Текст книги "State of Rebellion"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

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“What was that?” he demands. He’s wearing black combat gear, a captured weapon in one arm, held at the ready. “Who gave your position away?”

“It was my fault,” I say, swallowing a sick feeling in my stomach. Why am I taking the blame for this?

Because that’s what a good leader does, I think. They take responsibility.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Chris gives me a long, hard look.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he states. He glances at Sophia’s face, then back at me. Perhaps he knows the truth. “We’re returning to base.”

I nod.

“Nice recovery, though.” Derek shows up, covered in ash and sweat. His short blonde hair is hidden beneath a black skullcap. “Not bad, Hart.”

“Thanks.” I gesture to the twisted mass of metal that used to be the gate around the camp. “You didn’t do too bad, either.”

“Ah, Max is the brains. I just plant the explosives.” He shrugs. “This was a lot easier than I thought it’d be.”

“Easy is a relative term,” Alexander replies.

“I mean, compared to the last time we engaged Omega.”

“We were betrayed and ambushed.”

“Exactly.” Derek smiles at me. “See you at base, Hart.”

“See you,” I say.

We head towards our just arriving truck convoy, on the other side of the distribution center. It’s under the freeway. It’s been staged and waiting for our arrival. Vera is talking with Chris when I arrive, and he’s listening intently. I grind my teeth together and make a point of avoiding looking in her direction. She’s probably giving him a point-by-point recap of everything that happened to her platoon during the attack. I’m sure their execution was flawless.

I check my team one final time, making sure that they’re assembled in their transport vehicles. Everybody’s fine. I walk to the lead Humvee. I get in the backseat and slam the door. Weary.

A few seconds later, Chris gets in and takes the seat beside me.

Silence.

“You took the blame for Sophia’s mistake,” he states simply.

I say nothing. Then, “It’s my team.”

“It wasn’t your mistake.”

“My team. My mistake.”

The driver starts the engine and the convoy starts to move. We’ve got roving gunners in jeeps and ATCs keeping an eye on the roads as we rumble through the city, twisting and turning between old shopping centers and neighborhoods.

“Cassidy,” Chris says, lowering his voice. “You’re a good leader.”

I study his profile, noting the tightness of his jaw.

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” I surmise.

“Because you don’t need me anymore,” he says, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Maybe I’m just getting sentimental.”

“I’ll always need you,” I reply.

I need Chris more than I need anyone else. Even if the entire war against Omega is an utter failure and we all end up enslaved – if I have Chris, I can survive.

He doesn’t answer. He just reaches over, takes my hand, and holds it for a few minutes until we reach Sector 20. His hand seems so big compared to mine.

“I’ll always need you,” I repeat as we pull into the base.

He pauses and looks at me, green eyes brimming with emotion.

“And I will always need you,” he says.

Chapter Ten

Today is my birthday.

I sit on the edge of my bunk, staring at the wall. I am twenty years old. The barracks are empty. I’m the only one here.

I pull my backpack out from under my bed. I rummage through the contents. I pull out my knife, a gift from Jeff, Chris’s brother. The one with my name engraved on the handle. I haven’t used it for a while, afraid of losing it in combat. I strap it onto my belt and take a deep breath.

Happy birthday to me, I think.

I head out into the hall. The long corridor is made of concrete, glowing with dull lighting. At the end of the hall I turn left, ducking into an open room. The Chow Hall. It looks like a high school cafeteria, minus the linoleum and plastic chairs. This room is full of metal benches, hard flooring and a counter with soldiers dishing out food. It smells like a barbecue and it’s loud with voices and clatter.

Sophia is sitting with Alexander on the far side of the cafeteria. Derek and Max are there, as well. Chris is talking with Jeff at the entrance, and I practically walk right into Chris’s chest as I enter the room.

“Hey,” Chris says. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Commander” I reply with a smile.

“You’re wearing the lucky knife,” Jeff comments.

“Yeah. Today’s special, I guess.”

“What’s so special about today?” Chris asks.

His hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail, his face no longer scruffy with stubble. The beard is shaved close to the skin, setting off his luminous green eyes. He looks more handsome than ever, and I’m reminded how different we all look when we’re clean.

“It’s just a special day,” I shrug.

It’s just my birthday.

Chris and Jeff follow me to the food line. We grab trays, utensils and plates. The breakfast is comprised of eggs and potatoes. Rich in calories, protein and starch. Enough to keep an army going.

And lots of coffee.

We join Sophia and the others at the table.

