State of Rebellion (Collapse Series) Page 8

  We’re airborne!

  I tilt my head back and look at the sky as we rise, the camp disappearing into darkness. There are no lights to give the location away from the air. The peaks of the high Sierras tower thousands of feet into the sky, miles high. They look ethereal, otherworldly. The vastness of the open space is overwhelming. I’ve never been on an airplane before. How many people can say they took their first flight in a biplane in the mountains right smack in the middle of a post-apocalyptic warzone?

  “How do you land this thing if there are no lights?” I ask. I have to yell to be heard above the wind resistance and the engine noise.

  “When we get back, they’ll have lights for us,” Manny replies.

  “How?”

  “Don’t worry about it, kid! Just enjoy the ride!”

  I force myself to take another peek over the edge of the plane. What if the engine dies? What if Omega sees us? What was I thinking?

  That you could have a little fun for once in your life.

  “What are we looking for?” I yell, trying to distract myself from the height.

  Manny bangs on the back of the seat. I see that he’s wearing flat headphones. Another set is hanging just in front of me, right below my knee. I grab a pair and snap them on, instantly tuning into Manny’s chuckling, excited voice.

  “What are we looking for?” I repeat.

  “Anything we can find!” he replies, right over the crackle of the radio static. “Troop movements, suspicious lights, anything out of the ordinary that warrants our attention.”

  After a few minutes I settle into my seat and loosen my hold on the side of the cockpit. The little biplane totters and rumbles through the air. I glance behind me. Manny’s hair is streaming around his face, right along with the comical earflaps. He looks halfway insane, but I realize something now: this is where Manny is most comfortable. Up in the air. Away from the war.

  There’s nothing up here that can hurt us, after all.

  Right?

  “See that speck of clearing down to the right?” he yells.

  “Yeah! What is it?”

  “It’s a lake. Or what’s left of it.” The plane slowly veers right over the clearing, a dark, smooth smudge in the middle of a sea of trees. “It was a campground, just like Camp Freedom. Only this one was abandoned and unfortified. The lake is just a cesspool now.”

  “Is there a place to land?” I ask.

  “Only during daylight hours, and even then I wouldn’t go down that way.”

  “Why?”

  “Rogue Militia.”

  I strain to see the lake as we pass over it, nothing more than a dark spot from this distance. “Rogue Militia?”

  “Thieves and bandits. Organized paramilitary units that rob and murder innocent people.”

  The plane eases to the left, a current of freezing air washing over the nose. I throw my head back and smile despite myself.

  “I knew you’d like it up here,” Manny says triumphantly.

  “You didn’t know anything,” I reply, grinning. “You were just hoping.”

  “True, true. But what’s wrong with a little hope now and again?

  Nothing at all.

  Our scouting mission over the mountains lasts for what seems like hours. As soon as the first hint of dawn appears on the horizon, Manny changes the direction of the plane. We’re heading home. We haven’t seen anything suspicious. No troop movements. No sign of Omega. Not that I could have seen anything with my untrained eye if I’d wanted to, but I like to believe that I have enough skill these days to spot something out of the ordinary.

  By the time we make it back to camp, it’s early morning. I feel alive, invigorated. And as I see the meadow from the sky, a sense of calm and peace wash over me. Peace about my decision to leave with Chris and join the National Guard. Peace about my father staying behind to lead the Rangers and protect Camp Freedom. For the first time in a long time, I feel free. Like I have a choice.

  Like I’m independent. Truly independent.

  The plane slowly lowers to the ground. Everything seems to flash by faster as we get closer to the meadow. The trees, the sky, the grass. When the wheels actually hit the earth, we bounce up and down. Instead of being afraid, I laugh. What a ride. What an exhilarating experience!

  Manny coasts the plane down the meadow, makes a tottering U-turn, then slowly his beloved aircraft comes to a halt. The big engine cuts out. He stands up in the cockpit, takes off his cap and goggles and turns to me, grinning from ear to ear.

