. You’re human, but you try to do the right thing no matter what.” His eyes flick to the edge of camp, where the women are doing their daily food preparation. “Always try to do the right thing. Go with your gut instinct.”
“I’m not a leader like you are.”
“Yes, you are. Just in a different way.” His expression softens. “You give good advice, too. I’ll see if I can get in contact with the Rangers’ leader. It might be helpful if we combine forces at some point. But until then, we need to get ready to hit that supply depot.”
“How far away is it?”
“About twenty miles. It’s out of the foothills. On the edge of the valley outside a little town called Sanger.” He looks at me. “Are you up for that?”
I roll my eyes. Leaving the safety of the hills is a major risk.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Just thought I’d ask,” he chuckles, standing up. “We should hit it soon, before they get a chance to set everything up completely. They’ll be beefing up security anyway because of what we’ve been doing in the area, plus the area will be crawling with Omega patrols.”
I agree. Ever since the Freedom Fighters have started fighting back against Omega, more militia groups have formed. All people needed to see was one group taking the initiative and hitting back at the enemy. Omega’s got an entire state full of rebels and guerilla fighters on their hands these days. It can’t be easy being an invading army. Not with people like us around.
But what I haven’t said out loud is that Omega is gearing up to receive backup. Sophia and I figured that out a long time ago when we were imprisoned in the labor camp. It’s obvious they’re going to need more manpower if they’re going to kill off the rebels completely, anyway. Chris knows this. I know this. Most of the people in this militia know it.
The question is, what will we do when Omega’s backup does arrive?
What kind of backup is it going to be? Where will it come from?
Can we survive it?
The Mountain Rangers are hard to contact. Just like our militia, everything is kept anonymous and secret, because let’s face it: you can’t trust anybody these days. Of course, I didn’t trust anybody before the EMP, either. But that was just me. Now everybody has come down to my level.
Ironic.
The Underground is an efficient but slow means of communication, and it will take a few days to find out if they want to have a pow-wow with Chris about joining forces. Until then, our focus is the supply depot that Omega is setting up. It’s located on the edge of Sanger, about twenty or so miles away from Squaw Valley. Because we’ve moved our campsite farther into the hills, it will be a little bit more of a journey for us to reach the depot in our trucks. It will also be hard to be stealthy, because once we leave the shelter of the hills, we’ll be out in the open. Wide grassy plains aren’t that great for our style of fighting, but Chris will find a way to make it work.
The best thing we can do is take away Omega’s food, water, fuel and ammunition. What Chris likes to call the “meat and potatoes” of war. Because that’s the one thing that everybody needs to stay alive. That’s why hitting supply depots are so important. And we’re getting better and better at it.
My dad would be proud.
And shocked. I don’t know if he ever expected me to amount to anything. I mean, sure, I’d planned on getting a degree in criminal justice before the EMP hit and the world went down the drain, but at the time I had no way to attain that goal. No money, no job, no friends, no family. I was a speck of nothing in a big world that was passing me by.
Now I have a purpose, at least.
As we gear up for the journey down the mountain to hit the Omega base in the nearby valley city of Sanger, my nerves are all over the place. I give an Oscar-winning performance of calmness for Chris and the rest of the camp, but on the inside, I’m being eaten alive with anxiety. We’ve never tried to attack a target this big before, and we’ve really never tried to hit anything outside of the foothills.
Something about this whole mission seems… off.
Go with your gut instinct, Chris told me. But my gut instincts aren’t like his. Mine are tainted with fear and raw nerves, which makes the “instinct” a little hard to decipher. How do you know what’s real and what’s not?
I’m guessing this is why I’m not in charge.
The night we’re supposed to carry out our mission on the supply depot finally rolls in. Chris is wound tight – more so than usual. My stomach is tied into knots. Even Alexander seems tense about the situation. I guess it’s natural. We are wandering out of our comfort zone this time.
“Maybe we should just wait and see if the Rangers will help us,” I suggest to Chris. We’re waiting by our pickup truck, checking our gear. “This is a big target. We’ve got a lot of men, but backup could never hurt, right?”