Today is my birthday, and it’s a good day. A great day. I’m safe and sound. I’m sitting next to my friends and the man I love. I have food and water. I’m fighting for a good cause.

Even in the middle of the end of the world, I can have a good day.

We finish our meals and head out of the Chow Hall, towards the training center. This is our routine. Breakfast, then drilling the militiamen and women. Everyone has to be kept on their toes.

But our routine is interrupted by Angela. She’s walking towards us, flanked by Vera. “The Colonel has called an emergency meeting,” she says. Her graying hair is pulled into a bun that matches Vera’s. “Something’s wrong.”

“What’s going on?” Chris asks. All of us change direction, heading back to the briefing room further underground. “Angela?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “But it’s not good.”

Alexander accompanies us, since he and I are both officers. Lieutenants, to be exact.

“Come on, Sophia,” I say.

“I’m not an officer,” she mumbles. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

I frown, unable to argue with her at the moment.

“Okay.”

She heads off with Jeff and Derek, while Max joins us, too. By the time we reach the briefing room, I’m buzzing with worry. What’s wrong? The Colonel is waiting with his arms crossed, a cigar in his mouth. Of course.

“We’ve got forty-eight hours,” he says.

The doors slam shut behind us.

“What do you mean by that?” I demand.

“Omega’s moving faster than our estimates,” Colonel Rivera replies. “We have to move out ASAP to set our forces at the choke point.”

“Whoa, hold it,” Derek interjects. “We were supposed to have one more week to plan for this.”

“Plans change,” Colonel Rivera says. “Warfare isn’t predictable, son.”

“We can be ready to move by morning,” Chris replies, calm.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Here.” Colonel Rivera takes a map out of the desk drawer and unrolls it across the table. It depicts two major interstates converging into one highway at the base of a mountain range.

“That’s the Grapevine,” I say, a chill crawling up my spine.

I haven’t been back to those mountains since I escaped from Culver City.

“That’s right. The Tehachapi mountains, south of Bakersfield and the main highway coming out of Los Angeles.” Colonel Rivera answers. “Enemy forces will be using the I-5 highway to move their troops into the valley. They’ll have troop transports, armored vehicles, artillery, air support. Our scouts are gathering intelligence as we speak and relaying reports via radio from Los Angeles.”

“What about air support?” Alexander replies.

“They’ll have some, but no more than we’ll have.”

“We have air support?” I say.

“We will.” Colonel Rivera takes a long drag on his cigar. “We’ll be deploying all of our troops here at Sector 20.”

“There are at least five thousand enemy combatants headed this way,” Alexander says. “We’re outnumbered five to one.”

“That’s why we’ll choke them on the interstate,” Chris replies. “We have a good chance of stopping their advance if we can face them in tight, steep, rocky terrain. We can maneuver faster than they can.”

As they talk, I study the map. I remember that interstate well. Chris and I drove the last stretch of it after a violent encounter at a gas station in Santa Clarita on our way out of LA. Desperate, dangerous mobs roved the freeway. They stole my car and destroyed it.

So yeah. Not many happy memories of that road.

“Be honest with us,” I say, interrupting their discussion. “What are our chances?”

Colonel Rivera shakes his head.

“Kid, this is war,” he replies.

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what chance do we really have of pushing them back? Of stopping their advance into the valley?”

“The odds aren’t in our favor,” Alexander agrees.

“We’ve got something worth fighting for,” Chris shrugs. “We’re motivated, and we’re smarter than they are. They’ll be met by National Guard forces on all entrance points into the valley. They won’t be expecting much of a fight at that particular ambush point, and that’s how we’ll lure them in.”

“What happens if we can’t stop them?” I ask. “Then what?”

Silence.

“We’ll stop them,” Chris answers. “We have no choice.”

I nod slowly, moistening my lips.

“Or die trying,” I whisper.

Because if we can’t stop Omega’s push on the west coast, they’ll take over California. And that could be the beginning of the end of the militia’s rebellion.

Hours later in the Dugout, I’m staring at a half melted birthday candle in the palm of my hand. There’s a huge cabinet along the back wall stuffed with odds and ends. Items like napkins, paper plates and sealed bags of candy. The kind of things nobody can buy anymore. The birthday candle is something I found in the bottom drawer next to a bottle of champagne that has never been opened.

There are only a few people in the Dugout tonight. Sophia is sitting with Alexander at a couch in the far corner. He’s got his arm around her shoulders as they talk in quiet voices. Funny how things have changed between them. How she’s been confiding in him more than in me lately.

