State of Pursuit (2 page)

“A long time,” Angela replies, unconsciously tensing. “A
very
long time.”

“Not that long,” Rivera says.

I glare, animosity simmering in my blood. My affection for Colonel Rivera is at zero. This man once denied the militia backup while we were under heavy fire. It’s safe to say that I’m not his number one fan.

And neither was Chris.

But Chris sucked it up, took charge and worked with him anyway
, my conscious says.
You should do the same,
or you’re going to explode. You’ve got to maintain control, Cassidy
.

Right. Control. Me.

I can do this.

“Can I contact the search team via radio?” I ask, moving toward the table.

“We’re radio silent,” Colonel Rivera growls, snapping his gaze up. “No contact.”

“But I need to-”

“-We all need to know.” Angela places a hand on my forearm. A dangerous move, considering the mood I’m in. “But we need to wait. They’ll be here.”

I slowly withdraw my arm and close my fists around the corner of the counter.

Waiting is driving me insane. I can’t wait.

I won’t.

“Good news, folks.” Manny bursts through the front door. His gray hair is hanging in wet strands to his neck, flight goggles and cap tight against his forehead. His coat is dripping, his face is covered in ash and soot. “They’re back,” he says. And this time, he looks right at me.

“They saw them.”

Last year, an EMP destroyed the technological infrastructure of the United States of America. Technology – everything from vehicles to microwave
ovens – died in an instant. Long story short, it screwed everything up.

Everything.

The country collapsed, anarchy ensued, people panicked and Omega – a shadow army arisen from the chaos – rolled in and invaded. I was living in Culver City, California at the time of the EMP – also known as an electromagnetic pulse. I barely escaped with my life from Los Angeles. I got separated from my father, and in the process teamed up with a former Navy SEAL named Chris Young. In the last year I’ve been imprisoned in an Omega slave labor camp, joined a militia called the
Freedom Fighters
, found my father, teamed up with the National Guard to fight Omega and barely survived a devastating betrayal by our own militiamen.

On the bright side, the militia forces and the remnants of the National Guard combined have pushed Omega back towards Los Angeles. On the negative side, we’ve lost a lot of good men and women – including our militia commander and the love of my life, Chris Young.

Not everything is rosy.

We’re stuck in a constant state of war. Despite our best efforts to fight against the threat of Omega – and drive back a five million-man army coming from China – we still have a long way to go. Our communication with the rest of the country is limited, and besides rumors,
what’s going down on the east coast is anyone’s guess. Nothing is completely clear, and that adds to our frustration. The enemy we fight is mostly a mystery. Where did they come from? How did they invade so quickly?

We may never have all the answers.

As for me, I watched one of my dearest friends die last night.

Jeff Young, Chris’s younger brother, was shot in the neck. Derek and Sophia survived, but there’s still no sign of Max or Uriah. Alexander Ramos – a gruff Lieutenant and a friend of Chris’s – went MIA before the battle even really began.

So many people have died.

So many bad things have happened.

But we continue to fight, to survive, because none of us are willing to give into Omega. They’ve killed so many innocent people. Wiped out the cities with chemical weapons, nuked the urban epicenters on the east coast, slaughtered the innocent civilians on the west coast in concentration and slave labor camps. They have had no mercy on us, so we cannot afford to have any on them.

It’s fight or die these days.

My father, the Commander of the
Mountain Rangers
in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, remains with his men to defend the rural and mountain population. Those of
us who chose to combine our forces with the National Guard to fight Omega were stationed for some time in Fresno, California, before deploying to the Chokepoint – where we are right now, at the base of the Tehachapi Mountains in southern California.

I am a Lieutenant in the militia, in charge of a platoon of snipers. My Commander is Chris, and my fellow officers are my friends. We are here purely on a volunteer basis, and although Colonel Rivera can give us orders, our loyalty ultimately lies with Chris.

Chris, who may be dead, and without whom I would not be alive.

The man that I will find, whatever the cost.

Chapter Two

“
What did they see?” I ask.

I am the first one to reach Manny. I clutch his forearm, desperate for good news. He gently squeezes my shoulder, a moment of kindness. Of comfort.

“I’ll let them report,” Manny replies. The door is still open. A wet and bedraggled man walks in, and I recognize him instantly. Uriah. He’s alive! My first instinct is happiness – yet another one of my comrades survived the fight. And then I’m angry. Because the last time I saw Uriah, he was abandoning Max on the battlefield in order to save his own skin.

Uriah is beaten. His uniform is in tatters, he is covered in mud and his eyes are red. His gaze meets mine. A relieved smile touches his lips.

I don’t return the gesture.

“Lieutenant True,” Colonel Rivera says. “Your report?”

He nods, nearly collapsing on the floor. Someone helps him into a chair. He is clearly exhausted and needs medical help. But we need this information
now
.

“I saw…them,” he pants, chest heaving. “They were…loading trucks…with prisoners of war.”

“Did you see Chris?” I ask, stepping closer. “Uriah? Did you see him?”

“It was hard to see
anything
in this weather,” Uriah replies.

“Where were they? Where were
you
?”

“I was unconscious in the mud,” he says, unflinching. My unspoken accusation hangs heavy in the air:
You left Max to die. You left all of us to die
.

“I was dragging my butt back to camp when I saw the trucks,” he continues, never taking his eyes from mine. “They were taking prisoners. Mostly officers. I didn’t see Chris, but I would assume that if he was alive, he would be with them.”

I take a deep, steadying breath.

So. The possibility remains: Chris
could
be alive.

“Are you
sure
?” Manny presses.

Uriah flicks his darkest, most menacing glare at him.

“I’m
positive
.”

I glance back at Colonel Rivera.

“We have to go after them,” I say. “I’ll take a platoon up the interstate and we’ll stop the trucks.”