“We don’t have time to wait around for the Underground to bring us a message back from the Rangers,” Chris replies, tugging on his jacket collar. “I want to hit the depot before they’ve got everything completely mobilized. Before they get everything set up. We can’t wait.”
I sigh.
“I just have a bad feeling about this one, Chris.”
He presses his lips together, meeting my gaze.
“Don’t let fear back you into a corner,” he warns. “This is new for us, so it’s intimidating. But we’re more than capable. You know that.”
“I know. But—”
“—No. Cassie, remember what I said about people respecting you? You’re an example. Don’t let people see you being afraid. Be brave. Even if you don’t feel that way.”
I nod, blinking back tears.
“Yes, sir.”
He traces my cheek with the back of his hand.
“We’ll be fine.”
How many times are we going to have to go through this kind of scene? I guess that’s what war does to you. It’s repetitive. It’s also terrifying. Going to college and getting my criminal justice degree would have been a lot easier than this.
Leave it to me to do things the hard way.
“Be careful,” Isabel says.
She’s wrapped up in an oversized windbreaker. Her wild blonde hair is sticking up in every direction, and her baby blue eyes are tinged with red. She’s as tired as the rest of us, despite the fact that she doesn’t do any fighting. Living in an active warzone is enough.
“We will be.” I give her a hug. “Take care of everything until we get back.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“We should be back by morning.”
Chris musses up her hair.
“See you, kid.” He gives her a smile and walks to the center of the camp. It’s time to run through the plan one more time before we move out. I walk around the edge of the ring, spotting Harry in the crowd. He’s talking animatedly to somebody, but he’s too far away for me to make out what he’s saying. I inch closer, straining to hear. Chris steps into the middle of the circle and starts speaking.
“This will be the biggest target we’ve hit to date,” he says. “Let’s go through the plan one more time and make sure everybody’s completely clear on what they’re supposed to do…”
The man that Harry’s talking to has his back turned to me, and I can’t see who it is in the darkness. I weave through the crowd, trying to concentrate on Chris’s speech and Harry’s movements at the same time.
“…You just watch yourself,” I hear.
Harry’s gaze snaps to the left. He sees me. He stiffens and mutters something under his breath. The man he’s talking to turns around, glaring at me. Alexander Ramos. I suck in my breath. Harry takes a few steps backwards and melts into the crowd, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder.
“Well?” Alexander demands.
I open and close my mouth a few times, unsure of what to say.
He scowls and brushes past me.
“Watch yourself, Hart.”
His tone is harsh. Harry and Alexander disappear into the crowd in two different directions. My mind is spinning. What could those two possibly be talking about?
I move back through the audience to catch the tail end of Chris’s talk.
“It’s the same principle as all of the attacks we’ve done before,” he’s saying, “only on a larger scale. We’ll still surround the depot on four sides, and Max and his team will still open the gates for us…but this depot isn’t fully operational yet, so I’m counting on security being a little more lax than what we’ve experienced in the past. Does anybody have any questions?”
Silence.
“Good. Remember, in the event that something does go wrong,” he continues, “We revert to using our backup plan.” A smile touches his lips, and I instantly know what he’s talking about. “Surround the enemy, take cover, and start firing. If they try to break through our lines, just keep retreating and moving with them. Create an inescapable circle of fire. It will be unlike anything Omega’s ever been hit with. Any more questions?”
Nope. Chris’s father steps forward and offers a brief prayer over the camp. When he’s done, I trail behind Chris and corner him back at the truck.
“Alexander Ramos was talking to Harry,” I say.
“Yeah?” He looks at his notebook, biting his lower lip.
“You don’t find that highly suspicious?”
Chris opens the driver door and gestures
for me to crawl inside.
“No. Somebody needs to keep Harry in
line.”
“No. They were talking. Like, engaging in
actual chitchat. It wasn’t cool.”
“Cassie…” Chris literally picks me up and moves me towards the door. “Get in. We’re leaving now. If Alexander was talking to Harry, it wasn’t because he was plotting world domination. He’s a rough guy, but he’s not evil.”