Other soldiers are gathered around a plastic table, their feet kicked up, playing poker. I sit cross-legged on the floor, my back pressed against the wall. There is a tense feeling in the air. The anticipation and fear of what’s about to happen. About leaving. Deploying would be the proper term, I guess. Whatever. Either way you slice it, we’re likely marching off to a major bloodbath.

“We’re going to be okay,” I whisper. “We’re all going to be okay.”

I’ve been repeating this phrase over and over to myself for a long time now. It’s not that I haven’t been in combat before. I’ve seen plenty of firefights and held my own with the tough guys. But this is going to be different. This isn’t a hit and run attack. This is a full on nosedive into a major battle. The lines have been drawn, and once we get out there, there’s no escape. It’s not like fighting in the mountains. Make a mistake? Hide behind a tree.

Out here there’s nowhere to hide.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” Chris says. His shadow falls over me as he gets down on his knees, scooting beside me. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you holding a burnt candle?”

I offer a weak smile and hold the candle up to eye level.

“Today’s my birthday,” I shrug.

Chris smiles sympathetically.

“You should have told me.”

“Well…it’s not like you can get me a box of chocolates.”

“A guy can try.” He slips his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close to his chest. “Happy birthday, Cassie.”

I sigh, enjoying his warmth.

“I always thought I’d be celebrating my birthday in Disneyland for my twentieth,” I say. “My Dad and I had plans.”

“Plans sometimes get postponed.”

Chris says the words, but we both know that postponed is the least offensive word he could possibly come up with to substitute for the world ended and screwed up your plans.

“We should go out to dinner sometime,” Chris says.

“Oh, yeah. That’s going to happen. And the electricity is going to come back on, too,” I reply sarcastically.

He tilts his head, nodding at the glowing lights on the ceiling of the Dugout.

“If the National Guard can do it, the rest of the country can, too,” he says. “That’s why we’re doing what we’re doing. So we can turn the power back on. So we can start over and rebuild.”

I trace my finger over the edges of the buttons on his jacket.

“You have to promise me something,” I whisper.

He leans closer.

“Promise me that when we get out to the front lines,” I continue, “we’ll stay together.”

Chris slowly brushes the hair away from my face, studying my expression.

“We’ll stay together,” he promises.

“I love you,” I say. “You know that, right?”

He nods, kissing me on the forehead. But he says nothing, not returning the words. And that bothers me for some reason. How hard can it be to say I love you? Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way. Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

A few soldiers are sitting at various places in the Dugout, pen and paper in hand. I don’t have to ask to figure out what they’re doing: writing their wills. Their goodbye letters to their families and friends. Because if they don’t come back – and there’s a good chance they won’t – they want to leave their loved ones with something to remember.

Hours later, as I’m getting ready to settle in for the night, I grab a scrap of notebook paper from my backpack and a pen. I spread the paper out on my knee and take a deep breath.

Dad, I love you. I love you too, mom, even though I haven’t seen you in forever. Sophia, Derek, Max and Alexander: thanks for being my friends. It’s nice to know that if I’m going to die, I’ll die fighting side by side with the people I trust and respect more than anybody in the world. Chris, I love you. Meeting you was the only thing right about the end of the world. Thank you for taking care of me.

Cassidy Hart

20 Years Old

Codename Yankee

I fold the paper and stick it in the pocket of my boot. If I die, this is the first place they will look for a last will and testament, right next to my name and blood type written in permanent marker on the side of my boot. I now understand the angst of every young man or woman who has gone to war. Writing your own will when you’re twenty years old is not something I thought I would be doing when I graduated from high school not long ago.

I fold my hands together and close my eyes.

Let us survive this, I pray. Please.

That’s all I want. That’s all any of us want.

Survival.

Chapter Eleven

The entire National Guard force is rolling out of Sector 20. Aside from personnel that have been left behind to guard the base, there are a little over one thousand soldiers with us. Our convoy is massive, made up of military and civilian vehicles. SUVs, motorcycles, cars, pickups, armored vehicles. I am riding in a Humvee with Chris and Angela. Max, Derek, Alexander, Vera and Sophia are assigned to other vehicles in the group. If something happens to the officers in one vehicle, you don’t want to put all your eggs in one basket, so to speak. Colonel Rivera is somewhere near the front of the convoy.

