Текст книги "State of Rebellion"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

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Chapter Seven

Tonight I sneak out of my cabin, Bear Paw. The air is sharp and cold, so I pull my jacket tighter.

Leave Camp Freedom? Leave your father behind? Didn’t you just find him?

My mind is racing. I told Colonel Rivera that I would join the militiamen and women who were going to Fresno to the National Guard base. Did I say that because Chris did? Because I’m terrified of the idea of losing him?

Because if he left and I stayed behind…

I push the thought away. I can’t imagine a life without him. We’ve been through too much together. And then there’s my father, who I searched and searched for, finally finding him…why? So I can leave?

Guilty, I walk across the meadow. The perimeter of Camp Freedom is heavily patrolled. Some civilians are still awake in Staff Housing, a small collection of houses where families with small children are living. Chris’s parents are living there, taking care of orphaned children like Isabel.

I sit on the edge of the meadow and stare at the sky. The stars are dazzling up here in the high mountains. The longer you gaze at them, the more it seems like you’re being sucked into space.

Do I go or do I stay? I think.

After the long meeting with Colonel Rivera, we drove him back to his convoy. Chris told him we’d link up with them in the valley in two days, at a meeting place the two of them determined at the edge of Fresno. Neither Dad nor I spoke during the hike back to camp. Chris didn’t say anything, either. We’d all made our decisions. The military finally came. Our chance to get our hands on quality weapons, ammunition, food, vehicles and shelter was here.

What more was there to say?

“So do I go or do I stay?” I mutter. “I don’t know.”

“I know.”

I jump, startled. Manny strolls onto the meadow off the road, and for the first time I notice that he has a limp. Not a big limp, but enough to make it appear that he’s dragging his left leg behind him as he walks.

I snap, “What are you doing out here at night?”

“What are you doing out here at night?”

“I’m…thinking.”

“About leaving, it sounds like.” He adjusts his leather duster. “So what have you decided?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going. Hell, this is what I’ve been waiting for.”

“Everybody’s been waiting for this.”

He pops his flask out of his pocket, taking a quick swig.

“You know,” he says, looking up at the sky, “it all comes down to one thing.”

“What?”

“What’s more important to you: staying safe or staying fierce.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let’s say you stay here,” he shrugs, walking off. Curious, I follow him, the cold breeze whipping my hair into tangles. “It’s pretty safe. Camp Freedom has been secure for months. It’s a nice community. Your chances of living here are pretty good at the moment.”

“But…?” I press.

“But where they really need us is down in the valley,” Manny continues. “We can’t hide in the mountains forever. Eventually, Omega will get wise and smoke us out. We have to keep them from getting to that point.” He stops at his battered biplane, lovingly running a hand over the faded blue stripe. “I’m going to help. What are you going to do?”

He climbs onto the wing of the plane, sitting down in the pilot’s seat.

“I want to do the right thing,” I say.

“Then do it.”

He flips a switch in the cockpit. A green glow lights his weathered face.

“It’s not that easy,” I say.

“Actually, it is.” He lazily pulls his flight cap and goggles out of a compartment in the cockpit. “You just do it.”

“Oh, yeah?” A small smile creeps across my face.

Just do it.

“Are you going to fly this thing right now?” I ask. “In the middle of the night?”

“What? Did you think I’m just taking a midnight stroll for the sake of star gazing?” He jerks his thumb behind him. “Get in.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t do heights.”

Manny raises his eyebrows at me.

“You do now.”

I look behind my shoulder, excitement zinging up my spine.

“Get in,” he says.

This could actually be fun.

I crawl into the single passenger seat, which is in front of the pilot’s seat. It’s silent, and if Manny isn’t supposed to be taking off at this hour of the night, nobody’s going to bother stopping him now. Manny flips another switch and I feel a current course through the small aircraft. The engine fires, cranks a couple of times, then roars to life in a cloud of blue smoke. The sound is deafening. The entire plane vibrates and shakes, literally rattling my teeth.

What am I doing?

A pair of goggles is hanging from a knob in front of me. I grab them and put them on, twisting in my seat, grabbing the edge of the cockpit to keep my balance as I look at Manny. He’s got a huge smile on his face, the earflaps from his leather flying cap flailing wildly with each movement of the plane. He’s laughing.

Manny opens the throttle up and slews the plane around in a bouncy, dusty circle, pointing the nose of the plane down the long stretch of grass ahead. If anyone notices the loud noise of the engine, they don’t care. Manny going on a scouting mission is a common occurrence.