I slide into the passenger seat and roll the window down.
“I disagree,” I shrug. “I think the dude is creepy.”
“He’s not warm and fuzzy, but he’s not a bad guy.”
I disagree with that, too. Alexander is very unpredictable, plus he walks around with a chip on his shoulder. He resents Chris for taking away his position of leadership. I can see it in his face every time I look at him.
But what do I know? I’m not in charge. I’m just going off instinct.
We move out. We’ve got about a dozen trucks loaded with militiamen. The other trucks have already gone on without us. They’ll meet us at a pre-planned rally point down the road. We’re traveling separately to keep the engine noise down – plus, it’s safer for everybody involved if we’re not traveling in one giant wagon train. A bigger group means a bigger target, and that’s not how guerilla war fighters roll.
Sophia jumps into the back of the truck. We lock gazes through the window. She nods, giving me a Girl Scout salute and a weak smile. “It’s going to be okay,” she mouths.
“I know,” I say.
By the time we hit the dusty road, my nerves have calmed down a little. I’ve gone from raw fear to acceptance of the situation, which is what happens to me before every mission these days. And then once the fighting actually starts, adrenaline takes over and I feel like a ninja warrior.
All in all, the drive to Sanger is long. We take our time picking our way through back roads, avoiding the main highway, and only hitting open areas when we absolutely have to. Eventually it becomes impossible to stay away from the wide-open spaces, because let’s face it: that’s what happens when you leave the mountains. You break cover.
I haven’t been out of the foothills in so long that the expanse of open space blows my mind. I feel like an ant under a microscope. Totally exposed. I can tell that the situation is bothering Chris, too. He keeps shifting in his seat and checking the area surrounding us every five seconds.
We reach the rally point at last. It’s a grove of trees nestled behind a low hill. It’s basically right around the corner from Sanger, and it will give us enough time and space to make it on foot to the objective without drawing attention to ourselves. The last thing we need is to march into town like a circus parade. That would be slightly conspicuous.
I climb out of the truck and find Sophia. We give each other a warm hug.
“Be careful,” I say.
“You too.” She forces a smile. “Deja vu, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“The things we do for this country.”
“I know. Crazy, right?”
We hug each other one more time before separating into our designated groups. I stay close to Chris’s shoulder as we disperse into the tall grass, leaving the cover of the vehicles and the small hill. Nobody speaks. Any order or command is given through hand signals, but for the most part, everybody already knows the plan. We’ve raided camps and convoys before. We know how to do this.
This is just…different.
Wide open. Bigger. Exposed.
If you can break out of a labor camp, you can do this, I tell myself.
My hair has grown long enough in the past few months to pull into a tight braid, keeping the strands out of my face. I cinch up my face scarf and check my gear for the thousandth time as we get closer to our target.
As we finally edge around the hill, I spot the depot. It’s located on the brink of an empty field. It was probably a packing shed before the EMP went down, and judging by the size of the buildings, I’m guessing it was a big one. The signs have been stripped down, and a lot of the equipment has been commandeered by Omega. But there’s one thing that sets this apart from the other supply depots I’ve seen: there’s no fence. The usual chain link fence with the coils of deadly barbed wire are completely missing.
“Something’s wrong with this picture,” I say.
“This depot isn’t fully operational yet, remember?” Derek replies. He’s crouched on my right hand side, his blonde hair hidden under a black hat. “They’re not expecting to be attacked this far from the mountains. We’ve never hit anything out of the foothills before.”
“No.” Chris shakes his head. “They know militia groups are waiting to hit targets like this. They wouldn’t leave it unprotected unless there wasn’t anything inside.”
“It could be a trap,” I state.
Derek stares at me.
“What? It could be.”
I give him a look.
Nobody says anything. We just sit there under the dark sky and stare at the depot. Omega trucks are parked around the building, but there aren’t any lights. No signs of life. Something is seriously whacked.
“I don’t like this,” I whisper. “Chris, what do we do?”
