Текст книги "State of Rebellion"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

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“Rivera, do you copy? Over.”

“Alpha One this is Rivera, over,” the radio crackles. “I can’t send backup in there, get yourself out. You’re in a hole.”

“We need backup now,” Chris growls. “My men are dying.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s a negative.”

My heart drops to my stomach. Why wouldn’t Rivera back up the militia? Getting out of here is going to be a lot harder without…I grab the radio on my belt.

“Sundog, this is Yankee, over,” I say.

The vehicle suddenly lurches forward and the convoy starts moving, retreating from the area. The mortars and gunfire are going wild outside. I clutch at the door handle for support as the Humvee crashes over a bump, heading downhill.

“Yankee, this is Sundog,” Manny replies. “What seems to be the problem?”

“We’re boxed in. We need your help.”

“Of course you need my help. Rivera’s not good for anything, now is he?”

“Just do something!”

Two minutes pass. Two long, painful minutes. It’s impossible to hear anything over the roar of engines and the constant smattering of detonations, but I know the exact instant when Manny arrives. The peppering of bullets on the left hand side of the Humvee suddenly drops off. I press my face against the window and tilt my head up, straining at the sky. Manny’s biplane is ridiculously low, sweeping over the hillside, too close and too fast for anybody to really react. His little biplane is outfitted with modern weaponry and I can almost see Manny’s flight cap blowing back in the wind as he takes another dive.

He’s brave.

Or crazy. One of the two.

Probably just crazy.

“He’s just in time,” I say.

“He’s insane,” Chris replies. “Thank God.”

No kidding.

What the hell is Rivera’s problem? Denying us backup? Whose side is he on?

As the convoy continues to move, my body is still buzzing with adrenaline and shock. It’s keeping my senses sharp, keeping any pain from seeping into my body. Something has gouged out a bloody gash in my shoulder. Shrapnel, maybe? Whatever it is, I can’t feel it yet. But I will. Later. If I’m still alive.

“Hey, what the hell happened?”

Jeff swings his head around from his spot on the front seat. I hadn’t even realized that he was inside the vehicle until now.

“Omega sent guerrilla mercenary forces out ahead of their ground troops,” Chris replies. “That’s what happened. How come none of our scouts or our cameras picked this up?”

“Maybe somebody hacked our system,” Jeff suggests. “Maybe—”

Bam.

Something explodes right in front of our Humvee. I scream as the vehicle jerks upward and flips sideways, slamming down on its roof. My head smacks against metal as flames ignite around the car. I am unable to move for a few beats, dazed and shocked from the brunt of the impact. I move slowly to orient myself, crawling on hands and knees as my head spins. The scene around me melts like hot wax, fading, fading…

Stay conscious! I scream at myself. Don’t do that!

I force myself to remain awake, a physical effort that my body fights. I look up, head throbbing. Gasoline, oil…something must be leaking. We have to get out of this vehicle. Now.

“Cassie, come on, do what I do,” Chris instructs, flipping himself over. The driver is kicking frantically at his door while Jeff’s head lolls to the side. He’s out cold. Great.

“You get Jeff!” I yell. “I’ll get the door open!”

Chris moves towards his unconscious brother while I pull on the door handle. No dice. It’s jammed into the dirt, stuck. I kick and kick at the glass, but the windows are too small to climb through, anyway.

“Chris…” I say. “There’s no way out!”

Chris drags Jeff’s body from the front seat, resting his boots against the side door. He crawls into the rear of the vehicle, pulling a crowbar out of the equipment area. He uses it to pry the door open, his strong arms doing the work that I couldn’t.

“You first,” he says. “Get out and find cover. Do not stop moving.”

I don’t hesitate. I crawl on my hands and knees across the upside down cab, pulling myself through the door, slicing my hands on the shards of glass. I stay low to the ground and turn around, taking Jeff’s shoes, helping yank him through the opening. Chris bears the brunt of his brother’s weight as we drag him outside. The driver follows us out the window, and for the first time today I realize that I know this man. Uriah. He was the sentry guard at Camp Freedom.