Chris is in the front passenger seat. I’m sitting behind him, Angela on my left. The small, thick windows of the Humvee shed bright daylight into the backseat. The top gunner in the turret of the vehicle is alert, watching the sides of the streets for ambushes. Right now we’re weaving our way through the streets of Fresno, passing old shopping malls and ghettos. Shaw Avenue. Willow. Ashlan. Besides the gangs, the city is virtually deserted. There’s hardly any food or fresh water here, so why would people stay?

“Where do you think everybody went?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Angela says.

“I mean in the cities. Like Fresno.” I jerk my thumb at the window. “There were a lot of people who lived here. Where did they go? Did they all run to the countryside and the mountains to try to find food after the grocery stores got raided?”

“A lot of them died in the attacks,” Angela replies, her expression veiled. “Omega killed so many. Those that survived ran to the country, and even more of them died there.” She sighs heavily. “But most of them are under Omega’s control, imprisoned. The cities that are still populated have been taken over. It’s a police state nightmare.”

“Apparently Fresno isn’t too much of an Omega hotspot,” I comment.

“They cared enough about Fresno to wipe out half the population and destroy the city,” Angela replies. “They didn’t count on resistance. We gave them that. We’ll give them more.”

Right. Which is why we’re leaving. Possibly going to our deaths. I stare out the window, watching the scenery roll slowly past. Chris has remained silent for the duration of the journey so far, listening to the radio traffic as scouts and units report back and forth. I’m guessing he’s thinking about everything that’s coming our way.

So am I.

So is everybody.

I lean my head against the seat and squeeze my eyes shut. A sick feeling pools in the pit of my stomach. Anxiety? No doubt. Confusion. Yes, that too. I’ve told Chris I love him a couple of times now and he’s never returned the words. Why? It shouldn’t bother me that he remains silent. Should it?

You’re an idiot, my conscious snaps. Of course he loves you. He wouldn’t have stuck with you this long if he didn’t. Chris just doesn’t know how to say how he feels. Be patient with him. Actions speak louder than words anyway, right?

Yeah, yeah. Right. I know.

It doesn’t make me feel any better. In fact, it makes me feel like a naïve schoolgirl, blurting my feelings out to him while he’s remained tight and constrained this whole time. Well, somewhat tight. I guess the kissing and hugging and comforting words should be a sign that he cares about me.

Quit being naïve, I think. You’re twenty years old, not fifteen. Chris loves you. You know that. He’ll say it when he’s ready to say it. Just let it go.

I open my eyes.

“Okay, then,” I say.

Angela gives me a weird look.

“Sorry,” I shrug.

Nothing like an internal pep talk to perk up the morning.

As the first hour drags by, I find the original nervous edge I’ve been carrying all morning beginning to wear off. It turns into mere impatience and boredom. It takes hours longer than it should to get where we need to be because we can’t take a direct route on the interstate. As far as we know, Omega has been using the old highways to move their convoys throughout the state when they can, so we want to avoid them.

Several hours later, we roll into Bakersfield.

An eerie sense of “I’ve been here before” hits me. Because yeah. I’ve been here before. And the last time I came through was a year ago with Chris. We were on foot, the city had been turned into a concentration and death camp, and we only escaped with our lives because an old man named Walter Lewis showed us a secret passage out of the city.

We drive through the remote areas, avoiding the freeways. Unlike the last time I was here, Omega is absent. Buildings are burned, blasted, destroyed, vacant. Intel has reported that the POW camp that was here last year is gone. We take a turn on a big boulevard behind a rest stop by the freeway. The remains of barbed wire and metal fencing is scattered around an abandoned parking lot. The burnt carcasses of trucks and trailers sit on the asphalt.

Was this the death camp we saw?

I don’t know. It looks so different. What happened to it?

“Militia,” Chris says simply. He doesn’t even have to look at me to know what I’m thinking. “Militia did this. Somebody like us.”

I wonder what happened to Walter Lewis. I’d like to find his apartment building and see if he’s still alive. But I’m not in charge, and we have no time for that. We’re on a schedule.

We’re trying to save what’s left of the world here.

Sorry, Walter. Next time. I promise.

“Bakersfield isn’t far from the Chokepoint,” I say.

The Chokepoint is what we’ve been calling our destination.

Chris nods. He’s been staying in communication with the other Humvees via encrypted radio, big black boxes that look like cell phones from the nineties. But hey. It’s better than the alternative. We could be using smoke signals or two tin cans and a string. Because honestly, that’s where we were without radios.

After a bit more time elapses, I see it. Without urban pollution, the Tehachapi Mountains are tall and clear against the afternoon sky. I stifle a shudder, thinking of the fear and confusion I felt when Chris and I were fleeing Los Angeles through those hills.

