State of Pursuit Page 4

  I nod.

  “How long have you been working with the Underground?” I ask.

  “Since the beginning,” she replies. She glances at Manny. “I’ll be able to help you reach Los Angeles. Up until this point, I haven’t been told what your mission is, and I won’t ask.”

  “This is a rescue unit,” I explain briefly.

  “Ah, so it’s true, then,” she frowns. “Commander Young was captured.”

  I hold her gaze. Yes. It’s true.

  “Commander, you have my word,” she says, “that I will do everything in my power to help you and your men pull off a successful mission.”

  I find myself smiling.

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  And I mean it. From the bottom of my heart.

  Chapter Four

  Here’s the thing that nobody tells you about being in love:

  It’s hard.

  Anything good in life takes work, and lately, a lot of blood, sweat and tears. My relationship with Chris Young has always been defined not just by mutual attraction, but by the fact that we were brought together in the middle of a post-apocalyptic warzone.

  Flowers and dinner dates? Never had those.

  Firefights and battle fatigue? That’s more like it.

  Wartime hardship has always been the dominating factor in our romance. It’s what brought us together, it’s what’s kept us together, and now…it’s what has torn us apart. Being separated from Chris is more difficult for me than being separated from my father. Because through everything, Chris has been the one that has kept my feet on the ground. He’s been the one to protect me, train me, and teach me how to survive. The fact that I’m still alive is a testament to his skillset, not mine.

  And not knowing if he’s alive or dead is killing me.

  Our platoon is gathered at the long table in the dining room of Arlene’s ranch house. Derek is sitting across from me. Vera is on my left, Uriah is on my right, and Manny and Arlene are seated on the other end of the table. Andrew is sitting on a couch, fiddling with a radio.

  “The plan?” Manny echoes. “We eat.”

  Several women pop out of the kitchen, serving us food. Someone sets a bowl of steaming beef stew in front of me. It smells fabulous. Much better than the wartime rations I’ve been eating on the battlefield.

  “Where do all these people come from?” I wonder aloud.

  “They’re refugees,” Arlene explains. “They stay here, and in exchange for safekeeping, they help Underground operations run smoothly.” She gestures to the soup. “Feeding our soldiers is an important part of that.”

  “Are you associated with any specific militia?” Vera presses.

  “I’m a free agent. What I do is here is my own business, and I’ve chosen to help all of the militias.” Arlene picks up her spoon. “We’ve all got to do our part to keep Omega out of our homes.”

  True words.

  “How do you know Manny?” I ask, pointblank.

  Arlene seems startled by my question, then takes a bite of stew.

  “I’ve known Manny for many years,” she replies.

  “Arlene and I go back a long time,” Manny says.

  “Commander,” she says, looking at me, “as soon as your men have eaten, I’ll give you all the information and equipment you’ll need to reach Los Angeles.”

  I pick up my utensils.

  “Has Omega ever showed up on your front doorstep?” Uriah asks. “I mean, every nice ranch house or mansion from here to the valley has pretty much been burned or ripped apart.”

  “They’ve yet to find me,” Arlene says. “This property is well hidden, far away from the main highways and difficult to spot from the air. Local militia keeps Omega from wandering too far into these hills with harassing fire. I’ve never had this many militiamen at Double Y before. The sooner you’re on your way, the better.”

  Okay, then.

  “What’s left of Los Angeles?” Vera suddenly asks.

  I flick my gaze to Arlene, watching her face. She frowns slightly, swallows, and answers, “It’s different.”

  “Define different.”

  “The Port of Los Angeles is being used to receive ships filled with Chinese soldiers,” Arlene replies. “Downtown Los Angeles has been commandeered by military units and Beverly Hills has been taken over by high level Omega officers.”

  “What about the population?” Derek says. “The civilians?”

  “They’re dead,” Arlene answers. No hesitation. “The chemical weapon was…effective. The population that remains exists only because Omega has allowed for a labor force. It is entirely a military city. A fortress.”