“Hang on to your hat!” Manny shouts.

“I’m not wearing…” I sigh. “Okay.”

I wonder how much Manny’s slow consumption of alcohol throughout the day is going to affect his piloting skills. Hopefully not that much. Because I would prefer to come back from this scouting mission alive.

The plane lurches forward, bouncing, shaking, gaining speed. The tail rises, dipping us forward. It feels like we’re going to flip over headfirst. I grit my teeth, staring at the wall of trees at the edge of the meadow. It’s getting closer. And those trees are big. I close my eyes, praying for Manny to pull through…or in this case, up. A buoyant feeling rises in the pit of my stomach, the sensation of lifting into the air. The engine races, red sparks spitting out of the exhaust. I open my eyes just in time to see the trees flash by below us, a cold wind whipping my hair in circles. An invisible force presses me back against the seat. The tips of the pine trees flit by.

We’re airborne!

I tilt my head back and look at the sky as we rise, the camp disappearing into darkness. There are no lights to give the location away from the air. The peaks of the high Sierras tower thousands of feet into the sky, miles high. They look ethereal, otherworldly. The vastness of the open space is overwhelming. I’ve never been on an airplane before. How many people can say they took their first flight in a biplane in the mountains right smack in the middle of a post-apocalyptic warzone?

“How do you land this thing if there are no lights?” I ask. I have to yell to be heard above the wind resistance and the engine noise.

“When we get back, they’ll have lights for us,” Manny replies.

“How?”

“Don’t worry about it, kid! Just enjoy the ride!”

I force myself to take another peek over the edge of the plane. What if the engine dies? What if Omega sees us? What was I thinking?

That you could have a little fun for once in your life.

“What are we looking for?” I yell, trying to distract myself from the height.

Manny bangs on the back of the seat. I see that he’s wearing flat headphones. Another set is hanging just in front of me, right below my knee. I grab a pair and snap them on, instantly tuning into Manny’s chuckling, excited voice.

“What are we looking for?” I repeat.

“Anything we can find!” he replies, right over the crackle of the radio static. “Troop movements, suspicious lights, anything out of the ordinary that warrants our attention.”

After a few minutes I settle into my seat and loosen my hold on the side of the cockpit. The little biplane totters and rumbles through the air. I glance behind me. Manny’s hair is streaming around his face, right along with the comical earflaps. He looks halfway insane, but I realize something now: this is where Manny is most comfortable. Up in the air. Away from the war.

There’s nothing up here that can hurt us, after all.

Right?

“See that speck of clearing down to the right?” he yells.

“Yeah! What is it?”

“It’s a lake. Or what’s left of it.” The plane slowly veers right over the clearing, a dark, smooth smudge in the middle of a sea of trees. “It was a campground, just like Camp Freedom. Only this one was abandoned and unfortified. The lake is just a cesspool now.”

“Is there a place to land?” I ask.

“Only during daylight hours, and even then I wouldn’t go down that way.”

“Why?”

“Rogue Militia.”

I strain to see the lake as we pass over it, nothing more than a dark spot from this distance. “Rogue Militia?”

“Thieves and bandits. Organized paramilitary units that rob and murder innocent people.”

The plane eases to the left, a current of freezing air washing over the nose. I throw my head back and smile despite myself.

“I knew you’d like it up here,” Manny says triumphantly.

“You didn’t know anything,” I reply, grinning. “You were just hoping.”

“True, true. But what’s wrong with a little hope now and again?

Nothing at all.

Our scouting mission over the mountains lasts for what seems like hours. As soon as the first hint of dawn appears on the horizon, Manny changes the direction of the plane. We’re heading home. We haven’t seen anything suspicious. No troop movements. No sign of Omega. Not that I could have seen anything with my untrained eye if I’d wanted to, but I like to believe that I have enough skill these days to spot something out of the ordinary.

By the time we make it back to camp, it’s early morning. I feel alive, invigorated. And as I see the meadow from the sky, a sense of calm and peace wash over me. Peace about my decision to leave with Chris and join the National Guard. Peace about my father staying behind to lead the Rangers and protect Camp Freedom. For the first time in a long time, I feel free. Like I have a choice.

Like I’m independent. Truly independent.

The plane slowly lowers to the ground. Everything seems to flash by faster as we get closer to the meadow. The trees, the sky, the grass. When the wheels actually hit the earth, we bounce up and down. Instead of being afraid, I laugh. What a ride. What an exhilarating experience!