“Uriah?” I say, dazed.

He doesn’t respond. I follow his line of sight. The Humvee in front of us has been totaled, a twisted mass of metal and flames. To the right is a slope covered in thick brush and trees. We slide down the dirt embankment, taking Jeff with us. We stay on our stomachs beneath the foliage as I frantically attempt to wake Jeff up. He’s slowing us down. Wake up, wake up!

I feel the panic begin to creep in.

Keep it together. Stay calm. Come on, panic is what gets people killed.

Rivulets of sweat slide down my forehead, slipping behind the collar of my jacket. I’m soaked in the stuff, sticky with blood, dizzy with fear. As I raise my head just enough to see over the bushes, I can only watch in horrified fascination as white streaks of smoke cut through the air. RPGs and mortar rain down on the mountainside, plastering the hills in flames and dramatic sprays of dirt. It all seems to happen in slow motion, like a camera hovering over a scene in a movie.

And then I see them. Four tiny black dots in the air, coming steadily closer. Silently. Like hawks. Manny’s biplane takes a twist and turns in front of us, diving down the side of the biggest hill, heading towards base with a rumbling screech.

“Smoke!” Chris yells. Uriah flips onto his back and grabs an air support marker off his belt. It looks like a grenade and works the same way. Pop the key ring, throw the canister and look out. Uriah does exactly that and bright yellow smoke begins spewing from the marker. At that moment Jeff stirs, jerking out of unconsciousness with a start.

“Easy, easy,” I soothe. “We’re out of the vehicle. Are you injured anywhere I can’t see?”

“No, I’m okay…” he mumbles. “I just hit my head.”

“I noticed that. Stay down.”

The black dots head in our direction, no doubt locking onto the yellow smoke. Chris slaps his hand on the back of my neck and shoves my head down, my cheek pressing against the earth. The black dots are no longer dots, but full-on fighter jets. Allies. Hello, Air Force.

Did Colonel Rivera order them out here? I thought he had denied us backup.

The jets streak past so quickly that I can barely track their progress through the air, their engines screaming loud enough to rupture my eardrums all over again. Chris keeps his hand on my head, making it impossible for me to lift myself up and see everything that’s happening – a good thing; otherwise I’d probably end up getting fried by a stray piece of shrapnel.

The jets let their weaponry loose on the mercenary forces. Their missiles explode behind us with brilliant accuracy, precision and timing. A rush of pride fills my heart. That’s the United States Air Force coming to our aide. How cool is this?

Well. It would be cool if everything didn’t suck.

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the jets to blast the enemy and blow everything to kingdom come. I close my eyes, concentrating on Chris’s hand on my head, on Jeff’s breathing beside me. After what seems like forever, the noise subsides and Chris eases his grip, slowly rising from his position. I roll to my side, dripping in sweat and mud, caked from head to toe in ashes.

Jeff’s face is deathly pale, but he has no exterior wounds. I’m guessing he has a concussion. I’m guessing we all have one.

“Move,” Chris commands, crouching. “Do not break cover.”

I nod, licking the blood off my lips, staying low in the shrubbery, slinking into the trees. The interstate dips here into a small canyon. There’s a large green water tank, along with a single acre of dead grapevines. Who opted to grow grapes right in the middle of a freeway I have no idea, but whatever. People are weird, right?

Chris stays in communication with the rest of the surviving members of the convoy using his radio, but my radio is dead. The top of the device is smashed, crushed when the Humvee flipped over.

I stop and take a breather on the other side of the water tank. Pieces of paint are peeling off the rusty rungs of the ladder that leads to the top.

“We’ve got a few miles back to base,” Uriah pants. His hair falls in dark waves across his face, but the dirt and grime make it impossible to identify any other distinguishing features. “We won’t make it back in one piece.”