“We’re here,” I breathe.

Nobody replies. Nobody needs to.

This is where we make our last stand.

Laval Road. I remember this place. A huge rest stop on the side of the interstate, surrounded by fast food restaurants and gas stations. I stopped here with my father on our way to and from our cabin in the mountains. Summer vacations.

Last time I was here, there were a lot of dead bodies. Blood on the road. Omega had rolled in and executed innocent people. At the time, Chris and I didn’t know who Omega was, or that they were even here. We just knew something was wrong.

Now we know what.

And Laval Road isn’t looking so bad today. No dead bodies. No blood. Everything is abandoned, but hey. It makes for a good rest stop for the convoy. We need to refuel. What better place to do it than here?

Our convoy rolls to a halt in front of an empty restaurant. The Iron Skillet, the sign says. The windows aren’t broken, miraculously. The front door is cracked, halfway open. Our driver kills the engine and Angela, Chris and myself exit the vehicle. I stretch my stiff legs. The air is heavy and hot. Not even the slightest hint of a breeze.

“This is just creepy,” I mutter.

Chris shrugs off his jacket and throws it in the front seat of the Humvee.

“Looks different than the last time we came through, doesn’t it?” he asks.

“Where did all the dead bodies go, I wonder?” I say.

“Either they rotted into oblivion or somebody cleaned them up and buried them. Or burned them.” Vera stands at the rear of our vehicle, arms crossed. “Ever smelled burning flesh, Hart? The scent is sickly sweet.”

I level my gaze.

“You’re sick, Vera,” I state. “Keep it to yourself.”

And my temper is in full force today.

She squares her jaw, knowing better than to push me right now. In front of everybody. Especially in front of Chris, who is just out of earshot at the front door of the restaurant. I join him, searching the convoys for familiar faces. All of our heavy artillery is in tow – you can’t rush the heavy stuff. And according to Colonel Rivera, we should have air support out here by tonight. That should be awesome. Helicopters, jets – courtesy of the air force.

The militia begins exiting their vehicles, the transports dumping our troops onto the asphalt. Procedural searches of the area begin. Vera finds her mother and the two converse for a moment. It strikes me then how odd it is that Angela seems like such a levelheaded, decent human being while her daughter is a complete idiot.

Just an observation.

Inside, the restaurant is covered in a fine layer of ashes. The booths and tables and chairs are ghostly white with a grayish tint. It smells like something died in here, too. I wrinkle my nose.

“Can we please wait inside a different building?” I say. “This is dirty.”

“No. This restaurant’s got a good view of the rest of the area,” Chris replies, offering a crooked grin. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to the smell.”

“Joy.”

He pats my shoulder and continues through the building. I follow him into the kitchen. It’s empty. Lonely. Forgotten. Never to be used again.

It makes you wonder what happened to the employees and owners when the EMP went down. When Omega rolled in and started their systemic executions. We may never know, because all of the witnesses are dead.

“Puts a chill in the bones, doesn’t it?”

Colonel Rivera marches through the kitchen door, his eternally present cigar wedged between his teeth. He kicks the door on a fridge open. A heinous smell wafts out of it. I barely manage to avoid gagging all over the Colonel’s boots.

“You were here just a couple of days after the EMP hit, weren’t you?” he asks, looking at me. “At least, I know Young was.”

“I was with him,” I nod.

“And?”

“And it was a graveyard, sir. Dead bodies everywhere.”

He rubs his chin, deep in thought about something.

“You ever wonder how they got here so fast?” he asks, shifting his gaze to Chris. “How were they mobilized and ready to kill everybody on the whole damn planet within just forty-eight hours after the EMP hit?”

“They were planted here ahead of time,” I say.

“But how?”

“They were hiding,” Vera states, crossing her arms.

“Right, right.” Colonel Rivera casts a curious glance at Chris, who’s standing near the door with a concerned expression on his face. “But who was letting them hide here? Because you and I both know something this big had to go down with a whole lot of inside help.”

“What are you saying, sir?” I ask.

“I’m just stating a fact.” The front door bangs open and a group of our scouts come inside, here to report to Chris. “Somebody planted Omega troops and vehicles and weapons here years ago. Who was it? And how the hell did they get away with it?”

“We could debate this for hours,” Chris says, “but we can’t right now. We have work to do. Let’s go.”

He turns away from the Colonel, conversing with the scouts. Apparently the rest area is safe.

