State of Chaos (Collapse Series) (18 page)

I fold my hands in the center of my lap.

“It’s kill or be killed. Nothing’s like it used to be,” I say slowly, picturing the dead and dying on the battlefield. “It’s not like we have a choice.”

“But why are
we
doing it?”

“Who else is going to? It’s our
duty
to protect our home.” I sigh. “It’s just the way things are. If we don’t fight back, Omega will kill us all. Especially now that we’ve been attacking them. We’re playing offense
and
defense. They’ve been murdering and enslaving people left and right. We can’t get caught up in our emotions. Either we put up a fight or we let them eat us alive. It’s simple.”

Sophia takes a deep breath.

“But what if this is all for nothing?” she says. “What if we do all of this fighting and sacrificing and Omega still wins? Because if they’re really a huge army with help from places like Russia or China or whatever, we’re kind of screwed, aren’t we? When we were at the labor camp, they were having us harvest food for something
big
. You said they were getting ready to bring in more troops.” She looks me straight in the eye. “And then Mrs. Young said the big cities have been attacked with chemical weapons, and the rumors about a nuclear bomb on the east coast may or may not be true. How do we stand a chance against an army with that kind of power?”

I run my hands through my hair.

“We’re motivated.”

“And they’re
not
?”

“We actually have something worth fighting for.”

“What?”

“Freedom.”

She makes a face.

“How many people have said that,” she says, “and then died?”

“Millions.” I stand up, dusting the dirt off my pants. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather die for, though. I’d rather die fighting than hiding in a hole somewhere. Or in some disgusting labor camp.”

Sophia slowly nods.

“I guess so.”

“You
guess
so?” I hold out my arms. “Sophia, look around you! We were
enslaved
together, remember? Kamaneva almost executed me on the front sidewalk of an elementary school. That’s not
normal
, is it? We’re fighting for normalcy. We’re fighting for what we lost. I think that’s a worthy cause, don’t you?”

She rises to her feet, and when she speaks, I can tell she’s trying to avoid crying. “It
is
worthy,” she whispers. “You’re right. I just…sometimes I think I can’t do this another day.”

“We all feel like that.” I wrap my arms around her neck and pull her into a hug. “Nobody said fighting a war was going to be easy.”

“They sure didn’t. Your boyfriend makes it sound like a walk in the park.”

“He does not,” I laugh. “He just knows how to inspire people.”

We turn to watch him. He’s standing on the other side of the camp. His muscular arms are folded across his chest, his hair pulled into a tight ponytail. He’s listening intently to what one of the soldiers is saying. After a few beats of silence, he responds, pats him on the back, and moves on to the next person waiting to speak with him.

“He’s becoming quite a leader,” Sophia remarks.

I feel myself smiling.

“Yeah, he is.”

The truth is, we’ve all changed. We’ve all matured. We’ve all seen things that have forced us to grow up. It will bring out the best in some of us. In others, it will bring out the worst. But when it comes right down to it, at the end of the day, we’re all on the same team.

We’re all fighting to get our freedom back.

And that’s when the name hits me.

Freedom Fighters.

Chapter Twelve

If anybody would have told me seven months ago that I would be spending my college years as a guerilla warfighter with freaking Rambo as my boyfriend, I would have said they were crazy. But life is weird like that. And considering the fact that everybody’s lives have been turned inside out by the effects of the EMP and the invasion of America, everything’s been on a whole different level of weird.

Weird on steroids.

It’s July now, and the heat is brutal. There have been days when the hundred-degree weather is torture. It’s hard to keep cool. The only thing we can do is stay in the shelter of the trees during the day and move around at night. We’ve been consistently hitting Omega where it hurts: convoys, supply depots, anything and everything that will effect their ability to feed their troops or keep their morale up. This is not just a game of firepower. It’s a game of mind over matter. Which one of us is more motivated to win?

