Текст книги "State of Alliance"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Chapter Fifteen

“Dad?” I ask. “Why is there war?”

I am ten years old. I’m kicking a soccer ball around the front yard. It is a bright autumn day. Even here, in Culver City, I can smell the quiet descent into winter. Fall is here, Christmas is coming.

“The current war?” Dad says. “Or just war in general?”

He’s ten years younger in this memory, hair shaved down, grizzled stubble on his cheeks. He is sitting on the front porch steps, reading the newspaper.

“Just war in general.” I shrug. “You know. Like… what’s the point?”

“Because we’re human,” Dad replies. “Humans fight. It’s what we do best.”

I kick the ball between two shrubs. Goal.

“But why do we fight, Dad?” I press. “Who was the first person who thought of killing somebody else to get what they wanted? It’s so weird. It’s so… wrong.”

Dad frowns. The headline of the paper is something dramatic.

Someone was killed on their way to work. Someone was kidnapped on their way home from school. A bomb was dropped somewhere overseas. A woman was assaulted. A man was robbed.

“It seems like only bad things happen,” I sigh.

I kick the ball toward the porch. Dad catches it under his boot.

“No, honey,” Dad replies. “There are bad people who do bad things, but there will always be good people to stop them. And that is why we have wars.”

I stare at him.

“That’s why?”

“Most of the time. Not always, but mostly.” Dad kicks the ball back to me. “Remember, Cassie. When you’re fighting, make sure you know which side you’re on. Know what you’re fighting for.”

“I will,” I promise, with all the enthusiasm of a newly minted soldier. “I’ll know.”

I kick one more goal.

Yes. I will know.

The city is in chaos. Vera, Sophia and the rest of my team lie prone in tall grass, looking across the city limits. Omega troops are crawling into the city, overtaking the barricades and checkpoints. What little United States military forces remain to combat their advance is razed to the ground. Omega is an unstoppable wall, a solid influx of destruction.

“What do we do?” Vera whispers.

My hands clutch the ground, fingernails gathering dirt.

What should we do? Monterey’s steel ring has been broken. A secure city has been completely compromised.

“We go back, and we report to Chris,” I say. “And then… hang on.”

I peer through my optics, catching a glimpse of random movement on the far side of a parking lot littered with burning cars. It’s a dog. A German Shepherd.

“Bravo,” I say. “Elle Costas. Hold your position.”

Vera and Sophia follow my line of sight, straining to catch a glimpse. Sure enough, Elle Costas emerges from the side of the parking lot. She doesn’t look hurt. She’s sprinting full speed across the lot, behind the cars, then dives into the tall grass.

“She’ll run right into us,” Vera states.

“We’ll wait, then head back to Chris.”

This is an unexpected stroke of luck, running into a familiar face down here. We wait until Elle gets closer, then Vera crouches down. Elle bursts through the grass, breathing hard. “WHOA!” I say. “Get down!”

Vera grabs Elle and pulls her to the ground.

Elle struggles at first, then recognizes us. Bravo growls but Elle silences him.

“Oh, my God!” she pants. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re scouting,” I reply. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“What happened down here?”

“What’s it look like?” Elle shakes her head. “They sent a couple of mortar rounds into the school, then their ships just started getting closer. Next thing you know, they’re dumping troops all over the shoreline.” She looks scared. “Nobody knew this would happen, did they?”

I say nothing.

Then, “They know we won’t use our cruise missiles against our own city.”

“Which is why they had to bring the fight into the city limits,” Vera agrees. “This is stone-age, man-to-man combat.”

I nod. “Let’s get back to the team.”

We stealthily slip back into the woods, moving back over the sandy terrain, keeping a low profile. My mind races with the grim realization that yes, we are the only viable combative forces left in Monterey.

As always, the militias are the only thing that stands between Omega and victory. Why does it always come down to us? Why does the safety and security of the National Guard and the United States Military always fail?

Buck up, soldier, a little voice whispers in my ear. The fight’s not over yet.

That’s right. It’s not.

We move quickly, reaching the rendezvous point with Chris and the rest of the militia. I notice new faces: Anita Vega, Commander of the Coyotes, and Speaker Jen Amal, Commander of the Seahawks. Marshal Sullivan, the Canadian Commander of the Strikers. I also recognize units from the now-deceased Nathanial Mero’s Red Fox and Ken Thrawn’s Titans.

I do a quick headcount estimation.