Manny coasts the plane down the meadow, makes a tottering U-turn, then slowly his beloved aircraft comes to a halt. The big engine cuts out. He stands up in the cockpit, takes off his cap and goggles and turns to me, grinning from ear to ear.

“And that, my dear, is how it feels to be on top of the world,” he says.

I climb out of my seat, jump onto the wing, and hop into the grass. I throw the goggles back into the cockpit and look around. Everything seems so big down here. Up in the sky it all looked so tiny. Like miniature toys.

“Manny?”

He looks at me.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say. “I needed it.”

He nods slowly, shoving one hand into the pocket of his leather duster. He strolls off, humming Freebird by Lynyrd Skynyrd under his breath. I walk in the other direction, away from the meadow, back towards the barracks. Nobody has risen yet at this early hour, although the clatter of Manny’s biplane had to have woken at least one person.

I slip back into the Bear Paw. Sophia is still sound asleep, one arm hanging off the bed, snoring softly. I crawl onto my bunk and press my face against the pillow, closing my eyes.

I’ve made my decision.

And I’m sticking to it.

The night before the convoy leaves, Chris and I take a walk around the edge of the compound. It’s dark enough that we can hold hands without looking unprofessional in front of the militia. And right now I really need to hold his hand.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye to Dad,” I say. “He hasn’t spoken to me since the meeting with Commander Rivera.”

“He will. He’s just hurt, Cassie.”

“I’m not doing this to hurt him.”

“He knows that. I know that. Everybody knows that but you.”

I stop at the fence, gazing at the trees beyond the metal border. “I know what I need to do, I just want him to understand why.”

“You can’t force him to understand,” Chris replies, drawing me to his chest. “Your dad can’t be forced to do anything. You can only be honest with him. That’s all you can do.”

I wrap my arms around his waist, inhaling his scent.

“You’re right.” I sigh. “I need to say goodbye to your family.”

“I already told them goodbye.” His heart beats faster, a sign of discomfort. Saying goodbye to the family he searched for – just like I searched for my father – must be enormously difficult. Because in this climate, you never know if you’ll see each other again. “They understand. I have a responsibility to lead my men.”

“It’s not just that,” I say. “You have a responsibility to fight wherever and whenever you can. You have skills that most of us don’t have.”

He grins softly.

“Yeah?” He kisses my cheek. “Says who?”

“Says me.” I trace the curve of his jaw with my thumb. “I guess I should go alone to say goodbye.”

“You should.” He raises an eyebrow. “But I can come if you want me to.”

“No. I need to do this myself.” I stand on tiptoes and press my lips against his for a brief, passionate kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Cassie.”

“Goodnight.”

I step away from his warmth, marching myself towards Staff Housing. In less than ten hours, I’ll be on my way to Fresno. I’ll be out of the mountains for the first time in months. Out in the open.

Do what you gotta do, I think. You know this is the right thing.

Staff Housing is illuminated with a couple of dim lanterns. The interior lighting in the cabins is hidden with black cloth and, in some cases, boards nailed over the windows. I trail up the cul-de-sac road, stopping at the middle cabin in the neighborhood. It’s surrounded with Manzanita bushes and bear clover. I walk up the front steps and knock on the door.

Isabel answers.

“Cassie!” She throws open the screen door and hugs me fiercely. “I haven’t seen you in two days!”

“I’ve been a little busy,” I shrug apologetically. “Can I come in?”

“Duh.”

I walk inside. The front room has a simple couch, outdated shag carpet and a fireplace. It’s a basic cabin. No artwork on the walls. No books on the shelves. Mr. and Mrs. Young are sitting together on the couch, poring over the pages of an issue of Reader’s Digest from 2009. And, to my complete surprise, Dad walks out of the kitchen.

What is he doing here? I didn’t know he was chummy with the Youngs.

“Cassidy, how nice to see you!” Mrs. Young exclaims. “Isabel’s missed you.”

I pull my eyes away from my father.

“I’ve missed you, too.” I square my shoulders. “I came to say goodbye.”

She licks her lips, slowly setting the magazine down on the coffee table.

“I had a feeling,” she says. “Chris and Jeff were here earlier.”

“Now it’s my turn.”

“No!” Isabel storms up to me, crossing her arms. “You can’t go! You’re safe here! We’re all safe here! If you leave, I might never see you again!”

“I know.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Isabel, try to understand. I’m not doing this for myself, I’m doing this because it’s the right thing. I can’t stay here when they need me out there.”