“We’re not stopping anything,” Colonel Rivera snaps. “Our forces are in bad shape. We need to regroup and reorganize.”

“Chris Young has been taken
captive
!” I reply firmly. “We don’t have time to reorganize. We need to act
now
.”

“I will not compromise any more lives for the life of one Commander,” Rivera answers, a sour expression on
his face. “Regardless of whether or not it’s Young or any other officer.”

“We need Chris,” Manny interjects, keeping his hand on my shoulder. “There’s an enormous amount of loyalty to him in the militias, and he’s a damned good friend of mine.”

“The answer is no,” Rivera says.

“You can’t sentence him to death!” I yell.

I am furious. Once again, Rivera is denying us help when we need it most.

“We are
all
at risk,” he answers gravely. “This is a war.”

“We’re fighters. We can’t just give up.”

“I am preserving the men we have left.”

“You’re
hiding!
We have to go
after
those trucks!”

“We will not.” Rivera slams his cigar on the table, color bleeding into his cheeks. “We will regroup and pull back.”

Pull back? God, is he insane?

“But we pushed them out!” I counter. “Omega is on the defensive. We’ve got the initiative, and we should keep pressing.”

“Our mission is done.” Rivera folds the biggest map. “This discussion is over.”

“I won’t leave him to die,” I say, placing my fists on the table.

“He’s probably already dead.”

I press my lips together, burning with cold anger.

“You don’t want to do this,” I warn quietly.

Vera leans forward, frowning. Angela is frozen.

“It’s done,” Rivera answers.

There is no regret in his voice.

I say nothing. I glare at him, and as he continues folding the maps, I turn around and look at Manny. His expression is difficult to read – then again, my eyes are full of tears, so it’s hard to see straight. I push my way through the crowd inside the restaurant – all of them, and me - full of resentment, disappointment and frustration. When I step outside, the cold air is sharp against my cheeks.

I inhale slowly.

Keep it together. Don’t let them see you cry
.

So I don’t.

The old
Jack in the Box
that we’ve been using as a medical center is packed. Soldiers are crammed into every square inch of space, and the medical staff is working overtime. The building stinks of blood and sweat and pain. I sit on the curb outside the front door, listening to the moans and tortured screams of injured men.

It’s horrible. I want to run away and be free of it, but there is nowhere to go.

“I’m sorry, Cassidy.”

I raise my head slightly. Uriah is exiting the building. His hand has been bandaged and his wounds have been cleaned. He looks better.

“Sorry for
what
?” I say quietly.

“For what happened to Chris. And Jeff.” He swallows. “And Max.”

“What happened to Max is your fault,” I say simply.

“I didn’t leave him behind on purpose,” he answers.

“You ran
away
.” I stand up. “You abandoned him. All of us.”

“I was doing what I had to do to stay alive,” he counters.

“This isn’t about individual survival, Uriah,” I say. “This is about keeping the team alive. We’re all a part of the team. Or did you miss one of the three million times Chris pointed this out to us?”

“It was a mistake,” Uriah replies, his jaw tight. Dark eyes flashing. “I said I was sorry, and I’m not going to apologize again.”

“Good. Don’t.”

He sighs heavily.

“Look, Cassidy-”

“-That’s Lieutenant Hart to you,” I snap. “Go get some rest, soldier. You need it.” I shove my hands in my pockets and begin to walk away. Uriah catches my shoulder. I push his hand off and turn around, dangerously close to doing something violent. Tears still burn at the edges of my vision, blurring the world.

“I know this is difficult for you,” Uriah says, grabbing my shoulders. “I’ve watched friends die, too. I understand.”

I don’t move.

“Are you going to let Rivera get away with this?” he whispers.

I raise my chin.

“He’s not getting away with anything,” I answer.

I take a step back, giving him a warning look. I size him up. He’s a good six feet, black wavy hair, olive complexion. A strong soldier and a capable sniper. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he
did
just make a mistake in the heat of the battle.

Or maybe not.

But he has a point: Am I going to let Rivera get away with leaving Chris?

No
.

“Are Sophia and Derek okay?” I ask.

“They’re fine,” Uriah replies. “Minor injuries. Nothing compared to what happened to you…” He trails off, sadness in his voice.

I don’t want to hear anymore.

“Meet me at D2 at oh-eight-hundred,” I state. “Don’t be late.”

He looks curious. D2 is what we’ve been calling the empty coffee shop at the edge of the rest area. The D stands for
Dugout
, which was what we used to call the lounge area back at Sector 20, the National Guard Base in Fresno.

He nods. I walk away.

Uriah is right. I’m not going to let Rivera get away with this.

D2 was a nice place, once. The coffee bar is now cracked, patched with spare plywood. Chairs and tables are makeshift or broken. The soldiers that are gathered inside the small building are standing or sitting cross-legged on the floor. There are more here than I expected. Familiar faces. Uriah. Vera. Sophia. Derek. Manny.

Unfamiliar faces, too. New men and women. About thirty in all.

I’m standing on the other side of the bar.

It’s dark, cold. A gas lantern glows orange against the far wall.

“Thank you for coming,” I say, steadying my voice. Surprisingly, I am not nervous. I am hollow, except for the fiery coals of anger and frustration burning inside of me. Talking to a group of thirty does not scare me: losing Chris scares me
much
more than this. “You may have heard rumors about why I called this meeting.” I clear my throat, glance at Manny, and continue. He dips his head slowly, assuring me that I’m doing fine.

“As you know, Commander Young went MIA yesterday,” I continue. “According to intelligence reports, he is being taken, along with other militia officers, in Omega trucks. Those trucks are heading south on the interstate. South is where Omega is strongest. The epicenter of their western front is based in Los Angeles.”