“We won’t even have to try,” Chris replies, keeping a firm grip on Jeff’s arm. His brother looks like he’s about to barf. “I’ve got someone coming to pick us up. We just have to get to a safe place to get inside the vehicle.”

“I don’t want to get blown up again,” I mutter.

“The Air Force just eliminated the mercenary forces,” Uriah says. “We’ve got nothing to worry about at the moment.”

“Right, right. There’s only a five thousand man army coming around the corner.” I shrug. “No big deal.”

“Enough,” Chris states, pointing to the end of the small canyon. “Through there, right at the edge of northbound freeway is where our ride will be.”

“It’s not Manny, right?” I say, swallowing.

“No. It’s not Manny.” Chris eggs me forward. “Go ahead with Uriah. I’ll follow with Jeff.”

“But—”

“—Now.”

I bite back my arguments and do as I’m told. I am a soldier, after all. Following orders is starting become natural. Sort of. Uriah moves out and I follow, scared to death that a sniper will pop out of the bushes and kill me. It’s easy to do. I do it all the time.

Thirty agonizing seconds pass before we find cover, run underneath the interstate overpass and pause, waiting for Chris and Jeff to catch up.

“I heard you have quite a reputation as a sniper, Yankee,” Uriah says, breathing hard. “Is that true?”

“Maybe,” I reply. “And you can call me Cassidy, by the way.”

“I’m Uriah.”

“Nice to officially meet you.”

“Yeah, same here.”

Chris comes around the corner, steadying Jeff. Poor kid doesn’t look like he’s going to be able to go on much longer. Chris’s radio crackles.

“Alpha One, we are in position, over.” Max’s voice.

“Copy that. On our way,” Chris replies.

“Man, radio makes everything easier,” I comment.

“Let’s go,” Chris says. Reminding us that we’re trying to get from point A to point B. Like, now. So we run through the last strip of open space under the interstate. I can’t help but feel like the giant cement pillars holding the sloping freeway up look like ancient ruins. Remnants from another civilization. Another time.

In some ways I guess there’s truth to that.

As we round the corner, we approach an uphill slope on the side of the interstate. We begin to climb, and by this point every step I take is beyond exhausting. Like dragging cinderblocks on my feet. My calf muscles burn, my lungs ache. Spots dance across my vision, threatening to take over completely.

We reach the top.

I kneel on the cement and take a few desperate gulps of oxygen, aware of the presence of a small convoy about twenty feet away from us. Our men. Has to be.

Chris, Jeff and Uriah crawl up behind me. And even now, overwhelmed as I am with physical stress, I find it funny that I am the first one to reach the top.

Tiny but mighty, I think. And fast.

Max exits the lead vehicle of the convoy, slamming the door shut behind him. He rushes over and helps Chris and Uriah handle Jeff’s weight.

“What happened to him?” he asks, brown eyes dark with concern.

“He got hit in the head,” Chris pants. “Help him inside. Let’s roll.”

Chris takes my arm – out of habit or merely because he’s still protective of me – and we walk together towards Max’s vehicle. We clamber into the backseat, Uriah right behind us. I collapse as the doors slam shut. The vehicle surges forward at full speed. Even if the Air Force did take out the mercenaries, there’s always a chance that some sicko stragglers were missed. We don’t want to get blown up again.

“How much time do we have?” Max asks from the front. “Chris?”

“Not much.”

Uriah and I share an uneasy glance.

I know what they’re talking about.

This is round one. Round two hasn’t even started yet.

Chapter Fourteen

The clock is ticking. Our militia forces have gathered Headquarters again this evening. The tension is thick in the air. Thick enough to cut with a knife. I’m sitting at a table in an old Jack in the Box – our current location for our medical staff. Chris, Uriah, Jeff, and dozens of other soldiers are being checked out by our medics. I stare numbly at the worn carpet as an anonymous doctor works on me.

“You’re lucky, kiddo,” Desmond would say. “You should be dead.”

