State of Rebellion (Collapse Series)

  State of Rebellion

  Collapse Series #3

  Summer Lane

  Copyright 2014

  WB Publishing

  All Rights Reserved

  1st Edition

  No part of this book may be reproduced, except to quote on blogs or reviews, without the express permission of the author. Any unauthorized reproduction of this work is punishable by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Any parallel to persons alive or dead is purely coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  Praise for State of Emergency (Book 1) and

  State of Chaos (Book 2)

  “The 20 year old Reedley resident is a prolific writer.”

  – Rick Bentley, Fresno Bee, Associated Press

  “Summer Lane has more than a fresh face and a great name…She’s solidified her position as a promising ‘Young Adult’ author.”

  - Reedley Exponent

  “In my review of State of Emergency I said it was a fantastic book worth five stars. Well my opinion hasn't changed with State of Chaos…State of Chaos has Cassidy almost immediately finding herself in dangerous peril. And from there this book only gets better.”

  - Mark Mackey, author of Curse Girl

  “State of Chaos was filled with jaw dropping, heart pounding, and stomach aching scenes…State of Chaos was an excellent sequel to State of Emergency. The ending leaves you shocked…and in desperate need of the third book in the series.”

  - Ruth Silver, author of Aberrant

  “It [State of Chaos] has even more action and adventure than the first installment and I love the way Cassidy and Chris have matured and developed. This is about fighting back, making this book lots of fun. This sequel does not disappoint!”

  - Leti Del Mar, author of Land of the Unaltered

  “Summer uses poetic prose coupled with detailed and accurate depictions of survival skills to create a real page-turner…I loved the themes of survival and coming of age in State of Emergency and then strength and endurance in State of Chaos. Summer’s ability to craft a compelling story that immerses her readers into the storyline seems effortless.”

  - Traffic Magazine, Jenny-Graber Peters, Editor

  “Like the first book in this series (State of Emergency), this sequel captured my attention and held it all the way through to the end. The plot is original, yet still holds on to the key elements of the first. New characters are introduced, but the others remain. This second book adds another dimension to the story of Cassidy Hart, while preserving the fast, exciting pace of the first.”

  - Andrew D. Carlson, author of Sue’s Fingerprint

  “A dystopian adventure in the vein of NBC's Revolution, State of Emergency will leave you wondering what lengths you would go to in order to survive if all the power went out for good. Cassidy Hart is a smart, snarky, scared and sassy protagonist, and this gripping tale is told vividly through her eyes.”

  - Brian Palmer, co-author of XII: Genesis

  “Just in the same way that TV shows like Falling Skies and Revolution have managed to create realistic characters that adapt to the situation and position the world has thrown them in, so does Summer Lane with State of Chaos.”

  - Hannah Membrey, Girl in a Café

  "Great plot, great cast of characters, fast-paced, and full of twists! An awesomesauce read you should get your hands on right now!"

  - Juliana Haygert, author of The Everlast Trilogy, Her Heart’s Secret Wish

  In memory of Eva.

  “Tiny but mighty.”

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Today is my birthday.

  The last time I celebrated a birthday I was sitting at a table in a McDonald’s, staring at a wet glob of ice cream in a plastic cup. I was living in Culver City, California. My dad was at work. My mother and I weren’t speaking. And friends? No. I didn’t have any friends.

  So my birthday was spent in a corner of Culver City, eating cheap vanilla soft serve while the world passed me by and I wondered:

  When will my life begin?

  I regret asking that question. My life did start not too long after that birthday, but in a way I never wanted or dreamed about. Good things have happened. Bad things have happened. No matter how you slice it, the world is a different place than it was last year. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.

  I am no longer the same.

  My name is Cassidy Hart.

  Today is my birthday.

  Chapter One

  One Month Earlier

  Pine needles are painful. Just saying.

  At the moment, hundreds of them are poking into my legs, digging against my skin. Sweat plasters my hair to my forehead. Blood is crusted under my fingernails. It stains my dark green shirt. The tight, gauzy bandage wrapped around my waist is cutting off my circulation.

  In other words, it sucks.

  But that’s what happens when you get shot.

  I was wounded several days ago during an ambush on Omega soldiers. Luckily for me, it was only a flesh wound. In and out. No major organs punctured. Besides the discomfort and soreness of recovering from a wound like that, I’ve managed to survive. I can walk, I can talk, and I can still hold my rifle.

  That’s good news.

  The silence of the forest is broken by a strong breeze. It sweeps through the trees, rustling leaves and pinecones. On any other day, I would stop to listen and enjoy the natural orchestra. Not today. Because right now is not the time.

  Now it’s time to survive.

  I’m sitting on my knees, camouflaged within a grove of fern. Beneath the pine needles is a layer of damp earth, and behind us, a gentle creek trickling down the mountainside.

  My hands grip Chris Young’s arm as he crouches beside me, his handsome face smudged with grease and traces of ash and blood. Leaves and twigs are tangled in his hair, pulled into a tight ponytail against his neck. My fingers press against his bicep, more from habit than from anything else.

