State of Rebellion (Collapse Series) (12 page)

Well, duh.

“How about it, Alpha One?” Colonel Rivera growls, impatient.

“I’ll do it,” Chris says, locking gazes with me. “I’ll need help.”

“Angela, you will of course retain staff authority as militia leader,” Chris says, nodding at her. “I will handle combat operations. As to the officer corps, Alexander, Max.” He nods at each of them, leaning forward, looking directly at me. “And…Cassidy.”

I stare at him. Me? An
officer
?

He smiles. Vera stiffens, but says nothing to protest the appointment. I don’t speak, only nod slightly to indicate that I accept the appointment. What am I going to do? Say no?

Not happening.

“I’ll need new weapons and equipment for my troops,” Chris says, turning to Colonel Rivera. “Give us what we need, and we’ll be ready to go.”

“Excellent.” Colonel Rivera folds his arms. “Now that we’ve got that squared away, let’s get one thing straight: this base operates solely on its own electricity. It was built years ago as a failsafe in the event of a catastrophe for the elites, if you will. A place for federal and state leaders to bunk out in the event that something huge went down. It was a way to preserve the chain of command, from the Executive Branch down. Well, folks, the catastrophe is already here, and the feds and everyone else in between never made it to the shelters. So the National Guard utilized them.” He stops and surveys the room. “The Federal Government has been
protecting itself from a possible EMP attack for years. True, Washington D.C. and the Eastern Seaboard have been nuked, but remnants of the government still survive. State governments. State militias. State law enforcement. Our leaders are gone, but what we’ve got in this base – and in bases across the country – is access to electricity, food, water, weapons and
information
.”

“Define information,” Chris says.

“Sit back and enjoy the show.” Colonel Rivera grabs a black device off the table. A remote control. He dims the lights with one flick of a button, and a white screen rolls down from the ceiling.

“What the hell is this?” Alexander asks. “A power point presentation?”

Chris holds up a hand, a wordless warning to be silent.

I look up, my eyes falling on a projector mounted to the ceiling. A burst of color blossoms on the screen. Speakers in the wall crackle with an electric hiss. I stare at the screen, dumbfounded.

It’s been so long…this is so alien.

An image appears. It looks like security footage. A grainy picture of a large parking lot. There’s a Wal-Mart and a collection of fast food restaurants and clothing stores in the background. It’s night. Everything is glowing with color. Cars are driving through the parking lot.

“What
is
this? Derek mutters.

There’s a clock at the bottom of the film feed. As soon as it hits 1832 hours - 6:32 p.m. - the lighting in the shopping center shuts off. The Wal-Mart sign, the restaurants, the car
headlights. Everything. Several vehicles careen off the road and smash into parked cars.

“This is footage from the night the EMP hit,” I say. “How did you get this?”

“Satellite,” Colonel Anderson replies. “There are devices that the military – and the government – put into use that were resistant to a technological attack. We’ve used images and footage from those devices to learn more about what happened that night.”

It switches to another image. This one is of an outdoor patio along a fancy walkway near the beach. The lights are glowing brightly. People are dining at tables with white napkins and wine glasses. The power goes out. Everything turns black.

I bite my lip.

“The following images are footage we received from a satellite,” Colonel Rivera says. “It’s not pretty.”

The image is similar to something you’d see on the weather channel. A long distance shot of the earth from above the atmosphere. I can clearly make out the eastern coastline. It’s a sunny day, and from below something disrupts the landscape. There is no audio – not that there
would
be from a satellite in outer space. There is a sudden, blinding flash of light. The screen goes dark. A few moments later the screen resolves to show a cloud growing across the coastline. And that’s when it hits me: This is footage of a nuclear bomb detonating in Washington D.C.

I don’t realize that I’m holding my breath until Colonel Rivera shuts the projector off. The lights come back on. The room is dead silent. No
one knows what to say. What
can
we say? The mushroom cloud represented the instant death of millions, the agonizing radiation poisoning of millions
more
. The beginning of the end.

