State of Rebellion (Collapse Series) (6 page)

“You got to check out the gift shop later, kiddo,” Desmond says, driving towards the meadow. “They’ve got card games, refrigerator magnets. I think they’ve even got gummy bears.”

“
Gummy
bears?”

“Yeah. You know. Colorful. Edible.
Gummy
.”

“I know what they are.”

“Thank God. Imagine a kid that didn’t know what a gummy bear was.”

I roll my eyes, chuckling.

“How do they get their hands on this kind of stuff?” I ask.

“Whatever was left when the EMP hit is what they trade people for.” Desmond takes the right hand turn in the fork. “It’s real popular with
the kids. They like toys, you know? Besides, running a gift shop kind of makes people feel like they’re living in a real community. They swap stuff back and forth for all kinds of items.”

“It
is
real,” I say. “It’s just…different.”

He doesn’t reply.

He drops me off at the meadow. I thank him for his help, then watch our resident hippie drive off in the jeep, hanging one arm out the window. Carefree – or so it seems. I turn and walk towards the women’s barracks. Women of all ages are milling around the front steps of the small buildings. Laundry is hanging out to dry on tree branches.

I spot a familiar face from the
Freedom Fighters
and ask her if she’s seen Sophia. “Yeah, she’s in Bear Paw,” she says.

“Thanks.”

I head towards a cabin on the edge of the premises. Sophia is sitting cross-legged in the doorway, smiling serenely. “You were gone a long time,” she says. “What happened?”

“Dad took us to meet the militia commanders,” I reply.

“And?”

“And that’s pretty much it. There are six of them, counting Chris.”

“Are they friendly?”

“They’re okay.” I walk inside the cabin. Wooden bunk beds line each wall. Two sinks are pressed against the far end of the building, and there are two doors. One contains a shower. The other contains a toilet. “Do we have running water?”

“Yes.” Sophia grins. “It’s cold, but it’s great.”

“Who else is staying in our barracks?”

“You mean in Bear Paw?” she shrugs. “I don’t know. This was the only empty one left. Isabel is staying with the Youngs in a separate cabin.”

“Good.” I dump my backpack onto an unclaimed bottom mattress. “I guess we should settle in then.”

“I guess.”

I sit on the mattress, closing my eyes.

It’s time to rest.

Chapter Five

I end up oversleeping.

Like, a lot.

I simply plop back onto the plastic coated mattress and close my eyes, shutting out the world around me. I’m too exhausted to dream. I rest peacefully, waking only when Sophia nudges my shoulder.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she says. “Get up. Breakfast.”

I blink rapidly, shooting straight up and hitting my head on the top bunk. The wound in my side protests the sudden movement. I wince.

“Ouch!” I roll out of bed, rubbing the sore spot on top of my scalp, the stitches on my side. “That hurt.”

“Uh, huh.”

I unzip my backpack, rubbing my eyes. “Did anything happen while I was out?”

“Nope. Nobody’s in this cabin but you and me.” Sophia glances around the room, then wrinkles her nose. “You need to shower,” she says, tossing me a towel.

“Subtle hint?” I ask.

“Not
that
subtle. It’s been a week at least,” she grins.

“Okay, okay. I’ll shower.”

“I went out last night and checked out the camp while you were sleeping. I got these.” Sophia gestures to two stacks of neatly folded clothes on one of the empty bunks. “Clothes and shoes. There’s a supply shack up the road from the general store. I traded some ammo for this.”

“You traded
ammo
?” I exclaim. “Sophia, we need every bullet. You can’t just go around
giving
it away.”

“I didn’t give it away. I
traded
it. Besides, Cassidy. We need these. You know that.”

I sigh, grabbing one of the stacks.

“Yeah, I know.” I head to the bathroom, turning the faucet. Water sprays from the nozzle head, ice cold and clean. I shiver and strip down, piling my gross clothes on the tile floor.

“Glorious, isn’t it?” Sophia calls from the other side of the door.

“It’s
cold
!”

“It’s water, what do you expect?”

I scrub every inch of dirt and blood off my body that I can manage before drying. I hold up the clothes that Sophia traded for. Black combat
pants, green shirt, and soft, new socks. I pull everything on. I feel…nice. Refreshed.