“There are plenty of other people to fight on the front lines,” Dad suddenly says.

I place my hand on my hip.

“No, there’s not,” I reply. “And what are you doing here, anyway? I didn’t know you were in the habit of having late night coffee with the Youngs.”

“He came to talk to us about Chris,” Mr. Young interjects, speaking up. Something he rarely does. “It’s fine, Cassidy. Don’t worry about it.”

“Talk about Chris?”

“Cassidy, try to understand,” Dad sighs. “I was just worried about my daughter.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I turn to Isabel and give her a fierce hug. Her eyes are brimming with tears, her pale cheeks flushed with splotches of red. “Listen to me,” I say. “I will come back. I will see you again.”

“But when?” she sniffs.

“When it’s over.”

“What if it never ends?”

I kiss her forehead. “Everything ends, Isabel.”

I hug Mrs. Young, the closest thing to a real mother I’ve had in my young life. Mr. Young gives me a brief, gruff embrace. But coming from him, it means a lot. And then I turn to Dad.

“We need to talk,” I state.

He nods.

“I promise, I’ll see you again. We’ll all see you again,” I say, taking in Isabel’s tear-streaked face one last time. My own eyes are burning with emotion. “So…see you around.”

“See you around,” Isabel cries, burying her face into Mrs. Young’s waist.

I stand there, frozen. It will be a long time before I see these precious people again. If ever. I tuck the memory of this cabin and this conversation away in my brain before turning and walking out the door. Just like that. Otherwise I’ll never go.

The front porch is creaky. It smells like campfire smoke. Dry wood.

“How can you leave?” Dad demands, following me outside.

His eyes are stormy. His body is coiled tight. I am in huge trouble.

“This is my choice,” I reply, taking a shaky breath. “I have to fight.”

“You can fight here. You don’t have to leave to do that.”

“Dad, they need us out there, and I can help.” I sigh. “I can’t let him go alone. I’d wonder why I didn’t go with him for the rest of my life.”

“So that’s it, then?” he growls. “You’re throwing your life away and leaving the safety of a secure camp for a boy?”

“Chris is not just some boy!” I counter, flushed. “You know better than that. Why were you over here talking about Chris with the Youngs, anyway?”

“I wanted to get to know the family of the boy my daughter is leaving with!”

“You should trust my judgment.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I say. “For the first time in my life, I know what I want to do and where I want to go. This is what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“But you’re helping already, Cassie,” Dad answers, closing his fingers around the porch railing. “You’ve already done enough. Don’t go out there and get yourself killed. This isn’t the militia anymore. This is the National Guard. The environment will be different, and the fighting will be more brutal than anything you’ve ever seen.”

I close my eyes.

“You’re right,” I shrug. “It’s going to be different. But I have to go anyway.”

“Why would you go when you could stay here with me?”

“Don’t.” I hold up my hand. “Don’t make me choose anybody over you. I’m not choosing one person over anyone else. I’m making a decision based on what I feel is the right thing to do. This is what I’ve decided.”

He gives me a long, sad look.

“Please, Cassie,” he says at last, softly. “Don’t go.”

I blink hard and fight the urge to cry, walking across the porch. I need to be strong. I wrap my arms around my father, giving him a hug. His embrace is tight and final.

“I love you, Dad,” I say. “You know that.”

A pause.

“I know.”

I pull away. His expression is one of utter defeat – something I’ve never seen in him before. It frightens me. I bite my lip and take a few steps backward, turning on my heel and climbing down the front porch steps.

“Cassidy,” Dad says.

I turn.

“I love you, too.” He folds his hands together, leaning against the railing. “Be careful.”

I nod.

And then I’m gone.

There’s no turning back now.

Chapter Eight

Retrofitted jeeps and pickup trucks don’t make the most efficient convoy lineup in the world, but hey. If it works, it works. At this point, I’m becoming less and less critical of just about everything under the sun. Case in point, I’m heading into the back of an older military transport jeep. A line of transport trucks is waiting near the front entrance of Camp Freedom, ready to leave. It’s midnight.

I’m outfitted in my militia uniform – military pants, jacket and blue armband tied around my bicep. I’ve got my rifle, my bulletproof vest, my backpack full of gear.