I know, right? But I’m not. Not yet.

I peel my jacket off and hang it on the back of the chair, exposing the bloody mess that is my body. It’s not as bad as it looks. Tiny pieces of glass and shrapnel have lodged themselves into my skin. When I hold my arm up to the light, it glitters. There’s not a lot that can be done about the miniscule glass shards stuck in my arm, so I don’t worry about it. I just watch them check out Chris as I sit, studying his expression. He’s exhausted – anybody can see that. But his posture is tense and rigid, his face tight.

He’s not giving up.

Neither am I.

“Are you okay, Cassidy?” Sophia is wearing a medical jacket, helping the grossly understaffed medical team treat the wounded. “What happened out there?”

“What didn’t happen?” I shrug. “The Air Force came just in time.”

“Rivera didn’t order that strike. That was an independent decision on the Air Force’s part entirely.” She lowers her voice, sitting on the chair next to me. “I don’t know why Rivera wouldn’t send backup.”

“Because he’s an idiot,” I state. “Duh.”

“It’s not even logical, though. When you’ve got five hundred men out there that could potentially die, you send backup, right?”

“I guess he doesn’t consider the militias quite as valuable as his own platoons,” I reply. “Or he has something against Chris.”

“But what could he possibly gain from…?” she trails off, never finishing the sentence. “Cassidy, I’m sorry I got mad at you. I was upset and I was just unloading. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I lace my fingers through hers.

“I know,” I say. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“You haven’t heard anything from him, have you?”

“From Alexander? No.” I sigh. “How’s Jeff?”

“Fine. He’s got a concussion, but that’s all.”

It could be worse, I guess.

“What about Derek? Is he doing okay?”

“I haven’t seen him since he got back from the scouting mission.” She clears her throat at the mention of the moment she discovered Alexander was missing. “Who’s that guy?” She points to Uriah.

“That’s Uriah,” I reply. “He was the sentry guard at Camp Freedom.”

Uriah has washed the grime off his face, revealing an olive complexion and slightly shaggy, jet black hair. His eyes are dark – so dark they’re almost as black as his hair. It’s a striking combination, I have to admit.

“We’ve got a few hours before Omega comes around the corner,” I state.

“I know.”

“If Rivera won’t work with us, then we’re only half as strong as we thought we’d be.” I close my fist. “Is there anyplace on this planet where stupid people don’t end up being in charge of everything?”

Sophia shushes me, alarmed.

“Don’t talk that way too loud,” she warns. “There’s a lot of loyalty to Rivera in the National Guard.”

“Our militia is loyal to Chris.”

I grab my canteen of water from the table and take a long drink. The liquid oxygen does me good. I stand up and walk over to Chris, lowering myself into a chair next to him.

“Well?” I ask. “What’s our next move?”

“I talk to Rivera,” he replies.

His voice is strained, tired.

“What are you going to say to him? Thanks for screwing us over? I mean, come on. He’s an idiot. What’s his problem? He was supposed to back us up! That was the deal!”

“Technically, there was no deal,” Chris answers, raising his eyes to mine. Green eyes tinged with red. “We’re here strictly on a volunteer basis. We use their vehicles, their weapons, everything. Rivera’s men are under different orders.”

“He’s still an idiot,” I say.

“I’m not arguing with you about that,” he grins. “I’m just stating a fact.”

I sigh heavily and slump against the chair.

“This was supposed to be easier,” I say.

“Life was supposed to be easier, but here we are.” Chris leans forward and takes my hand. “You’ve grown a lot, Cassie. The way you conduct yourself in high stress situations is a lot different than how you survived last year.”

“Last year I was a stupid kid from L.A.,” I say.

“You weren’t stupid, just naïve.” He presses a soft kiss to my knuckles. “That was part of your charm.”

“Are you saying I’m not charming anymore?” I smile.

“You’re charming, just in a different way.” He kisses my hand once more, winking. “Let’s go talk to Rivera.”

“Us?”