My stomach growls.

And hungry.

I comb my wet hair back with my fingers, stepping out of the shower room and peeking in the mirror. “Whoa,” I gasp. My face has thinned out. My cheekbones are sharper. My skin is darker. Pale white scars trail along my neck and down the side of my left cheek. Reminders of the brutal atmosphere of war.

“I look pathetic,” I state, turning away from the mirror. “How come you look so normal?”

“I don’t look normal,” Sophia snorts. “I just don’t
care
about how I look, and neither should you. We’re alive. That’s the whole point, right?”

I open the cabin door.

“Yeah. That
is
the point, but…”

But that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.

The air is crisp and cool at this hour. The sun is coming up over the trees, and the campground is alive with activity. Women and men are lounging on the meadow, talking. Sophia and I leave the cabin area and hit the main road, heading for the chow hall.

I’m starving.

The building is crowded. Armed guards are standing outside. They nod professionally as we pass. We climb a wide flight of stairs and enter through two large glass doors. The interior is an open dining room, within which are at least two hundred cafeteria-style tables and chairs. A long counter in the back of the room separates
the kitchen from the eating area, and people are lining up along the length of it with plates and trays.

“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” I say, sniffing bacon and eggs. Pancakes and syrup. “This is better than Christmas.”

“This is better than
anything
,” Sophia laughs. “Come on, let’s get in line.”

We grab a tray, a plate and some utensils from a stack and get in the back of the line. I scan the crowd for Chris or Dad, but I don’t see them. I don’t see Isabel or the Youngs, either. The loud din of voices echoing off the walls makes my head hurt, but the voices are
happy
. Content. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be in a calm, peaceful crowd. But as soon as I set my plate on the counter, I forget about the noise. I’m given a
small mountain of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and cottage potatoes.

There is nothing better than this.

I cling to my plate like a prospector guarding his gold claim, Sophia right behind me. We’re dying with anticipation. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had a fresh meal on real dinnerware.

My meals over the last year have consisted of canned goods and the occasional – and dreaded – dehydrated food packet. As Sophia and I sit down to eat, I pick up my fork and roll it between my fingers.

Such an alien feeling after eating with my hands for months.

I lift the fork to my mouth and freeze, my eyes landing on Chris in the corner of the room. He’s standing with his hands shoved casually in
his pockets, completely relaxed. He looks clean and rested. Handsome.

And he’s talking to a girl.

“What’s wrong with
you
?” Sophia asks, smirking.

I ignore her. The girl talking to Chris is tall. Way taller than me. Platinum blonde hair falls to her waist, framing a pair of striking blue eyes. She throws her head back and laughs, placing a hand on Chris’s arm.

I swallow thickly, a sick feeling stabbing me through the heart.

“Who is she?” I say, frowning.

“Her?” Sophia follows my line of sight. “Oh, she’s pretty.”

I glare at her.

“I mean, if tall and blonde is your thing,” she corrects, clearing her throat. “Um, I don’t know. Just another refugee, probably.”

The girl is wearing a holster on her thigh, along with a combat jacket.

She’s not just another refugee.

And then Chris turns and waves at me. I wave back half-heartedly, watching as he walks over to us…and the blonde follows. I set the fork down, the eggs and bacon forgotten.

“Cassie, hey,” Chris says, smiling affectionately. He kisses the top of my head, and a bit of the tension in my stomach dissipates. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot better,” I reply. “I slept good. How about you?”

“Fine.” He turns to the blonde. “Cassie, this is Vera, Angela Wright’s daughter. She’s the
platoon commander of
Red Dog,
under the command of the militia
Legion
under her mother.”

I meet her unflinching gaze, disappointed that she’s even prettier up close than she was far away. Why do these people always have to show up around
me
?

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey,” Sophia adds. “I’m Sophia.”

“Morning,” Vera replies. Flat. Monotone.

“I’m going to get some food, then I’ll be right back,” Chris says, patting my shoulder. I take comfort in that tiny bit of physical contact.

“We’ll be right back,” Vera adds as he walks away, offering a weak smile.