I sling my rifle over my shoulder and climb the metal stairs of the last massive truck in the lineup, sitting down on a bench. They face each other, covered in nylon netting. Metal rods parallel the benches above me. The walls and ceiling are made of a heavy tarpaulin-like sheet printed in camouflage colors. It’s hot inside, and getting more crowded by the minute. Men and women. Former teachers and bank clerks. Brothers and sisters. Cashiers and baristas in another life. I set my backpack down and hold my rifle barrel up, drawing my knees closer to my chest. Sophia squeezes in next to me, and right behind her is Vera. She sits down on the bench across from mine.

Great.

She says nothing. I say nothing. Obviously this is going to be awkward.

The truck fills up with more people. We simply can’t fit any more passengers. The back gate in the truck goes up, sealing with a loud metallic boom. My heart accelerates and Sophia jumps, grabbing my arm. I’ve never been big on being trapped in confined spaces. Especially with a ton of people in a truck, moving down a mountain in an active warzone.

There’s a first time for everything.

It’s getting stuffy fast back here, and as the doors continue to slam and militiamen and women keep piling into the trucks, I suddenly wish Chris were here. As our commander, he’s in the lead Humvee with Angela. I chose to stay with the Freedom Fighters in the transport trucks. I didn’t want to leave Sophia alone.

But I’d rather be with Chris.

The convoy roars to life. The trucks roll forward, diesel engines roaring to life, spitting strong fumes, the hard suspension of the vehicles hitting every pothole in the road with a bang. It jars my teeth. With nothing but dark walls and human faces to stare at, the jerking, rocking motion of the truck is enough to make me seriously carsick.

I am aware of the exact second we cross Camp Freedom’s boundary line. The convoy speeds up, reaching the amazing speed of 15 miles per hour. Sophia and I share a sad, meaningful glance.

“Goodbye, Camp Freedom,” I whisper.

She nods, tears glistening in her eyes. But she doesn’t cry.

If Vera overhears me she doesn’t say anything. She just sits silently, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Maybe leaving the camp is just as hard for her as it is for me. I don’t know. At least she didn’t have to leave her mother behind.

Goodbye, Dad…

Goodbye everything.

The central valley is something I haven’t seen in a long time. After being a guerilla war fighter in the high mountains and foothills for months, the open space of farmland is disorienting. Everything is wide, bright and magnified. The trees are spaced far apart. No more pines, cedars or lodge poles. No more scent of mountains, of forest.

This is just hot. Heat and dryness. And stillness, as if the land itself is waiting for something patiently.

Orchards line the side of the road we take to Fresno. Most of the trees are dead. With no water and no farmers to care for them, they’ve been killed in the summer heat. The fruit basket of the world is looking pretty fruitless, even with all of the slave labor Omega is using – or was using – to harvest crops and get food to their invasion forces.

I realize that this is one of the first signs of weakness I’ve seen from Omega. If they had a firmer grip on the central valley, this farmland would be utilized. With a Chinese army on the way, they’ll need food and water. And I’m not seeing a lot of that today.

Good news for us, bad news for them.

We hit the outskirts of Fresno in about three hours. The roads that the convoy takes are backcountry dirt avenues and boulevards woven between abandoned orchards and farming property. Colonel Rivera gave very specific instructions and coordinates that allow navigation through enemy territory without being spotted by scouts. We hope.

Growing up in Culver City, I didn’t have much of a reason to travel north to a place like Fresno unless I was visiting relatives or going on a school field trip. It looks nothing like I remember. As we roll into town, I look out the back of the truck, studying the scenery as we flash by. Gas stations, strip malls and cracked asphalt. Dead trees. The foul stink of long-burning fires eating through piles of rubble. Fast food restaurants with shattered windows and broken doors. Billboards covered with bright, vulgar graffiti.

Not the most beautiful tourist hotspot in the world.

“It’s not right,” Sophia mutters.

“What’s not right?” I ask.

“This. Being out of the trees. In the open.” She shakes her head. “I don’t like being exposed. It makes me nervous.”

“We’re all nervous,” I reply. “We’ll adjust.” I smile with confidence I don’t have, then change the subject. “You know, my dad and I used to take vacations up to our cabin in the mountains. We’d stay up there during the summer and then go back to Culver City. It took me a few days to adjust to all the cement and pollution in the city after being up in the wilderness for so long. This is like that.”

“It’s a lot different,” Vera says suddenly. “Because this isn’t like coming back from vacation. This is just going from one warzone to the next.”

I meet her cold, blue-eyed gaze.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” I answer.

“If you only had a brain,” Sophia adds, and we both stifle laughter. Vera flushes bright red and curses us under her breath. Ticked? Maybe. But she had it coming.