“It’s worth some thought,” Colonel Rivera says, studying his cigar. “That’s all I’m saying. It’s worth some serious thought.”

I return to the front of the restaurant and walk outside, searching for my friends. Derek is across the street at an old travel convenience shop. Max and Jeff are with him. Alexander is with Sophia at the far end of the convoy, giving orders to the newer recruits.

All of these people. All of these soldiers.

All of them ordinary folks like me.

The colonel is right. Maybe it is worth some serious thought about who helped Omega infiltrate the United States. Maybe there’s a deeper reason for this collapse than a straightforward invasion and electromagnetic pulse. Maybe it’s something worse.

Way worse.

But what?

“Hey.” Angela steps outside, her radio in her hand. “They found something.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s on the south side,” Chris states, holstering his own radio. “Come on.”

We follow him around the backside of the restaurant. Behind it is a dirt lot. There’s a fence around the square patch of land. A sheet of metal has been chained to the support beams in the fence.

The lot has been tamped down, clearly dug up not too long ago and then filled in. It’s a fairly large square of land. Tears burn the back of my eyes, sizzling like acid in my throat. The sheet of metal is streaked with black spray paint. Letters. I can hardly read them through the tears blurring my vision.

THE FALLEN

THEY DID NOT DIE IN

VAIN

Below the words is a crude depiction of an American flag. This has got to be the work of a militia group. Who else would take the time to bury this many dead? And beneath the flag are four words. A promise. A threat.

WE WILL FIND YOU

Game on.

Later, we move the convoy forward. Away from the rest stop at Laval Road. To the Chokepoint itself. It is located at the foot of the Tehachapi Mountains. The pinch in the freeway, right after the two major interstates merge to become the single Interstate 5.

Right to the side of the Chokepoint is a parking lot with another restaurant. This one is similar to the Iron Skillet back at Laval Road, only it was once called Taco House. A Mexican eatery. Dozens of piñatas hang from the ceiling here, covered in dust. Many of them riddled with holes due to termites, mice and moths. We have based our Headquarters in this building – since it is the only building in sight. Our forces are otherwise spread out. We don’t want to group everyone in a single spot. It’s too much of a temptation for the enemy.

It’s midnight when I hear it. The sound of a rumbling engine, a clear contrast against the stark silence of our encampment. Our men have secured the area for us, and we are gearing up for what could quite possibly be our last fight. There are no exterior lights. No noises. We are as silent as the night itself, tucked into the shadows of the mountains.

And then this.

I’m sleeping in a booth inside the restaurant. Chris’s arm is around my shoulders and I’m slumped against his chest. A pile of maps are unrolled on the table in front of us. The moonlight was bright enough to read by, but we fell asleep eventually, exhausted.

Until the engine sound. It’s clear and defined. And familiar. I perk up, straining. The engine gives a slight hiccup. I sit straight up, shaking Chris’s arm. “Hey,” I say. “Wake up. Come on.”

“What?” He stirs, drawing me closer.

“Hear that?”

He opens his eyes, foggy with sleep.

“Oh, great,” he murmurs.

“Don’t be such a killjoy.” I wiggle out of his embrace and run through the restaurant, jogging outside. The sound is louder now. Yes. I head to the stretch of southbound freeway outside the restaurant.

“We’ve got air support coming in,” I say to a patrol at the road.

“Finally,” he replies.

I stand on the sidewalk, grinning. The silhouette of a biplane flits across the moon for an instant, circling a couple of times before coming in for a landing. It coasts into a tottering U-turn, comes to a slow halt and finally the engine cuts out. I approach the plane with a wide smile on my face.

“Manny, you idiot,” I laugh. “I thought something happened to you!”

“You thought wrong, my dear.” Manny stands up in the cockpit, goggles glinting with moonlight, flight cap sticking up like a dunce hat. “But I take it as a compliment coming from you. You must have been worried.”

“I wasn’t worried. I knew you’d make it here sooner or later.” I fold my arms across my chest as he climbs down, his boots hitting the ground with a thud. “But it’s nice to see you here either way.”

“I agree,” he says, pushing the goggles around his neck. His pupils are dilated with adrenaline. “You know how long it took me to find your bloody National Guard unit? Two days. I showed up at Sector 20 and the people there told me that you’d deployed to the Chokepoint. What’s the big idea?”

“The idea is that we’re going to stop Omega’s advance into the valley,” I reply. “Why did it take you so long to get to Sector 20? You were supposed to be there a long time ago.”