We have a little over one thousand militiamen and women between the six of our militias. It’s not much… but it’s better than nothing. One thousand highly skilled, dangerous guerilla warfighters against a high profile invasion force is capable of wreaking more damage than Omega might think.

I don’t stop to greet the other Commanders. I simply nod, paying my respects, and tell Chris what we’ve witnessed. Although we are hidden in the hilly terrain, the black smoke is clearly visible from here. Monterey is roasting, and Omega wants everyone to know it.

“Manny!” Elle cries.

“Elle?” Manny is standing on the edge of the group. He stuffs his flight cap in his pocket and runs forward. I have never seen him look so happy. “My girl! Elle!”

Elle sprints through the crowd of people and throws her arms around Manny’s neck. He kisses her forehead and brushes her hair away from her face. His eyes are watery, his hands are trembling.

“My girl,” he whispers. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Manny,” Elle says. “I love you. I’m sorry for leaving. I had to go back to Los Angeles. I had to know if they were still alive.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Manny hugs her again. “What matters it that we’re alive. Both of us.”

Elle’s face freezes.

“What about Aunt? Where is she?” she asks.

Manny lowers his voice.

“She’s alive,” he replies. He stands up. “Well, ladies and gentlemen. The Happy Reunion has come to a close. Please continue with your strategic planning.”

I smile at Manny. He smiles back.

There is a sparkle in his eye.

“What’s our next move, Commander?” I ask Chris.

Anita, Ken, Marshall, Jen, Chris and myself stand in a circle, fellow militia commanders; brothers and sisters in arms.

“We end this,” Chris says. “Today.”

I feel a thrill of excitement and fear.

I have no doubt that we will.

Chapter Sixteen

Something happened to me after the EMP. Before the end of the world – before the invasion – I was an average, naïve, unemployed high school graduate. I was a hard worker, but times were tough. Few available jobs and expensive college tuition seemed to set me up for a lifetime of failure.

I had no self-confidence, no self-esteem.

My friends were few and far between. People took advantage of my naivety and left me hurt and bitter. I was afraid to stand up for the things I believed in. I feared being criticized and talked out of what I thought was right. I was a pushover. I would defend everyone but myself. I was, at heart, a fighter – but I was too scared to make the initial, scary step of asserting myself.

I am a different person, now.

No man or woman tells me how to think, or what to do. I am a creature of independence, a child of liberty. I am a soldier, a lethal weapon used to extinguish injustice and defend the weak from those who would seek to destroy them. I am a leader. I am a warrior. I am unashamed and I am unafraid to make the ultimate sacrifice to keep the people I love out of harm’s way.

I have conviction. I have belief. I have a fire in my heart.

I am dangerous.

It is late afternoon. The militias are still hiding in the woods, away from Omega’s direct line of sight. We are gathered with the militia Commanders here, a map spread out on the ground at our feet. My heart is beating in my throat. Fury keeps my senses sharp. I am enraged at Omega, disgusted that they have taken Monterey. I am ready to bring them down.

Nothing will stop us.

“God willing,” Chris says, as if reading my thoughts, “we will win this thing. Let’s talk this through one more time to make sure everybody’s got the plan straight. Amal, you take the Seahawks to the south side of the city.” She nods, every bit as stately in combat fatigues and muddy boots as she was at the Negotiations table. “Marshal Sullivan,” Chris says, nodding to the Canadian Commander. “You’ll take the Strikers to the southwest side. Stay in contact with Amal via radio. Watch your steps, wait for the signal.” He turns to Anita Vega. She is beautiful, almost ghostly with her pale white skin and midnight hair. I have heard rumors that her skin is white because the Coyotes have only ever attacked Omega at night – that her militia is a nocturnal one, just like the preying animals they are named after. “Commander Vega,” Chris begins, “You’ll take the north side. You’ve got a force of about a hundred and fifty men. You can handle it.”

Anita nods, pursing her lips.

“Cassidy,” Chris says, looking at me. “You will take over command of Ken Thrawn’s Titans in addition to your own team. That will give you a force of about two-hundred. I’ll take the bigger chunk of the Freedom Fighters and Mero’s Red Fox.”

I nod. I am not apprehensive, being the commander of my very own militia. Ultimately, we will all answer to Chris because we respect him, and he is the brains of our operation, when it comes down to it.

“Cassidy, you’ll take your forces to the south east corner of the city,” Chris continues. “I’ll be on the north east side with my forces. We’ll form a militia-made ring around the city limits.”

“What about the sea?” Anita Vega asks. “We can’t cover that.”