“I want you there. Come on.”

We rise slowly, sore and drained. As we exit the Jack in the Box, I spot Manny’s biplane resting on the offramp/runway leading into the rest stop. I feel a small sense of relief. If his plane made it back in one piece, so did Manny.

“How many hours do you think we have until the first wave hits?” I ask.

“Maybe three.” He looks grim. “Tops.”

We are so screwed.

And yet I don’t voice my opinion out loud, as if giving life to the negative thought will make it a reality. I just don’t want to die yet. I want to hold onto the hope that somehow, someway, we’ll all survive this.

Or maybe I’m just a hopeless optimist.

Headquarters is filled with people. Derek is one of them, leaning casually against the bar, under a rainbow of dusty piñatas. He gives us a two-finger salute as we walk in the door. I smile, glad that he’s feeling better. A group of officers that are unfamiliar to me are gathered around Colonel Rivera – National Guard men from his platoons. Not that it should matter. We’re all National Guard here. But the resentment is there, simmering under the surface.

These are the people that left us alone at the front lines.

“Young, good to see you made it back,” Colonel Rivera states. He taps his cigar against the tabletop, standing near a lantern casting light on a group of open maps. “Hart, you too.”

Yeah, I can see how happy you are, moron.

It’s taking everything I have to keep my mouth shut and let Chris do the talking.

“We could have used backup out there,” Chris says simply.

“I couldn’t do that, boy. Too much risk. You were in a hole and sending my men up the interstate would have gotten them killed.”

“I would have sent my men to help yours.”

“That’s your method, not mine.” Colonel Rivera’s face is cold and hard. “This is war. Don’t get emotional, just look at everything strategically.”

“Strategically?” I snap. “We were ambushed by mercenaries on the front lines! You could have sent help and you didn’t because you’d rather make the militias do all the hard work so you can send your men in after us. Easier for you, and half of our men get sacrificed in the process. How is that supposed to be teamwork?”

A stony silence drops over the room.

I should have kept my mouth shut.

“We all have opinions,” Colonel Rivera replies slowly, never flinching. “Thanks for sharing yours. Now let’s move on.”

“You’re a jerk,” I say under my breath.

“Cassie…” Chris warns quietly.

I dig my fingers into the palms of my hands with so much pressure that I actually draw blood. How can he not be angry about this? How can Rivera be such an absolute moron? How can anybody be okay with this?

“We’ve got three hours at the most until Omega comes around that corner,” Chris says firmly. “We’ve got some forces out at the Chokepoint, but we’re going to need everybody out there. Everybody. Call in air support. We’ll take these suckers out little by little.”

“My men will follow your platoons,” Colonel Rivera replies. “You’re proficient in guerilla warfare techniques. Clear a path up the side of the hill and my men will be right behind you.”

“Why not join us at the front lines?” I say, seething. “Your men are just as capable as ours.”

A hushed murmur breaks out within the officers’ ranks.

“You don’t keep things to yourself, do you?” Rivera comments, twitching. “This is the way it’s going to be. Take it or leave it.”

“We’ll leave it,” I state.

“We’ll take it,” Chris replies, silencing me with a look. “But my men will not take the brunt of every attack. It will be equal. We’re a team, and we’ll operate like one.”

Rivera says nothing. He just watches us with a rigid, catlike expression on his face. I fix him with my most powerful glare as Chris steps up to the table of maps. They review the plan one more time. And I just stand there and watch. Derek and I lock gazes. He shakes his head slowly, as if to say, There’s no way this is going to end well.

I don’t want to agree.

But I have a terrible feeling about this.

A powerful clap on my shoulder jolts me out of the morbidity settling over the room. “Cheery gathering of folks, isn’t it?” Manny asks. His face is layered in black ashes and smoke. There are white circles around his eyes where his flight goggles were.

“He didn’t give us backup,” I hiss, keeping my voice low.