  “And that, my dear, is how it feels to be on top of the world,” he says.

  I climb out of my seat, jump onto the wing, and hop into the grass. I throw the goggles back into the cockpit and look around. Everything seems so big down here. Up in the sky it all looked so tiny. Like miniature toys.

  “Manny?”

  He looks at me.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say. “I needed it.”

  He nods slowly, shoving one hand into the pocket of his leather duster. He strolls off, humming Freebird by Lynyrd Skynyrd under his breath. I walk in the other direction, away from the meadow, back towards the barracks. Nobody has risen yet at this early hour, although the clatter of Manny’s biplane had to have woken at least one person.

  I slip back into the Bear Paw. Sophia is still sound asleep, one arm hanging off the bed, snoring softly. I crawl onto my bunk and press my face against the pillow, closing my eyes.

  I’ve made my decision.

  And I’m sticking to it.

  The night before the convoy leaves, Chris and I take a walk around the edge of the compound. It’s dark enough that we can hold hands without looking unprofessional in front of the militia. And right now I really need to hold his hand.

  “I don’t know how to say goodbye to Dad,” I say. “He hasn’t spoken to me since the meeting with Commander Rivera.”

  “He will. He’s just hurt, Cassie.”

  “I’m not doing this to hurt him.”

  “He knows that. I know that. Everybody knows that but you.”

  I stop at the fence, gazing at the trees beyond the metal border. “I know what I need to do, I just want him to understand why.”

  “You can’t force him to understand,” Chris replies, drawing me to his chest. “Your dad can’t be forced to do anything. You can only be honest with him. That’s all you can do.”

  I wrap my arms around his waist, inhaling his scent.

  “You’re right.” I sigh. “I need to say goodbye to your family.”

  “I already told them goodbye.” His heart beats faster, a sign of discomfort. Saying goodbye to the family he searched for – just like I searched for my father – must be enormously difficult. Because in this climate, you never know if you’ll see each other again. “They understand. I have a responsibility to lead my men.”

  “It’s not just that,” I say. “You have a responsibility to fight wherever and whenever you can. You have skills that most of us don’t have.”

  He grins softly.

  “Yeah?” He kisses my cheek. “Says who?”

  “Says me.” I trace the curve of his jaw with my thumb. “I guess I should go alone to say goodbye.”

  “You should.” He raises an eyebrow. “But I can come if you want me to.”

  “No. I need to do this myself.” I stand on tiptoes and press my lips against his for a brief, passionate kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight, Cassie.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I step away from his warmth, marching myself towards Staff Housing. In less than ten hours, I’ll be on my way to Fresno. I’ll be out of the mountains for the first time in months. Out in the open.

  Do what you gotta do, I think. You know this is the right thing.

  Staff Housing is illuminated with a couple of dim lanterns. The interior lighting in the cabins is hidden with black cloth and, in some cases, boards nailed over the windows. I trail up the cul-de-sac road, stopping at the middle cab
in in the neighborhood. It’s surrounded with Manzanita bushes and bear clover. I walk up the front steps and knock on the door.

  Isabel answers.

  “Cassie!” She throws open the screen door and hugs me fiercely. “I haven’t seen you in two days!”

  “I’ve been a little busy,” I shrug apologetically. “Can I come in?”

  “Duh.”

  I walk inside. The front room has a simple couch, outdated shag carpet and a fireplace. It’s a basic cabin. No artwork on the walls. No books on the shelves. Mr. and Mrs. Young are sitting together on the couch, poring over the pages of an issue of Reader’s Digest from 2009. And, to my complete surprise, Dad walks out of the kitchen.

  What is he doing here? I didn’t know he was chummy with the Youngs.

  “Cassidy, how nice to see you!” Mrs. Young exclaims. “Isabel’s missed you.”

  I pull my eyes away from my father.