“I’m counting on the United States Air Force to take care of it,” Chris replies. “Our job is to take back the city without destroying it. The National Guard and the Army have destroyed most of the Presidio and some of the Naval Postgraduate School to prevent our intelligence from falling into enemy hands. The rest of the city… well, let’s focus on preserving it, if we can.”

I notice his usage of if. To me, that signals that Chris is going to try, but in the end, this is going to be an old-fashioned shootout. Just the way Harry wanted it to be. He would enjoy the drama. It would suit him well.

“So we can’t drop a bomb on the city because we want to preserve it,” Vera says, “and because we’ve got POW National Guard and Army units inside Monterey. What happened to our Coast Guard boys and the Naval forces here?”

“Most of them got out,” Chris replies. “They’re regrouping.”

“We have to do this the hard way,” Sophia sighs.

“This is going to be brains versus brawn,” I correct. “Omega outguns us, but we’ll outsmart them. We’ll hit fast and quick, draw their attention to a couple of areas of the city, then slip our forces through the back door while we’re juggling the smoke and mirrors. It will work.”

No one looks convinced, but there is no argument.

We have to stay positive, after all.

“I’ve sent recon scouts into the city,” Chris goes on. “As far as we know, Harry Lydell and the rest of the important Omega officers – whoever they may be – are holed up in the Naval Postgraduate School.” He looks at me. “Marshal Sullivan and his militia will attack Monterey from the south, Anita Vega will attack from the north. While they’re busy defending both sides of the city…” Chris opens his hands, drawing a circle around the east edge of the city with his finger. “Cassidy and I will slip in with our forces through the back door.”

“Can it be done?” Marshal booms. He is stately in his militia uniform and snow white hair. “Will they really fall for a scheme like this? They know we’ve got our militias out here somewhere. They may be expecting it.”

“They’ll be expecting something,” Chris replies. “But they won’t know what.”

I stare at the map, aware of how much is at stake. We can’t allow Omega to gain any kind of foothold on the Pacific Coast.

“What about the Pacific Northwest Alliance?” Sophia asks. “California joined forces with you guys for a reason – so that we could have backup when this kind of thing happened. Can’t you send help?”

Anita Vega shares a glance with Marshal Sullivan.

“The purpose of the Alliance was not just to unite the states,” she says slowly, “but to unite the militias. Our militias are more powerful than the military right now – we are by far more driven and organized than what’s left of the United States’ forces. I hate to tell you this, Commander Hart, but the Alliance’s strength has never been in the states themselves. It’s been in the militias.”

The Battle of Tippecanoe was fought between the United States and Chief Tecumseh’s Confederacy. I get a flash of the words of a teacher I had in eleventh grade, during American history class. Tecumseh was a Shawnee Native American Indian, and he realized the benefit of having forces that were united. As tribes, they didn’t stand a chance against their enemies because they were separate units. The tribal mentality had to go. And so Tecumseh created the Confederacy, a united front of Indian tribes to combat their enemies. Their most crushing defeat was the Battle of Tippecanoe… but the fact remains: Tecumseh recognized that standing alone is never the way. There is strength in numbers.

“Just like Tecumseh,” I whisper.

Chris gives me a strange look. I shrug.

I can’t help my flashbacks. They just happen.

“So you and I take our teams here,” I point, “and then we go into the school and take it out?”

“That’s the general idea.”

“What do we do with the Omega officers?”

“We kill them.”

“All of them?”

“All of them. No more mercy.” Chris looks at the leaders gathered in the circle. “This is the way it has to be. These people are wicked, they stop at nothing. They murder children. We kill them before they kill us, period. Any questions?”

There are none.

But I can’t stop this thought from running through my head:

I have to be the one to kill Harry.

No one else but me.

In the blistering heat of the battle, there is but one thing I know to be true:

Survival is a combination of skill and luck. There are many times I should have died on the battlefield – should have had my throat slit while I was a prisoner of Omega. But somehow I made it through. I am still alive, and Harry will rue the day I escaped from his guards.

All of Omega will.

Tight muscles. Slick sweat. Short breaths.

Tick, tock. Time is passing. We’re right on schedule.

I blink, checking my optics. I can see the border of the Naval Postgraduate School, the wrought-iron fence with its dull dark blue paint. My stomach flips. Almost time. I look left, at Chris. He nods reassuringly. He knows me well – he can read the worry on my face.