“Omega will bring their invasion force into the east and west coast,” Colonel Rivera says, his voice a hollow echo in a room full of shocked people. “They will bring a force of five thousand troops from Los Angeles into the central valley. We will meet them at the mouth of the foothills and choke them out.”

“How long do we have until they get here?” I whisper.

Colonel Rivera takes his cigar out of his mouth, taps it on the edge of an ashtray, and holds it between his fingers.

“Two weeks.”

Chapter Nine

Warfare is all about patience. It’s the same thing, day after day. Sheer, complete and utter boredom occasionally interrupted by sheer, complete and utter terror. For the first time in my life, I realize why organization and structure is so important in the military. It’s not just to keep guys in line. It’s about keeping guys from going out of their minds with impatience.

We’ve been here at Sector 20 for one week and the waiting is driving me crazy. There are no windows that allow us to see outside. The barracks are sterile and boring. The bright spots in the day are our meals. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. The chow hall is also a huge underground room. The food is filled with
protein and calories – meat, potatoes and vegetables – and for that I am incredibly grateful.

I go on scouting missions with Chris during the week, looking for enemy activity. This is my escape from the mundane routine of life on a military base. I get to see the sky at night and watch what society has become. And let me tell you, it’s not pretty.

Nomadic gangs rove the urban areas, pillaging everything that’s been left behind since the EMP hit. You think downtown Fresno had a gang and graffiti problem before the EMP? You should see it now. It looks like a can of spray paint threw up on every blank wall and billboard in the county. There’s hardly a single building in the city with even one window still intact. We avoid the roving Omega patrols, who seem
content to bide their time, waiting for backup to arrive.

Occasionally on our scouting missions we will see buildings erupt into flames, casualties in gang wars or just a random spark catching fire. The city is not safe, but gangs ignore us. Our firepower and numbers are far superior to theirs. And they know it. They would have to be suicidal to start a turf war with us.

During the daytime hours I stick with Sophia. We stay in the Dugout, a nickname for the day room at the base for soldiers to spend time away from their barracks. There’s a pool table, a library, couches and board games, along with items that have been salvaged from abandoned houses. Last night somebody brought Uno and Connect 4 from a loft apartment downtown.

It’s not like we’ve got video games anymore.

But when I’m not in the Dugout watching the soldiers play games or read books, I’m keeping our men drilled. Since I was made a noncommissioned officer for the militia forces in the National Guard, I’ve got some authority now. It’s my job to make sure that the volunteer militia force is kept sharp and ready. This is what keeps me from going insane being stuck in an underground tin can with a thousand people.

We practice shooting, fighting and military maneuvers. Exercising and remaining fast and fit is an absolute must. I make sure everyone has equal time standing guard duty and running scouting missions day and night to keep an eye on potential Omega troop movements. Oddly enough, I consider myself
kind of like Chris’s activities coordinator. I make sure things are running smoothly, that the men and women are healthy and capable, and that our soldiers are keeping their sanity within the confined living quarters.

And Chris? His job is to come up with the military strategies, enforce discipline, and fine-tune the militia’s skills. As the days pass I see him as less of a hardened, battle-worn Navy SEAL and more of a calm, steady leader.

I guess I’m not the only one who’s matured.

The National Guard has provided us with fresh clothing, weapons and ammunition. In fact,
that
is the best part of being here. We’re no longer working with salvaged equipment. We’ve got the best of the best.

On our seventh day staying in Sector 20, Chris takes me to one of the supply rooms on the base.

“This,” he says, “is all yours.”

I step into the room. Weapons and equipment are hanging from every nook and cranny. It’s a goldmine of war goodies. Chris, however, is holding up a single object. A rifle. It’s brand new, it’s sleek, and it’s awesome. He hands it to me.

It’s mine.

I curl my fingers around the weapon, the metal cool against my skin. I test the weight. Not too heavy. Just right for my size. A scope is mounted on top of the weapon.

“I’ve really needed one of these,” I say.