We’ve relocated our camp to a higher elevation. It’s easier to keep hidden when we’re farther away from the valley, anyway. And since Omega is constantly combing through the area searching for our “headquarters,” we constantly change the location of our camp, too. If we stay in one place for too long, we’ll be found.

The Free Army – or the
Freedom Fighters
, as we’ve come to be called – have become pretty well known in the area. Our forces have expanded. We’ve got a few hundred people in our ranks now, and Chris is becoming an impressive leader. He’s logical, fair and knowledgeable. People trust him.

I’ve become something different, too. Instead of just running with the pack, I work with Derek, Max, Alexander and Chris to train the new recruits. I’ve got responsibilities. I’ve got people who look to me for advice.

I never thought I’d see
that
day.

Despite the fact that our army is made up completely of volunteers – most of which are civilians who have never been in a fight in their lives – we’re well organized. Chris goes to a lot of
trouble to train the new recruits, and to keep the older ones’ skills sharpened. Ever since the day Chris almost killed Harry Lydell, I’ve been painfully aware of the fact that all it takes is one wrong move to turn organization into murder. It’s easy to think that all you have to do is get a bunch of people together and fight the bad guys, but it’s not that simple.

It requires structure.

Chris is the head honcho in this camp, something along the lines of a mini-general, but he makes few decisions without consulting his officers first, which would be Derek, Max and Alexander, who are all platoon leaders. They each command a force of about thirty to fifty fighting men and women. I’m not in charge of a platoon, but I
am
in charge of training the new recruits. Yup, the “newbies” are all mine. I teach them the basics, go with them on missions and make sure everybody is doing their job. We work as a team, so we basically go on a majority vote. Everybody has a say in everything that goes on at the basecamp.

But sometimes things aren’t so simple.

When an organization gets big, there will inevitably be people who will betray you. In this war, betrayal can lead to the death of everybody in the militia, so it has to be dealt with swiftly and effectively. In the event that somebody commits a horrible crime, the officers convene with Chris. All it takes is three command level officers to vote for a punishment to make it happen. So far we’ve been lucky. We’ve only had to punish people for petty crimes like stealing extra food rations, hoarding ammunition and getting into fights. But at some point, somebody will do something so big that we’ll have to figure out how to handle the situation.

Maybe we should just build a jail.

At any rate, we’re not the only guerilla war fighters in the area. Other militia groups have been popping up in the state, an encouraging piece of information we learned from the Underground, a network of rebel militiamen who carry messages up and down the state for people like us. Like undercover pony express riders, they travel on foot from one destination to the next, passing on messages to
fellow rebels. They have a dangerous job. They travel alone, they travel fast, and they travel light. The cover of darkness is their best friend as they run from camp to camp, sending messages between the rebel “communities.” If they’re caught, they’ll either be killed or tortured to death.

So of course their number one priority is to avoid getting caught.

Everything has gotten faster, cleaner and more efficient. The Freedom Fighters are turning into a well-oiled resistance front, and I’m starting to find my groove. I never thought I’d fit into a society like this, but life has a way of surprising you. For the first time in my life, I actually feel like I belong somewhere. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, I haven’t decided yet.

“I have some new information for you, Cassie,” Chris says one day. The scorching July heat is all but singeing my eyebrows off, so I’m huddled under the shade of a tall tree. The camp is busy with activity – there is no such thing as
an idle moment here. Even our sleeping hours have purpose. “Cassie?”

I blink and look up, yawning.

“Sorry. I was dozing.”

He smiles and sits down next to me, one of the few moments lately when he’s been relaxed enough to do this. As the weeks have passed, the stress and pressure of being in charge of this militia have changed him. He’s even more logical and methodical than he used to be. He’s a lot busier, too. People depend on him to make life-changing decisions. It must be difficult to carry a burden like that.

“What’s up?” I say.

“Underground gave us some new information,” he replies.

I lean forward. “Is it good or bad news?”

“Both. The good news is, there’s a rebel militia force called the
Mountain Rangers
headed our way.”

I nod. We’ve all heard of the
Rangers
. They’re second only to the
Freedom Fighters
in notoriety. “What’s the bad news?” I ask.