I look right. Uriah is settled in the grass, lying prone, like me. We are all like this – all two hundred of us. Uriah gives me the ghost of a smile, his dark eyes sparkling in the dim moonlight. There is no fog tonight. It is clear and crisp. Manny is next to Uriah. He has a rifle, and although Manny is not a sniper, he is a good leader. I take comfort in the fact that he is at the front of the line with me.

Chris gives me one last look, then slips into the darkness of the surrounding marshy woodland. He has to get back to his men. I look down at my hands, shaking slightly. Being the Commander of a group this big is not terrifying, but it is intimidating. I must make wise decisions in the heat of battle, or many lives could be lost.

And there is nothing scarier than knowing someone’s life is in your hands.

In the distance, there is the rattle and boom of automatic gunfire, the occasional flare in the night sky when a mortar is launched. I watch one drop back down to earth. Anita Vega and Marshal Sullivan are doing their job well, attacking the north and south ends of the city. Watching through my scope, I can see Omega troops at the school scrambling to reach their vehicles, to reinforce the borders of the city.

Good. This is what we had hoped for.

I gesture to Uriah and get to my feet, ghosting through the darkness, a creature of shadow and silence. The militia moves with me, the order to go forward spreading through the ranks as the officers pass it down.

Vera, Sophia and Andrew are dispersed throughout the militia, each in command of their own unit within my force of two-hundred. I trust their judgment and capabilities enough that I am not worried about them anymore. I pray for their safety, but I focus on the task at hand.

We keep moving, brushing through shrubs and skirting around abandoned buildings until we reach the fence of the Naval Postgraduate School. I follow the length of the fence. We curve north, reaching a large pond that has almost completely dried up.

Here we are.

There is no barbed wire on the top of the fence, no electrically wired shock system. When the National Guard and Navy were keeping this school safe, there was no need for measures like that. The guards and the military force kept the school from being attacked.

And now this will be a weakness for Omega.

I sling my rifle over my back and jam my boot between two bars, pulling myself up and over the fence in one swift motion. I land on the other side, smiling. I remember when I could barely figure out how to climb over a chain link fence.

The world has changed. Cassidy Hart has changed.

I check my shoulder. My men are coming fast, pulling themselves over the fence in silence. We keep low, close to the ground, going from cover to cover, hiding in the trees and overgrown bushes along the side of the pond. The sedentary water in the bottom of the small basin smells putrid. Dead animals are rotting around the edges. Warning signs are posted on trees.

We move around the pond, stopping at the bend. We are right on the edge of the parking lot in front of Hermann Hall. The generators are running. The hotel and the parking lot are lit. Omega guards and patrols fill the empty space. They are everywhere, like insects. I nod to Uriah and we kneel down. I look back over my militia. Vera and Sophia have taken their units around the other side of the hotel. I have about a hundred men behind me, holding their breaths.

There is a distant boom. The battle on the north and south ends of the city rages on.

“Hear that?” An Omega guard says. “It’s really cooking over there.”

He sounds American, and that angers me.

Traitor. You’re one of them.

“Yes, the militias are attempting to break through our defenses and take back the city.” This is the voice of another guard. Chinese. But he speaks English well. “They will fail. We have far more firepower than they do. They will burn.”

Uriah tightens his grip on his rifle. I place my hand on his shoulder.

Steady, I think. You’ll get your chance. We all will.

I think of the Capitol Building, how the dome collapsed and buried so many people alive, sentencing them to tortuous deaths, pinned under concrete support beams, burning alive in the flames. I think of my father, missing in action. Probably dead. I find the anger and fight within myself to carry on, to finish this battle.

There is a gunshot. It cracks through the night air, sounding much closer than it really is. The guards in the parking lot are suddenly alert, searching the parking lot. There is no sign. There is a window on the fifth story of Herrmann Hall, facing the sea. Another gunshot, and the window shatters.

“It’s time,” I say.

And then it is all chaos and bloodshed and killing.

It is all war.

It begins with me. I shoot the Chinese guy that had been talking about the militias. It is a perfect shot – right in the side of his head. He jerks sideways, a spray of blood covering the asphalt. And then everyone attacks at once and it is a barrage of earsplitting gunfire. Glass shatters, alarms go off, Omega troops fall to the ground in twisted, bloody heaps. The parking lot is cleared in no time. I stand up and run, rifle in hand, breath coming fast and uneven.

I hit the parking lot and the militiamen rush in behind me. I am struck by the sheer mass and size of my group as they surge around me, hot, sweaty bodies yelling and moving forward, toward the main buildings.