“
We’ll
be right back?” I echo as soon as she’s out of earshot. “Who the hell does she think she is? Why are they getting
breakfast
together?”

An angry dragon coils in the pit of my stomach, threatening to breathe fire. I fist my hands under my legs, watching her converse with Chris as they wait in line.

Who is she?

“Hey, relax,” Sophia says, handing me my fork. “She’s just a girl. It doesn’t mean anything.”

I start eating, my gaze on the two of them. I hardly taste the food. In fact, it’s a little dry and pasty, now that I think about it. It sticks to my throat and settles in my stomach like a lead weight.

Chris returns with Vera and they sit at our table.

“So Chris tells me you’re from Los Angeles,” Vera says. Her voice is smooth and light. Feminine. “I was in San Diego when the pulse hit. I’d love to hear your story, though.”

I shrug.

“If you’ve heard one story, you’ve heard them all,” I say, stabbing a potato.

Sophia kicks me under the table.

“My mother and I escaped on foot,” Vera continues, leaning her fist against her cheek, looking sideways at Chris. “Everybody in our apartment building, actually. We call ourselves the
Legion
now. My mother
was
stationed in San Diego. She was in the Navy. It was only natural that she take over.”

She takes a bite of food, watching my face.

“Oh,” I say. “That’s interesting.”

Sophia kicks me again.

“Vera just got back from a scouting mission,” Chris tells me, picking up a steaming mug of coffee. “She says Omega is still on red alert trying to locate our militia groups. Until the
heat dies down, we’ll lie low here and work with the militias in camp.”

“Oh, you’re a scout?” Sophia asks Vera.

“In my spare time,” she replies, smiling.

“Your spare time?” I say.

“Yes. When I’m not scouting I’m helping my mother manage the
Legion
.”

“The family business, huh?”

This time it’s Chris who pinches my leg.

I shut my mouth, knowing that I’m acting childish and jealous. But I can’t help it. I have zero chance of competing against a girl like this, and if Chris ever realizes how great he could have it with another woman, I’ll be left alone.

I shudder and push the thought away. I’m an adult. I need to act like one.

Feelings of teenage insecurity have no place in war.

After an awkward breakfast with Vera, Chris informs me that we’re supposed to show up at another meeting in the Headquarters building. This time, Vera comes with us. Sophia stays behind, since her presence wasn’t requested. We leave the chow hall, Chris and Vera trading stories about their militias…while I walk beside them in silence. What I
really
should do is interject with a few stories of my own. I certainly have a lot of them…

When we reach the Headquarters building, Angela is waiting at the front door. She smiles broadly at the sight of Chris and Vera walking together.

I cross my arms.

“Good morning,” she greets. “Thank you for coming. I see you’ve met my daughter.”

Her words are directed at Chris. Not me.

I pick up on this immediately.

We walk inside. The commanders are waiting around the table, and once again, I wonder why I’m here. I’m not a big time leader…then again, neither is Vera. We’re more like assistants to our militia commanders.

Dad is seated at the table, clean-shaven and dressed in crisp military garb. We lock eyes for a second as I sit next to Chris, Vera on his other side. Angela – who I’ve realized is the spokesperson for the board of commanders – shuts the front door and takes a seat at the head of the table.

“Well,” she says, casting a glance at me, “shall we begin?”

“What exactly are we discussing?” I ask.

“Our next move,” she answers. “Where should we start, gentlemen?”

“I say we start right in the thick of the thing,” Commander Buckley suggests. “We’ve got a lot of new men here now that the
Fighters
have showed up. Our numbers are growing. We can send out militias for longer periods of time because we’ll have more people that can stay behind and guard the camp.”

“So you’re suggesting that we send out a couple of militias at a time,” Dad says, “and leave a couple behind to guard the camp? That’s what we’ve been doing already.”

“Yeah, but now we have more men, so…”

“Excuse me,” I interject, taking a deep breath. “Who’s in charge?”

Nobody answers.

“I mean,” I correct, “
is
anybody in charge?

Or is everybody here equal?”

“Everybody’s equal,” Angela answers,looking irked.

“So…there’s no leadership structure in this camp?” I ask.

“Each militia leader looks after his own men.”