“He’s a military commander,” Manny replies, keeping his arm around my shoulders. “What do you expect? Politics, politics, politics.”

“Politics has nothing to do with it.”

“It has everything to do with it.” Manny shifts. He smells like fuel. “Men in power, they’re too often corrupted by it. Seen it happen a time or two before. That’s the two things age gives you, you know.”

“What two things?”

“Wrinkles and wisdom.” He winks. “Mostly wisdom in my case, of course.”

“Ha. Ha.” I smile. “Thanks for backing us up today, Manny.”

“That’s what I came here for.”

“Still. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, of course.” He pops his canteen of whiskey out of his pocket. “Drink?”

“No, thanks. I have enough to deal with.”

“It’ll take the edge off.”

I take a sniff.

“It smells disgusting.”

“I won’t argue with that.” He takes a swig. “But it works.”

I shake my head, noticing Angela standing at the table behind Colonel Rivera. Her eyes are red and her skin is pale. Stressed? Probably. I bet I look worse, though.

“Are we going to survive?” I ask.

There. I said it.

Manny takes one more long drink, drops it back in his duster pocket, and looks at the ceiling. “There’s always a chance,” he says. “And that’s all we need.”

“We need more than a chance. We need hope.”

“We have it.” He gestures around us. “Here we are. Hope.”

“This is like the day of reckoning. We either sink or swim.”

“Or we sink and build a submarine.” Manny laughs at his own joke. “Not everything is so black and white, my girl. Success and failure isn’t just win or lose in this situation. It’s progress. It’s pushing back. It’s standing up for our homeland. If you start thinking about everything that might happen, you’ll drive yourself out of your head.” He pulls at the gold shield necklace hanging around my neck. The chain Chris gave me for Christmas last year.

“Bad things happen. And good people try to fix it,” he continues. “Sometimes we win. Sometimes we lose. It’s not up to us to decide what’s going to happen. We can only kick the can around while we’re here and do our best.”

“Since when did you get so wise?” I ask.

“Since I got wrinkles.”

I close my eyes, letting the background noise slowly fade away. I focus my concentration on one thing: My family and my friends.

They give me hope.

They give us a chance.

After everything that’s happened in the past week, I forgot that Vera Wright even existed. She and Angela are standing next to me near the hood of a retrofitted suburban. The moon is glaringly white against the night sky, casting a powdery glow over the Tehachapi hills. Behind us is the flat expanse of the central valley, a literal bowl reaching in every direction as far as the eye can see, each corner created by a line of mountain ranges. In front of us is the opening to a canyon with two massive interstates jutting out of its mouth.

Vera is dead silent. She was far enough behind the front lines during the attack earlier today to avoid any injury, but I can tell that the episode rattled her nonetheless. A sign that Vera Wright is, perhaps, somewhat human.

“You girls stay here,” Angela says. “I’m going to speak with Chris for a moment.”

I say nothing as she walks away, leaving me alone with Vera.

A force of one thousand men is gathered here. I’m pumped full of pain medication, my hands have been bandaged, and my arm still has glass stuck in the skin. I am at the lead vehicle of the foremost line of defense. The kill zone, I’ve been told. The sacrifice.

Colonel Rivera is following our militia force of five hundred men with his own force. Thinking of him trailing behind us like a dog with its tail between its legs make me sick. What a coward. What a user. I can’t believe we’re leading this assault all on our own.

“You know,” Manny told me earlier, “The Romans used to send mercenary forces ahead of their troops to weaken the enemy. The mercenaries were always the sacrifice. The kamikazes.”

“And that’s what Omega did to us? Flooded us with mercenaries to shake us?”

“To attempt to weaken us.” He winked, then. “But it won’t work, will it?”

“You look tense, Hart,” Vera remarks.

“Sorry. I must have been thinking about the five thousand death troopers coming our way,” I reply.

“No need to be sarcastic.”

“This coming from the queen of vitriol.”

She impulsively checks her gear again, taking a deep breath.