“You’re a great shot without optics,” he replies. “
With
it you’ll be unstoppable.” He hoists
a backpack. “I packed this for you. It’s got a new uniform, supplies, equipment. Upgraded radio, night vision goggles.” He grins and pulls out a small handgun. “There are some nice toys in here, too. This one’s just your size.”

“You packed this for me?” I asked, touched. Because with all of the things he’s got to worry about, it’s beyond sweet that he would go to the trouble of getting supplies together for me. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He drapes one strap of the pack over my shoulder. “You’re really in the military now, Cassie. It suits you.”

“I don’t know.” I gaze up at his sure, handsome face. “Does it?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “There’s not a lot of
people that would adjust to this sort of lifestyle so well. You’ve got a gift.”

“I’ve got a great leader,” I reply, standing on my tiptoes. “You.”

He laughs softly, placing one hand on each side of my waist.

“Is that so?” he asks.

“Yes.” I kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Chris. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

“It was hard leaving Dad behind.” I blink back tears. “After all I went through to find him again.”

“You did what you thought was right,” Chris says, pulling me close. “There’s nothing else you could do. I’m proud of you. You’re growing up fast.”

I smile against the fabric of his jacket.

“Growing up sucks.”

“Nah.” Chris pulls back to study my face, tracing the curve of my cheek with his thumb. “It’s not
all
bad.”

He kisses me then. It’s the first time I’ve really kissed him since we’ve been here. Since the ambush in Sanger. Since I got shot. Come to think of it, we haven’t had any real privacy since I escaped from the labor camp months ago.

I thread my fingers through his hair, melting into his strong embrace. He’s all around me, flooding my senses. Calming my fears. Being the steady rock I need him to be. “See?” he says, pressing his lips against my jaw. “It’s really not all bad.”

I raise an eyebrow, flushed.

“You have a point. Please continue.”

He laughs, and I feel it rumble deep in his chest.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

He’s right.

Growing up isn’t all
that
bad.

National Guard recruits are everywhere. There are a little over a thousand troops crammed into this hole in the ground, and every single one of them is here because they volunteered. And it’s not just men. There are plenty of women, too. Colonel Rivera has command over his men, and Chris maintains control of the militia groups. The two work together.

Because of this, Chris is considered an equal leader of the entire Central Valley California National Guard. I guess that makes
him famous. Why shouldn’t it? Everyone is finally seeing him for the amazing leader he is.

For the record, I knew how great he was before everybody else did.

Just saying.

At any rate, the monotony of military base life is finally broken when Chris gives us the green light to go out on our first urban ambush. It’s going to be a lot different than what we did up in the mountains.

Our target?

An Omega emergency relief camp. I remember them well. They were relief camps set up for survivors of the EMP, but in actuality they were traps. Ways to concentrate the populace and carry out executions. Little more than modern day concentration camps.

This should be interesting.

How long has it been since I waited at a drive-through window for an order of French fries? Way too long. And right now, staring past the broken glass from inside a drive through window at Carl’s Jr., I’m getting an eerie sense of dejavu. The night is silent. Unlike the mountains, where the steady background of nature kept my nerves calm, there is nothing to hear in this urban environment except distant screams and gunshots. The earth hasn’t quite reclaimed what belongs to it. Concrete and steel structures still reign supreme.

I notice the sign at the corner of the window.

Thanks – come again soon!

I roll my eyes.

Sophia and Alexander are with me. I edge towards the door of the abandoned fast food restaurant, crouching in the shadows. The moon is shrouded with dark clouds, making it easier for us to hide, but harder for us to see the enemy. And they’re not far away. The enemy camp is located in the parking lot of a former Best Buy distribution center.

Cruel irony. The world ends and millions of dollars of technology just sits inside a giant warehouse, nothing but a pile of worthless pieces of wiring and blank screens. How sick is that?

The camp is surrounded by a chain link fence. There’s razor wire, heavy patrols, Omega vehicles and a large gathering of people inside the fence. It looks exactly like the last relief camp I saw a year ago in Bakersfield. Only this one is a
lot
smaller, and the civilians are emaciated. They hardly look human anymore.