  “The militias and the National Guard stopped Omega’s northward push into the valley,” I say. “I don’t think it was because we had more soldiers or firepower. Something drove them back, and it wasn’t us. Has something happened that we need to know about?”

  “She’s a smart one,” Manny tells Arlene. “Or didn’t I tell you that already?”

  “You’ve told me,” Arlene says. “Eat your dinner. I’ll explain everything afterward. I promise.”

  I can live with that.

  “We’re walking into a hellhole,” Vera mutters to me. “Once we go into Los Angeles, there’s no coming out.”

  “I told you upfront that this was no picnic,” I reply, sharp. “If you’re worried, stay here. I don’t care.”

  And I really don’t.

  I don’t need Vera Wright any more than I need a diamond ring at this point.

  She glares at me, and once again I wonder why she’s here.

  For Chris? Because she’s got a crush on him? No. To go on a suicide mission into the heart of an Omega stronghold with a girl that you can’t stand requires more than a simple crush as motivation.

  What does Vera Wright want from me?

  “Tell me, Commander,” Arlene inquires, “how long you’ve been fighting with the militias.”

  “Chris Young liberated me from an Omega POW camp,” I reply. “I joined at that point.”

  “They say that you’re an excellent sniper,” she grins.

  I take a sip of water. “They’ve said a lot of things.”

  “It seems the story of Chris Young and Cassidy Hart has become prime entertainment for members of different militias across the state – and even across the country.”

  It could be worse.

  When we’re done eating, I follow Arlene into the living room. She pulls down a map from a floor-to-ceiling bookcase at the end of the room. The room is illuminated with 19th century oil lamps. I stand with my arms crossed, studying the map.

  “This is us,” Arlene says. She points to a region behind Highway 138, burrowed into the mountains. “You need to get here.” She drags her finger across the mountains and to the edge of Los Angeles. “Then to the city of Westwood, California. According to Underground operatives, Omega is housing prisoners of war in the Los Angeles County Jail.”

  My heart sinks.

  My father was a Los Angeles cop. I drove by the County Jail many times. It’s a fortress.

  “Don’t look too discouraged, my girl,” Manny grins, patting my shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about the jail. They’re keeping militia officers in an entirely different location. Large prisons are too complex and crowded, with limited electricity. But smaller buildings? That’s where they keep the important officers.”

  “Chances are, if Commander Young is still alive,” Arlene interjects, “he’ll be kept somewhere in downtown Westwood. It’s near where many of the ranking Omega officers are encamped, which makes him easily accessible for interrogation.”

  “Where is the location of this building, exactly?” Uriah asks.

  “That I can’t say,” she shrugs. “Scouts will have more information for you when you reach the Way Houses.”

  “Say what?” Derek demands. “This is too complicated. Give it to us straight and simple, lady.”

  “Derek,” I warn.

  But I don�
��t disagree.

  “I want the whole story,” I say, facing Arlene. “Before we leave here, I want to know everything that you know about Los Angeles.”

  Manny chuckles, sitting on the couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table.

  “I’d say that’s a fair deal,” he remarks. “What do you say, Arlene?”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “Fine,” she replies.

  And that’s when she tells us.

  “Omega was attacked in San Diego,” Arlene says.

  The room goes silent. Like a tomb.

  “By who?” Vera breathes. “United States military?

  “Mexico,” Arlene answers.

  “Mexico?” Derek repeats. “Does Mexico still exist?”

  “All I know is what I’ve heard,” Arlene says, raising her hands. “They say that Mexico forces en masse attacked Omega in San Diego. It was huge. Omega was taken by surprise.”

  “When?” Uriah asks.

  “Just a few days ago.” Arlene points to the map. “Which is why so many of Omega’s forces retreated from the Valley Chokepoint, Commander Hart. Your instincts were correct.”

  I run a hand through my hair.

  “Does this mean Mexico is strong enough to actually help us win this thing?” I ask.