Snipers are on the roof of Herrmann Hall. Uriah and I fall back, ducking behind a Jeep as some of our militiamen hit the pavement, dead. I look at Uriah. He looks at me. We read each other that fast.

I raise my head above the hood of the Jeep and take a quick shot, sighting the sniper on the far north side of the roof. My aim is not perfect, but I hit him. He is standing close to the edge and he tumbles off the roof, falling through the air like a lead weight. I watch him hit the concrete. I swear I can hear the impact of his body hitting the ground from where I’m kneeling.

That’s impossible, I tell myself.

Uriah takes out the sniper on the south side of the roof. We systematically bring down every shooter on the roof that we can find, bump fists, then roll out of the cover of the Jeep, following the flow of militiamen toward the main buildings.

Chris’s militia is coming around the back of Herrmann Hall. Our combined forces flood the area, pushing inside the doors of the buildings. I see militiamen drag Omega soldiers into the grass and line them up in a row, a makeshift and quick execution.

I want to cry for them. I want to pretend that I am not a part of all of this.

But I am. This is the reality of war, and I know where I stand.

“Cassidy, let’s go!” Chris is yelling from the steps of Herrmann Hall, searching the madness of the crowd for my face. I sprint across the parking lot, Uriah hot on my heels. And then I see Manny. I feel relief, seeing his face. He is smudged in dirt and grime, blood droplets staining his jacket. He is holding two handguns, eyes wild, hair crazy. He reminds me of an eccentric, steam punk cowboy.

“This hotel was never quite my style, anyway,” Manny comments, gesturing to Herrmann Hall. The back of the building is spewing flames. Black smoke is rising into the air. “Consider this my version of a bad online review.”

I want to laugh, but I can’t. Not right now.

“Come on, inside!” Chris urges, looking at me.

I follow him. Manny and Uriah follow me.

We push into the hall. An Omega trooper is standing behind the counter of the front desk. He fires off a round. I duck aside, hitting the ground. The bullet misses my head but shatters the glass mirror on the wall.

Chris fires his weapon into the center of the trooper’s chest. He slumps over the counter, dead. Vera bursts into the building from the side door, running full speed. She is flushed, radiating adrenaline. “About time you morons got here,” she mutters. “Where’s Sophia?”

I stare at her.

“She was with you,” I say.

“Not anymore. Andrew’s right behind me, though.”

As if to illustrate her point, Andrew slides through the side door. There is a massive gash on his forehead. Blood is pouring down the side of his face. The sight is horrible, momentarily shocking. But I remember that head wounds bleed excessively and often look much worse than they really are.

“Are you okay?” I ask Andrew.

“Fine. Bumped my head. It happens.”

“You bumped your head on someone’s fist,” Vera corrects.

Andrew flashes her a wry grin. Vera… grins back.

I don’t believe it, I think vaguely.

“So Sophia is outside?” I ask.

“Must be.”

“She’s supposed to be in here!” I fist my hands. Chris touches my shoulder. “We can’t wait for her. We have to move on.”

I swallow my argument. He’s right. We have no choice.

We leave the lobby, following the hallway until we come to the stairwell. Omega troops that cross our path wind up dead. To confront us is to invite an instant death sentence.

It is both scary and impressive how deadly we are.

“Harry should be here somewhere,” Chris says. “We’ll search every level, kill every officer we see. Spare no one.” He looks angry as he says the next few words: “We’re a kill team, now.”

We climb the stairs. The beautiful antiquity of the building is quickly becoming ravaged. The second floor is on fire. Hot, suffocating smoke fills the hallways. Omega soldiers stumble around in the dim lighting. Uriah pops a few rounds into the halls and brings them down. We search the rooms. There are two officers. Uriah and Chris put an end to them immediately.

I turn away, pausing at the door.

Harry will be up high, I think. He’d want a good view of the harbor and the fight in the parking lot. He’d enjoy the show.

“He’s on the top floor,” I say.

I look at Chris.

He doesn’t ask me to elaborate. He knows. He understands.

We both do.

We leave this level and clear every floor until we hit the top. I get a light, fluttering feeling in my stomach. Anxiety? Nervous energy? I don’t know. Maybe it’s a premonition. Maybe I understand, deep down, that what’s about to happen will change me dramatically.

I can’t put the feeling into words. It simply is.

As I step onto the top floor, time seems to slow down. There is a long hallway and rows of doors. I know, somehow, that Harry is in the room on the end. The one that overlooks the parking lot, the pond and the harbor in the distance. Harry Lydell, the man with the flair for the dramatic.