  We’ve been here a long time.

  An hour. Maybe two.

  Early morning sunlight streams through the trees. The perfect picture for a postcard. Too bad this isn’t what you’d call a touristy situation.

  “How are you feeling?” he whispers.

  “Like I got run over by a truck.”

  “Cassie.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He takes a deep breath, sharing a glance with Derek. Tall, lean, blonde Derek. He’s huddled against a tree, ready.

  “What do you think?” Chris asks.

  Derek peers downhill, studying the forest. He lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. Behind him, Max – our resident undercover ex-narcotics officer – is running a hand through his slick brown hair. He shakes his head, fiddling with his backpack. On my right, my good friend Sophia is leaning her cheek against my shoulder, exhausted. With her mocha skin tone and dark clothing, she’s almost completely invisible within the underbrush.

  “We can’t stay here forever,” Max hisses.

  “We can’t risk moving in broad daylight when they’re sweeping the area,” Derek replies. “They’ll shoot us on sight.”


  Besides the five of us, about twenty-five militiamen are hiding here, too. The other half of our forces – a makeshift army we call the Freedom Fighters – are with Chris’s second in command, an ex-Marine named Alexander Ramos. Last time I saw him, Chris was helping him limp across a smoky battlefield.

  Alexander has recovered enough to take control of his platoon. They’re hiding uphill from our position, about two hundred meters up. Derek keeps watching them through his binoculars, looking for any dangerous activity. Our militia is too big to keep together, so we’ve separated into groups to avoid detection.

  A few days ago, we barely escaped with our lives from an Omega ambush. I lost consciousness towards the end of the attack – compliments of being shot and suffering from too much blood loss. Apparently Alexander took his platoon back to our basecamp and rescued the survivors there. If it hadn’t been for him, the women and children waiting there during the ambush could have been killed by Omega patrols.

  And there’s that other little thing that happened.

  I finally found my father.

  In the middle of a battlefield.

  Let me rewind.

  Last year, an electromagnetic pulse disabled the technological infrastructure of the United States of America. Major bummer. The pulse, also known as an EMP, wiped out every piece of computer-based technology in the country. Cell phones, airplanes, automobiles, microwaves. Even remote control cars and Easy-Bake-Ovens.

  I was living in Culver City, California when it all went down. Just a few miles down the road from Hollywood. The second the EMP hit, everything died. Airplanes fell from the skies. The populace panicked. And I got the heck out of the city as fast I could in a vintage 78 Mustang – a vehicle that was conveniently computer-technology-free, making it immune to the effects of the pulse.

  I got separated from my father – Frank Hart, a former L.A. cop – and planned to rendezvous with him at a remote cabin we owned in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Unfortunately, things went sour.

  An invading army with the code name Omega arrived, killed people, and threw them in concentration camps. They took over everything. And they did it fast. The United States was thrown back into the Stone Age. People went crazy, hoarding supplies, vandalizing homes, murdering innocent civilians.

  Instant anarchy.

  I lost my Mustang to desperate rioters, but in the process of trying to reach my father, teamed up with a former Navy SEAL named Chris Young. Six foot four, twenty-eight years old, and a serious force to contend with. His military expertise and experience kept me alive.

  I fell in love with him.

  But I never found my father. Omega’s hold on the states got tighter, and we backtracked to the foothills to try and survive. Not a good idea. I got captured by Omega troopers and forced into a slave labor camp run by an officer named Vika Kamaneva. I was almost worked to death. I would be dead now if Chris hadn’t taken control of a local militia and rescued me.

  Ever since then, that small militia has grown to become a fighting force to be reckoned with. We’ve staged devastating attacks on Omega forces, and Chris has become the militia commander. He’s established training and recruiting for our new soldiers. It’s amazing how many ordinary, everyday people have been willing to take a stand and fight for their homeland.

  Fight for their lives. For their families.

  But last night we were betrayed by one of our own – a young man named Harry Lydell. Our forces were ambushed. A lot of our people were killed. We barely got out of there alive. I should be dead…but for some reason I’m too stubborn to go down that road just yet.

  The only reason we survived is because a friendly fellow militia force – the Mountain Rangers – swooped in and gave us valuable backup support. And, right before I passed out due to an unfriendly gunshot in my gut, my dad showed up.

  My dad.

  The commander of the Mountain Rangers.

  He so has some serious explaining to do.

  I turn my head to the left, watching a tall, thin man walk towards me. This guy is new around here. Desmond. He’s the field medic for the Rangers, and we were introduced after I got shot.

  “Got yourself shot, did you?” he had asked me.

  Long, shaggy hair fell to his shoulders, matted into dreadlocks. A dull green bandana was tied around his forehead, setting off a weathered, middle-aged face and unkempt beard.

  “Yeah,” I gritted out, wincing with pain.