And that’s all we say. I’m in no mood to get into a pointless argument with the ice queen today. Besides, we’re almost there. Even against the pale moonlit sky I can make out street signs still hanging from rusty streetlights. Just a few more minutes.

Our convoy rumbles ahead, never stopping. Never hesitating.

“We’re here,” I say.

“The linkup point?” Sophia asks.

“Yeah.” I stand up, walking to the rear of the truck. I step onto the back gate and stand there, one arm on the truck wall to keep my balance. The outriders on motorcycles and quads buzz past us, checking point and flanks for danger. I know that Manny is somewhere high above us, watching for danger from his vantage point in the sky. “Standby,” I say, turning to Sophia.

The truck is slowing down. Not too much. But enough. “Just stay put.”

A convoy of National Guard vehicles and troops are waiting at the far edge of a former Wal-Mart. The parking lot is a sea of dead vehicles. Weeds are growing through cracks in the pavement and sidewalk. Our outriders on the small vehicles roar back and forth in front of us, giving us the all-clear to move ahead. From here I can see the lead Humvee that holds Chris and Angela blazing the path for the rest of our vehicles. Our convoy heads straight towards the National Guard forces behind the building.

I keep a firm grip on the truck’s handholds, praying under my breath that we’ll make it to the base in one piece. We’ve been safe so far… but that doesn’t mean something couldn’t go wrong from here to there. I hold my standing position, unable to force myself to sit on the bench and stare at the wall until we get there. I need to know where we are.

After a steady ten minutes of following the National Guard forces, we pull away from the city a bit, staging on the outskirts of town. There are empty fields here, clustered with half-built construction sites and scattered debris.

Up ahead, a chain-link fence stands around a burned out building marked Poison Control Center. The back of the edifice has been blown up. Black smudge lines the cement. There’s not a lot of glass left in the structure.

The convoy slows to a crawl while a heavy steel gate swings open. We follow the lead vehicles to the rear of the building. The road slopes, dipping into an underground parking garage. The door rolls up just enough to fit the vehicles under the ceiling. The sound of the engines echoing off the walls is deafening.

And then, without warning, there’s a blast from a siren – three times. The convoy halts. I help the guards unlatch the truck’s tailgate. Militiamen and women leave the transport quickly, eager to stretch their legs.

Vera gets up, wordlessly hands me my backpack, and leaves the truck. I swing it over my shoulder, wondering why she bothered to hand me anything, and wait for Sophia. We stick close to each other, and I’m vaguely reminded of being rounded up out of a semi-truck not so long ago when I was imprisoned in a labor camp with Sophia...I look at her and she gives me a halfhearted smile.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” she says.

“We’ve been through this before.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“At least we’re not enslaved this time.”

“Never again.”

We’re here by choice. When I step off the truck, my boots hit blackened cement. The ceiling is high above us. About two stories high, actually. Pipes and support beams wind their way across the ceiling. We’re inside what looks like a giant garage, lit by white lights powered by generators. Our men are leaving the vehicles, looking around the place with dazed expressions on their faces.

What is this place?

It’s been a long time since some of these people have been inside a building. Many of them have been living in the mountains since the day the EMP hit. Confined spaces can be pretty shocking after that kind of lifestyle. It’s an adjustment for me. It smells so…urban. Diesel fumes, gasoline and hot metal.

Large white lettering is painted across the far wall.

SECTOR 20

I meet Chris’s gaze from across the room, a silent agreement echoing between us: This is going to be a lot different than fighting in the mountains.

You know that feeling you get when walk into a room full of strangers and nobody looks up to say hello to you? That’s how I feel when I walk into the barracks for the first time. Women are everywhere – all ages, but mostly between fifteen and thirty years old. It’s an interesting scene. I feel no fear, no nervousness. I’ve been through too much for that. I simply am. We are all here for one reason, for one purpose. And that unifies us.

Women from other militia groups that were staying at Camp Freedom are among the new arrivals here. Vera is bunking three beds over. She avoids my gaze, and I remember that she handed me my backpack on the truck. A simple gesture. A kind gesture, even. Coming from her, I have no idea what the motivation was behind it. She notices me watching her and looks up. She opens her mouth as if to say something right as Sophia decides to intervene. “I’ll take the top bunk,” she announces. “That way we can be next to each other.”

“Sounds good,” I agree.

Vera clenches her jaw. Whatever she was going to say remains unsaid.

Sophia assembles her gear on her bunk.