  “I have no idea what Mexico’s situation is,” Arlene says. “But thank God for their help. There are rumors of forces attacking Omega in Washington and Oregon, as well.”

  “Who would that be?” Andrew comments. He’s still fiddling with the radio, wires strung across his lap. “Mexico is in the south. Who’s up north?”

  “Canada,” Uriah suggests.

  “Are you saying that we’ve got allies?” I breathe.

  “What’s she’s saying is that someone, out of self-preservation, is attacking Omega, too,” Manny interrupts. “Which means we’re not bearing the full weight of their attacks.”

  Thank God.

  Seriously.

  “Which means it might provide the little bit of daylight you need to get your rescue unit into Los Angeles,” Arlene adds. “Omega is rolling south to defend their position in San Diego, and from what we’ve heard, they’ve got their hands full.”

  A sign of weakness? A flood of hope rushes over me. Omega is struggling more than I thought they were.

  Finally, some good news.

  “We have transportation that will enable you to get into the city without being detected,” Arlene says. “Underground hotspots are everywhere. There is a Way House where you will meet scouts at the edge of Toluca Lake, not far outside of Westwood. They will give you the location of the facility where they are holding Commander Young.” She traces a circle around the ranch house on the map. “It’s about sixty miles from here to Westwood.”

  “What’s a Way House?” Andrew asks, never looking up from his radio.

  “A safe place for traveling militiamen to stay,” Arlene explains. “Manny will be your guide into the city, considering the mode of transportation that you’ll be taking.”

  “Wait, hold it,” Derek says. “We’re not flying to Los Angeles. That’s impossible. Omega’s got aircraft everywhere.”

  “I didn’t say we were flying,” Manny answers, leaning forward. He grabs a glass dish on the coffee table. It’s full of pine nuts. “Although I would prefer to fly.”

  “Then how are we going in?” Vera demands, annoyed.

  “You’ll see,” Manny says.

  And he’s right.

  We do.

  Chapter Five

  “Cassidy, listen to me,” Chris says. “If I die fighting, I want you to stay safe. Do you understand?”

  “Everything’s going to be fine. It always is,” I reply, smiling faintly.

  “Not this time.” He seems desperate to make me believe that this is the end. That we’re all going to die, and that I need to brace myself for it. “Cassie. I…need you to promise me that you’ll take care of yourself if I’m not here to help you. Make wise decisions. Do what I would do.”

  “I’m not you,” I shrug. “And what’s with all the doom and gloom talk? You’re Mr. Motivation, remember?”

  He grabs my shoulders. Presses a fierce, hot kiss to my lips. I wrap my arms around his neck, stroking his cheek with my thumb. His heart is beating fast.

  “What’s wrong, Chris?” I whisper. “This isn’t like you.”

  I study his eyes. They’re tinged with red. From stress? From physical exhaustion? Probably a combination of both. But it’s unlike him to voice concerns like this out loud.

  “I just need you to promise me that if I die,” he says, “you’ll go back to Camp Freedom. Find your father. He’ll protect you. Can you promise me that?”

  “You’re not going to die,” I state firmly. “And neither am I.”

  “Cassidy. Promise me.”

  His gaze is intense.

  I drop my eyes, studying the stitching on the collar of his uniform jacket.

  “I can’t make a promise that I won’t keep,” I reply. “I can’t lie to you.”

  He brushes his lips across my forehead, fingering my hair.

  “Please,” he says. His voice breaks.

  I close my eyes.

  “I promise,” I say.

  I hate breaking promises. I promised him that if he were to die on the battlefield, I would go back to the mountains and live with Dad. Fortunately, I’ve got a keen eye for loopholes. Chris didn’t die on the battlefield. He went missing in action.

  There’s a difference.

  So here I am, leading a rescue unit into Los Angeles.

  Sorry, Chris. I love you too much to leave you in the hands of my enemies.

  Even if it means breaking my promise?

  Yes. Even then.