He folds his hands under his chin and studies the depot for a few more minutes before replying. “Derek, detail some scouts. Recon the objective. Report back here.”
That’s Chris’s way of saying, “Check out the depot and see what’s up.”
He nods.
“Yes, sir.”
We wait in tense silence as Derek and a couple of the men creep to the depot and check out the perimeter. They disappear from sight at one point and I find myself holding my breath, hoping I don’t hear a sudden scream and a blast of gunfire. It’s happened before.
Ten long minutes pass before the scouts come back. I exhale and Chris leans forward, listening. “It’s dead down there,” Derek breathes. “There’s nothing. No lights, no generators, nothing. But there are trucks, and there have been Omega troops in the area no more than twenty-four hours ago. It’s like they evacuated.”
“Why would they do that?” I ask.
“Maybe they heard we were coming,” Derek chuckles.
“No. Not possible,” Chris replies. “They wouldn’t evacuate a facility because a militia group was coming to attack, anyway. Besides, why would they leave vehicles behind? They would beef up security because they’d want us dead.” He furrows his brow. “If they’re gone, there could be valuable supplies left inside.”
“We should go check it out.”
“I don’t want everybody checking it out at once. Too risky.” He looks over his shoulder. “Derek, you stay here with your men. I’ll take my platoon. Keep your eyes open.”
“You got it, sir.”
“Let’s move out,” Chris says.
We proceed into the field, skirting the edges and staying under cover as we approach the depot. The thick silence of the night isn’t doing anything to make me feel better about this situation. I look back over my shoulder, but it’s impossible to see Derek or the rest of our groups. They’re camouflaged too well.
As we get close to the depot, I study the surroundings. Tire tracks crisscross the dirt parking lot. Electrical machinery that was killed by the EMP is piled outside the main building in a large heap. Chris signals a few of the men and they round the edges of the main building, climbing up the side. We wait in the shadows, listening and watching for signs of danger.
One of the men pulls himself up to a window. He takes a quick look around and starts climbing back down to the ground. He jogs towards us along with the other men.
“Well?” Chris asks.
“It’s empty.”
“What?”
“Totally empty. There’s nothing in there, man.”
I bite my lip, alarm spiking through me.
“We need to get out of here,” I say.
Chris doesn’t disagree, but he doesn’t say anything either.
“How could they…?” He trails off, lost in his own thoughts. A terrified scream rips through the air at that moment. A woman’s scream – one of our own. We instinctively drop to the ground and focus our sights across the field. Something’s happening. I hear voices and gunfire and then, I turn my head. Because I’m pressed against the ground, I have a great view of the underside of the Omega trucks parked on the property. My eyes settle on a blinking black package attached to the bottom of the bumper of one of the vehicles.
“Oh, my god,” I breathe. “It’s a bomb.”
Chris snaps his gaze in my direction, realization hitting us at the same time.
“Run!” he yells.
A simple command, but universal. We jump up and book it just as the first bomb detonates. I’m running, so the explosion hits me like a brick wall. I feel the impact slam into my back and send me flying forward several feet. I skid on my stomach and roll over a few times, scraping against dirt and rocks. Metallic tasting blood pools in my mouth. I must have bit my tongue.
I scramble to my feet, only to fall back down again, dizzy and disoriented. My ears are ringing. Chris grabs my arm and helps me find my balance. I look back over my shoulder and gasp. Three or four of the militiamen in our group are lying motionless on the ground about thirty feet behind us. The Omega truck that exploded is nothing more than a hulking mass of smoking, twisted metal. I’m vaguely aware of rapid gunfire in the background, but my ringing ears make it difficult to gauge the distance of the weapons.
Chris drags me into the tall grass and suddenly the entire area is alive with lights and movement. Another Omega vehicle detonates on the edge of the property, sending shockwaves through the field. Luckily, none of our men are close enough to it to be killed, but Max’s group is probably more than a little bit singed.
Omega troops swarm out of the wooded areas bordering the fields, either drawing our men out in the open or pushing them back into the hills. Both are bad. I don’t even have time to take aim and shoot. All I can do is run.