  “I’ve missed you, too.” I square my shoulders. “I came to say goodbye.”

  She licks her lips, slowly setting the magazine down on the coffee table.

  “I had a feeling,” she says. “Chris and Jeff were here earlier.”

  “Now it’s my turn.”

  “No!” Isabel storms up to me, crossing her arms. “You can’t go! You’re safe here! We’re all safe here! If you leave, I might never see you again!”

  “I know.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Isabel, try to understand. I’m not doing this for myself, I’m doing this because it’s the right thing. I can’t stay here when they need me out there.”

  “There are plenty of other people to fight on the front lines,” Dad suddenly says.

  I place my hand on my hip.

  “No, there’s not,” I reply. “And what are you doing here, anyway? I didn’t know you were in the habit of having late night coffee with the Youngs.”

  “He came to talk to us about Chris,” Mr. Young interjects, speaking up. Something he rarely does. “It’s fine, Cassidy. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Talk about Chris?”

  “Cassidy, try to understand,” Dad sighs. “I was just worried about my daughter.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I turn to Isabel and give her a fierce hug. Her eyes are brimming with tears, her pale cheeks flushed with splotches of red. “Listen to me,” I say. “I will come back. I will see you again.”

  “But when?” she sniffs.

  “When it’s over.”

  “What if it never ends?”

  I kiss her forehead. “Everything ends, Isabel.”

  I hug Mrs. Young, the closest thing to a real mother I’ve had in my young life. Mr. Young gives me a brief, gruff embrace. But coming from him, it means a lot. And then I turn to Dad.

  “We need to talk,” I state.

  He nods.

  “I promise, I’ll see you again. We’ll all see you again,” I say, taking in Isabel’s tear-streaked face one last time. My own eyes are burning with emotion. “So…see you around.”

  “See you around,” Isabel cries, burying her face into Mrs. Young’s waist.

  I stand there, frozen. It will be a long time before I see these precious people again. If ever. I tuck the memory of this cabin and this conversation away in my brain before turning and walking out the door. Just like that. Otherwise I’ll never go.

  The front porch is creaky. It smells like campfire smoke. Dry wood.

  “How can you leave?” Dad demands, following me outside.

  His eyes are stormy. His body is coiled tight. I am in huge trouble.

  “This is my choice,” I reply, taking a shaky breath. “I have to fight.”

  “You can fight here. You don’t have to leave to do that.”

  “Dad, they need us out there, and I can help.” I sigh. “I can’t let him go alone. I’d wonder why I didn’t go with him for the rest of my life.”

  “So that’s it, then?” he growls. “You’re throwing your life away and leaving the safety of a secure camp for a boy?”

  “Chris is not just some boy!” I counter, flushed. “You know better than that. Why were you over here talking about Chris with the Youngs, anyway?”

  “I wanted to get to know the family of the boy my daughter is leaving with!”

  “You should trust my judgment.”

  “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I know exactly what I’m doing,” I say. “For the first time in my life, I know what I want to do and where I want to go. This is what I’m supposed to be doing.”

  “But you’re helping already, Cassie,” Dad answers, closing his fingers around the porch railing. “You’ve already done enough. Don’t go out there and get yourself killed. This isn’t the militia anymore. This is the National Guard. The environment will be different, and the fighting will be more brutal than anything you’ve ever seen.”

  I close my eyes.

  “You’re right,” I shrug. “It’s going to be different. But I have to go anyway.”

  “Why would you go when you could stay here with me?”

  “Don’t.” I hold up my hand. “Don’t make me choose anybody over you. I’m not choosing one person over anyone else. I’m making a decision based on what I feel is the right thing to do. This is what I’ve decided.”

  He gives me a long, sad look.

  “Please, Cassie,” he says at last, softly. “Don’t go.”

  I blink hard and fight the urge to cry, walking across the porch. I need to be strong. I wrap my arms around my father, giving him a hug. His embrace is tight and final.