  “Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” He took a long look at the wound, probing and investigating and opening up his medical bag. “You’re a lucky lady. Bullet went clean through. If it would have hit a major organ you could be dead right now. That’d be a buzz kill.”

  Yeah. Because I’d be dead.

  “You’re lucky,” he repeated, setting to work. Cleaning it, closing it. Some medical stuff I wasn’t really aware of. At that point I was more than a bit delusional and exhausted after surviving the ambush.

  “You’ll live,” he said simply. “It could have been worse.”

  Yeah, yeah.

  And now he walks up to me, checking my condition. I’ve improved rapidly since he initially treated the injury, and besides some intense soreness, I don’t have anything to complain about. He was right. It could have been worse.

  “Status report?” he says, grinning wryly.

  “Alive and somewhat operational.”

  “Good to hear. Let’s check and make sure those stitches are good…” He does a quick recheck of the wound, nods, and looks me in the eye. “You bounce back quick.”

  “Thanks,” I smile.

  Chris says nothing, but the worry lines around his eyes relax a little.

  “Stay gold, kid,” Desmond says.

  He’s so full of wisdom.

  I bite my lip, turning back to Chris. Focusing on the situation at hand.

  “How could my dad just leave me?” I whisper, frustrated. Hurt. Confused.

  Ticked off.

  “He has a militia to command,” Chris replies, helping me to my feet. “Your dad couldn’t just abandon them and run after you.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. He finally finds me and then dumps me when I’m bleeding to death,” I say. “What a great guy.”

  Chris rolls his eyes.

  We’re slowly starting to move again, tracking our way up the side of the hill, away from the foothills. Because I was unconscious and delirious when we fled the ambush, I have no memory of how we arrived in the forest. We must have ditched our vehicles at some point, because the last thing I recall is being pulled out of the cab of a pickup…and then I saw my father’s face…and the next thing I know, I’m waking up in the middle of the mountains.

  “That’s not how I meant it, and you know it,” he answers, keeping one arm under my shoulders to steady me. “He’ll meet up with us as soon as we reach the RV point with the others.”

  I nod.

  I’m not an idiot. I know this is how warfare works. You look after your men first, and then you worry about emotions and relationships. But still. That doesn’t ease the sting of knowing that my father was this close and he took off.

  Such is the way of war, I suppose.

  Maybe Chris senses my discomfort, because he presses a quick kiss against my temple, whispering, “Let it go. Focus your energy on staying in the game. He’ll be back. He’s just doing his job.”

  “Right, right.”

  We continue to move stealthily through the woods, moving towards our emergency rendezvous point little by little. It’s a pain in the butt to try to walk uphill when you’re recovering from an injury like I am. What usually wouldn’t make you break a sweat becomes a challenge.

  I struggle along, sweating with the effort. My clothes are heavy and itchy. After several hours, I stop and place my hands on my knees, breathing hard.

  “It’s okay,” I murmur, “I’ll just stay here. Take a nap…”

  Words of a true warrior, I know.

  But I do need to rest. I m
ay bounce back quickly, but I’m still human.

  Flashes of the ambush flit through my mind:

  Screaming, crying, blood, detonations. Kamaneva, a wicked expression on her face right before she shot me. Harry Lydell, smug as he watched everything go down. As his betrayal lured good people to their deaths. The numbing punch of being hit by a bullet. Me telling Chris I loved him, because let’s face it – I thought we were going to die. And then my father…a short glimpse of his face before the world went black and I fell into the no-go zone of unconsciousness.

  I exhale sharply.

  I don’t want to think about that right now. I have to stay focused. I have to stay alive. The rendezvous point isn’t too far from here, and once we reach it, we can rest and figure out what we’re going to do. We can’t go back to basecamp…Harry Lydell blabbed the location to Omega. What are we going to do with our militia?

  Set up tents next to the creek and start prospecting for gold?

  Not a foolproof strategy.

  I glance at Derek and Sophia, moving a couple hundred feet ahead of our platoon. They’re keeping low to the ground, quiet. Scouting far enough ahead to warn us of any impending danger that our scouts might have missed – not that that’s a likely scenario, because our scouts are awesome. It’s merely a precaution. The rest of our group is silent, pensive. Exhausted but trudging onward, because we’re almost there.

  I curl my fingers against the palms of my hands, watching Sophia walk. Her head is bent, her lips are pursed. Her face is emotionless. Steely. Others are moving with a reserved, hollow expression on their faces. Some appear angry, some appear frightened.

  It’s what you can expect in the aftermath of what we’ve been through.

  Up ahead, our scouts walk towards us, slipping out of the dark undergrowth of the forest. They appear out of nowhere, like shadows. It would be frightening if they weren’t on our side. One of the scouts exchanges a few words with Chris, and he signals to Sophia and Derek.

  We must be there.

  I tilt my head. Chris stops, a deep sigh escaping his lips.

  “Finally,” he mutters.

  At the top of the slope, a familiar face is peering at me.