He would want a front row seat for the Battle of Monterey.

Uriah, Chris, Andrew and Vera go ahead of me and check the rooms. There are no more officers up here. The floor is empty. I walk forward, gripping my rifle. I stand in front of the last door on the row. At the end of the hall is the emergency exit and access point for the roof.

I kick in the last hotel door. My team is with me, moving into the room in formation. I’m first, Vera is second, Chris is third, Manny is fourth and Uriah and Andrew follow. We pour into the room, prepared for a fight. But there is nothing. Nothing but a wide open suite with a bed, a desk, and big windows overlooking the school property and the distant Pacific Ocean.

The corner window has been shattered with a gunshot.

We search the room. My heart sinks. I was so sure that Harry would be up here. I mean… he could be in another building… but most of them have already been searched. Did Harry leave Monterey? Did he know what was going to happen? Did he have a feeling that the militias would win this fight?

No. He was sure Omega was going to wrap this thing up.

I turn and run, hurrying into the hall, pushing open the door to the roof. I climb a few narrow stairs and emerge into the night. The air is cold. It feels good against my hot, sticky skin.

And there, on the edge of the roof, is Harry.

He is standing with his hands clasped behind his back, a serene expression on his face. He looks satisfied, expectant. He turns from the scene on the school property, away from the billowing smoke. Some of the trees around the pond have caught fire. From here, I can see the bursts of light from the south and north sides of the city, where Anita Vega and Marshal Sullivan are engaging Omega with their militias.

“Harry,” I say.

My voice is dry, raspy.

A cruel smile twists his lips.

“Cassidy,” he says. “You’ve killed my snipers.”

Dead Omega snipers lay strewn across the roof, weapons loaded in their hands.

“You lose,” I say. “It’s over.”

Harry doesn’t respond to that. He simply looks at Chris.

“Commander Young,” he continues. “How nice for you to grace us with your glorious presence. If I’d had my way, you’d have been executed long ago in Los Angeles.”

“Sorry I screwed up your plans,” I say.

But of course, I’m not sorry at all.

“Harry,” Manny states. “You’re every bit as scrawny as they said you’d be.”

I remember that Manny has never seen Harry in person – only heard about him. Harry ducks Manny’s insult and surveys the six of us.

“If I’m going to die,” Harry says, “you’re going to die with me. It’s only fitting that we all make the ultimate sacrifice for what we believe in.”

“You’re the only one who’s going to die today,” Chris says.

He raises his rifle, aims it at Harry’s skull.

I remember Chris’s promise, The next time you and I meet, I’m going to kill you.

Those were words uttered before a devastating battle not more than a month ago, before Chris was taken as a prisoner of war, tortured and interrogated by Harry for weeks.

I look over the edge of the rooftop.

The battle is winding down below us. Our forces have taken the school, and I know that the National Guard and Army troops that have been taken prisoner are being set free. They are adding to our numbers.

The United States Air Force should be here any moment, setting fire to the four empty Omega warships that are floating off the coast of the bay.

It hits me.

“Chris,” I say. “He’s got something planned.”

Harry looks at me, sly amusement dancing across his features.

“Do I?” he asks.

“Believe me,” I say.

You’re going to die with me, Harry said.

He was so calm when he said it.

“Kill him,” Uriah tells Chris. His voice is dark, his face tight with anger. Vera and Andrew are glaring at Harry. He is, after all, the epitome of what it means to be a traitor… the physical embodiment of Omega.

“You’ll kill me,” Harry says, leaning against the roof railing. “And then what? Omega will continue to grow. You think that by pushing us out of Monterey – temporarily, I might add – you’re going to stop the invasion? The Pacific Northwest Alliance will not save you. Nothing can save you. You are doomed to failure and destruction. We will lay waste to this country you so dearly love, and we will rebuild. The New Order will reign supreme, and parasitic rebellious scum such as yourselves will be extinguished.”

Chris’s eyes are glazed over with fury.

Here stands Harry Lydell, the man that has caused him more pain than Omega itself in many ways. I can tell that it’s taking everything in him to restrain himself from pulling the trigger.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Vera demands. “What’s the New Order?”

“It is Omega. Omega is the Order.” Harry smiles sickly. “We are one and the same, unstoppable. Destroying our armies and killing our leaders will do you no good. Omega is a seed, an infection. It affects every level of society on earth. There is nothing you can do to stop us.”