“Look, I know we have a misunderstanding—” she begins, but I cut her off.

“You know what? You’ve been nothing but mean to me since the day I showed up at Camp Freedom,” I say, surprised at my calmness. “I don’t know what I did to you, and frankly, I don’t care. Just leave me alone, okay?”

Vera swallows, red blotches appearing on her pale cheeks.

“I couldn’t let you compromise my authority in camp,” she says. “My mother and I worked hard for what we had with the Legion.”

“I worked hard for what I had with the Freedom Fighters.” I shake my head. “We’re not doing this right now. This is not the time.”

“We might not get another time.”

Both of us lapse into silence. I realize for the first time tonight that I am trembling from head to toe. Shaking like a leaf.

I’m not cold. I’m terrified.

At that moment Angela returns with Chris. Chris’s hair is pulled back tightly. He’s wearing all of his combat gear. Uniform, boots, vest, weapons, radio. His vest weighs about sixty pounds. The one I wear is tailored to my smaller build, but it still weighs twenty pounds. And when you’re running for your life, twenty pounds is a lot.

Unfortunately, vests are a necessary item out here. It might save my life.

“So how does this work?” I ask. “Do they come around the corner and stare at us before we charge at each other, Narnia-style?”

Chris smiles weakly.

“It won’t be so obvious,” he says.

“No. It won’t.” Jeff approaches, along with Max, Derek, Uriah and Sophia. “We have to work together, guys. Remember that. We’re a team.”

“Can I say something?” Derek asks.

Nobody objects.

“We’ve all be through a lot together,” he says. “I mean, from banding together in the foothills and duking it out after that last ambush in Sanger, we’re pretty tight, right? We’ve got guts. And there’s no reason we can’t come out of this alive, too. We can do this, you guys.” He pushes his blonde hair off his forehead. “And I just want to say that I’m glad that I can fight for our homeland alongside people as honorable as you.”

I press my hand against my mouth to hide my trembling lips. A tear rolls down Sophia’s cheek. Chris claps Derek on the shoulder, and everyone goes around exchanging handshakes and farewell hugs.

Sophia and I pull each other close.

“I’ll see you when this is over,” I promise.

“Okay.” She places her thumbs on my cheeks. “Thanks for being my friend.”

“No,” I shake my head. “Thanks for being mine.”

She joins Derek and Max as they separate into a different platoon – what would have been Alexander’s platoon but is now combined with Max’s.

“Uriah’s with us,” Chris explains.

Jeff says something to his brother in a low voice and Chris squeezes his shoulder. I bend down and check the laces on my boots, feeling inside the pocket for my pocketknife, and below it, my last will and testament. The one I wrote while I was still at Sector 20.

My other knife – the lucky one that Jeff gave me – is strapped to my belt. I’ve got my shiny new rifle on my back, ammunition, and a black beanie stretched over my head, hiding my curly red hair.

As the others disperse, Vera takes up her position towards the front of the line. Our vehicles will only get us so far, and now we’ll have to go on foot from this point on. Omega will have tanks on the freeway, anyway, and we don’t need to get our vehicles blown up. We’ll have a better chance this way.

“Hey,” Chris says, catching me around the waist. “You ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, breathless. “You?”

He doesn’t answer the question.

“Be careful,” he pleads. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” I tell him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Right now, I couldn’t be more honest.

I slide my hands behind his neck and pull him into a soft, final kiss. He snatches the beanie off my head and ruffles my hair, pulling back only to kiss my cheek.

“Give me my hat back,” I tease, grinning.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll shoot you. Right between the eyes.”

One of the first things I ever said to him during our escape from L.A.

He falters then. For a split second, I see the emotion flickering behind his brilliant green eyes. The realization that everything we’ve been through – everything we have in this moment – might end tonight.

“I love you,” I whisper.

I press my cheek against his vest, wishing I could hear his heart beat through the armor and uniform. I always took such comfort in it during past moments of distress.

And so begins round two.