  “I love you, Dad,” I say. “You know that.”

  A pause.

  “I know.”

  I pull away. His expression is one of utter defeat – something I’ve never seen in him before. It frightens me. I bite my lip and take a few steps backward, turning on my heel and climbing down the front porch steps.

  “Cassidy,” Dad says.

  I turn.

  “I love you, too.” He folds his hands together, leaning against the railing. “Be careful.”

  I nod.

  And then I’m gone.

  There’s no turning back now.

  Chapter Eight

  Retrofitted jeeps and pickup trucks don’t make the most efficient convoy lineup in the world, but hey. If it works, it works. At this point, I’m becoming less and less critical of just about everything under the sun. Case in point, I’m heading into the back of an older military transport jeep. A line of transport trucks is waiting near the front entrance of Camp Freedom, ready to leave. It’s midnight.

  I’m outfitted in my militia uniform – military pants, jacket and blue armband tied around my bicep. I’ve got my rifle, my bulletproof vest, my backpack full of gear.

  I sling my rifle over my shoulder and climb the metal stairs of the last massive truck in the lineup, sitting down on a bench. They face each other, covered in nylon netting. Metal rods parallel the benches above me. The walls and ceiling are made of a heavy tarpaulin-like sheet printed in camouflage colors. It’s hot inside, and getting more crowded by the minute. Men and women. Former teachers and bank clerks. Brothers and sisters. Cashiers and baristas in another life. I set my backpack down and hold my rifle barrel up, drawing my knees closer to my chest. Sophia squeezes in next to me, and right behind her is Vera. She sits down on the bench across from mine.

  Great.

  She says nothing. I say nothing. Obviously this is going to be awkward.

  The truck fills up with more people. We simply can’t fit any more passengers. The back gate in the truck goes up, sealing with a loud metallic boom. My heart accelerates and Sophia jumps, grabbing my arm. I’ve never been big on being trapped in confined spaces. Especially with a ton of people in a truck, moving down a mountain in an active warzone.

  There’s a first time for everything.

  It’s getting stuffy fast back here, and as the doors continue to slam and militiamen and women keep piling into t
he trucks, I suddenly wish Chris were here. As our commander, he’s in the lead Humvee with Angela. I chose to stay with the Freedom Fighters in the transport trucks. I didn’t want to leave Sophia alone.

  But I’d rather be with Chris.

  The convoy roars to life. The trucks roll forward, diesel engines roaring to life, spitting strong fumes, the hard suspension of the vehicles hitting every pothole in the road with a bang. It jars my teeth. With nothing but dark walls and human faces to stare at, the jerking, rocking motion of the truck is enough to make me seriously carsick.

  I am aware of the exact second we cross Camp Freedom’s boundary line. The convoy speeds up, reaching the amazing speed of 15 miles per hour. Sophia and I share a sad, meaningful glance.

  “Goodbye, Camp Freedom,” I whisper.

  She nods, tears glistening in her eyes. But she doesn’t cry.

  If Vera overhears me she doesn’t say anything. She just sits silently, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Maybe leaving the camp is just as hard for her as it is for me. I don’t know. At least she didn’t have to leave her mother behind.

  Goodbye, Dad…

  Goodbye everything.

  The central valley is something I haven’t seen in a long time. After being a guerilla war fighter in the high mountains and foothills for months, the open space of farmland is disorienting. Everything is wide, bright and magnified. The trees are spaced far apart. No more pines, cedars or lodge poles. No more scent of mountains, of forest.

  This is just hot. Heat and dryness. And stillness, as if the land itself is waiting for something patiently.

  Orchards line the side of the road we take to Fresno. Most of the trees are dead. With no water and no farmers to care for them, they’ve been killed in the summer heat. The fruit basket of the world is looking pretty fruitless, even with all of the slave labor Omega is using – or was using – to harvest crops and get food to their invasion forces.