“The bad news is, we have to decide if we want to join forces with the Rangers or if we want to keep our group separate. Joint operations change the dynamics. Right now our men work really well together. Bringing in an ally could either mess things up or make us stronger.”

“We don’t know enough about the Rangers to make a judgment, do we?”

“The Rangers are, as far as we know, very similar to our militia. They use guerilla war fighting tactics, they’re quick, they’re hearty and they’re no friends to Omega.”

That makes them on our side, I guess. But Chris is right. Exposing ourselves to anybody is a monumental risk.

“Why don’t you meet with their commander and talk to him about it?” I suggest. “Just you and him. Don’t drag everybody else into it until you’re absolutely sure that we need their help.”

“We don’t really
need
anybody’s help,” Chris replies. “But we could do a lot
more
with an extra force.” He stares at something in the
distance, thinking. “That’s not a bad idea, Cassie. I should do that.”

“Can you get a message through to the Rangers using the Underground?”

“I should be able to.”

“Who’s in charge of their group?”

“I don’t know. Everybody’s got codenames.”

“Right.
Alpha One
.” I grin. “What’s their leader’s codename?”

“We’ll find out.” He stretches his long legs across the dirt, threading his fingers through mine. “The Underground
also
mentioned a huge Omega supply depot being stocked on the outskirts of the foothills. A lot of food and water are going in there. Omega’s tightening up security around the place – it’s important.”

“So we need to hit it, then?” I ask.

“Essentially.”

“Do we have enough manpower for that?”

“I think so. We’re outnumbered, but we’re smarter. And faster.” Chris looks down at our hands. “How are you holding up?”

It’s a sudden question. And something he hasn’t asked me in a while.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not very descriptive.”

“I
am
.” I bite back a smile. “I miss you, though. Even though I’m around you all the time, it’s like you’re not really here. You’re always so busy.”

Chris presses the palm of his hand against my cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But you understand, right?”

“Understand that people need you?” I nod. “Yeah. I do. I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I know.” He kisses my forehead. “You’ve adapted extremely well. You’re a good soldier. I’m not the only one people are looking up to, you know.”

“I know. That’s what scares me.”

“What? Respect?”

I gaze up at him.

“I guess so. When people respect you, they
expect
a lot from you. There’s so much responsibility. People’s lives are at stake.” I sigh.
“I don’t feel up to being a hardcore rebel leader all the time.”

Chris takes both of my hands in his.

“That’s why people like you. You’re human, but you try to do the right thing no matter what.” His eyes flick to the edge of camp, where the women are doing their daily food preparation. “Always try to do the right thing. Go with your gut instinct.”

“I’m not a leader like you are.”

“Yes, you are. Just in a different way.” His expression softens. “You give good advice, too. I’ll see if I can get in contact with the Rangers’ leader. It might be helpful if we combine forces at some point. But until then, we need to get ready to hit that supply depot.”

“How far away is it?”

“About twenty miles. It’s out of the foothills. On the edge of the valley outside a little town called Sanger.” He looks at me. “Are you up for that?”

I roll my eyes. Leaving the safety of the hills is a major risk.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just thought I’d ask,” he chuckles, standing up. “We should hit it soon, before they get a chance to set everything up completely. They’ll be beefing up security anyway because of what we’ve been doing in the area, plus the area will be crawling with Omega patrols.”

I agree. Ever since the Freedom Fighters have started fighting back against Omega, more militia groups have formed. All people needed to see was one group taking the initiative and hitting back at the enemy. Omega’s got an entire state full of rebels and guerilla fighters on their hands these days. It can’t be easy being an invading army. Not with people like us around.

But what I haven’t said out loud is that Omega is gearing up to receive backup. Sophia and I figured that out a long time ago when we were imprisoned in the labor camp. It’s obvious they’re going to need more manpower if they’re going to kill off the rebels completely, anyway. Chris knows this. I know this. Most of the people in this militia know it.