  I’m sitting on the edge of the biggest couch in the living room of the ranch house. We are leaving tonight. It’s cold, drizzly and dark. I stare out the front window. I have barely been able to rest while I’ve been here. I’m anxious, on edge. Wondering where Chris is…if he’s alive…if he’s being interrogated. What if he’s being tortured?

  I can’t even think about that.

  I stand up and pace the length of the room, boots sinking into the soft carpet. The platoon is outside, getting ready. I’m waiting for my Lieutenants to meet me here. I need to speak to them privately before we leave this place.

  Because when we leave…we might not be coming back.

  Morbid, but true.

  “What’s up, boss?” Derek asks as he saunters into the room, his rifle over his shoulder, pack on his back. “Bad news?”

  “No,” I reply.

  Uriah, Vera, and Andrew enter the room right behind him, geared up and ready to go.

  “You’re going to need to travel as lightly as possible,” I say. “We’re not driving into Los Angeles, it’s too dangerous. And we can’t fly, either.”

  “So how are we getting in, Hart?” Vera snaps. “We can’t just appear there.”

  “I’ll show you,” I say.

  We take a long hallway toward the back of the building, exiting into the backyard. Only this backyard is massive. An empty swimming pool fed by a natural spring is wedged between lavish landscaping – exotic shrubbery and marble water fountains.

  “Geez Louise,” Derek says. “How rich was Arlene?”

  “Very rich,” Manny replies. “Her family raised cattle for over a hundred years. Good salt-of-the-earth people.”

  “How do you know her family?” I ask.

  “We go back a long way. I’ll tell you the story sometime.”

  “Fair enough.”

  In the back of the property, the stables stand tall and proud. The building is beautiful, and once we enter the side door, I smell straw and livestock. It’s a comforting scent. One that reminds me of my time spent with Chris and his family last Christmas. Before their farm was burned to the ground.

  The interior is glowing with lamplight. Beautiful horses snort and shake their heads in their stalls. Maybe they�
�re not used to having this many people in their living space.

  Sorry, guys.

  “Oh, my God…” Vera mutters. “Horses. We’re taking horses.”

  “It’s the tactical edge we need,” Manny exclaims. “And fortunately for you, I know everything there is to know about horseback riding. You’re welcome.”

  “We’re going to die on these things,” Vera sighs.

  “Not likely,” I reply. “United States Special Forces used horses in Afghanistan. They’re tough, they make good time, they’re pretty much all-terrain…and they’ll get us in and out of the city undetected.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Andrew remarks.

  “Not bad at all,” Uriah adds.

  Vera slowly, hesitantly strokes the nose of a toffee-colored horse. She’s smiling, peaceful. When she catches me watching her, she hardens.

  “So,” she says. “What now?”

  “We saddle up, obviously,” Manny replies. He pats the cheek of a brown-hued horse. “Take only the necessary items. Weapons, food, ammo and water. You’ve all got tactical medical kits on your person, so besides that…you should be set. Keep it light, boys and girls.”

  “We brought a ton of supplies in the Humvees,” Derek comments, “and there’s no way we’re going to be able to take all of it on horseback. My RPG is going to have to stay behind.”

  He looks utterly crushed.

  “It’ll be okay, Derek,” I say, squeezing his shoulder. “We can’t use an RPG in downtown Los Angeles, anyway. It’s not exactly discreet.”

  “No.” He grins. “But it would be awesome.”

  “Manny,” I say in a low voice, “you’re going to have to walk me through this. I’ve never been on a horse before.”

  “Girl, believe me when I say that you more than anyone else here is capable of riding a horse,” Manny answers. He presses my hand against the forehead of his horse. “This is Katana. She’s my favorite of the lot, and the most even-tempered. She’s best suited for you.”

  “Oh.” I peek around the side of Katana’s head, studying her huge, long lashed brown eyes. “Hey, girl. Nice to meet you.”

  Katana nickers a soft, breathy nuzzle in response.

  “The secret of horseback riding is simple,” Manny begins. Arlene strides into the room with a bucket of water, sets it down near Katana’s stall, and looks at me.