State of Alliance (15 page)

I shudder.

I have to warn them
.

But I can’t. I am a prisoner, for now.

We move through the camp. The eyes of every Omega soldier are on me. There are lots of Chinese troops. I spot Russian and German mercenaries, and Iranian soldiers on the borders of the camp.

Omega. One army, one world.

There is a large tent erected on the edge of camp. Harry walks inside and I am pushed through the flap. It is spacious in here. There is a simple cot and a foldable table in the middle, covered with maps and radios.

The guards retreat to the edge of the tent, always watching.

“So what do you plan to do with me, then?” I demand. “You’ve already got enough troops to knock down the wall of Jericho out here. You don’t need me for leverage.”

“But I
want
you for leverage,” Harry replies. “Consider it a side-game. Nothing will drive Chris Young crazier than knowing that I’m going to kill you.”

“Chris is a big boy,” I say. “He stays focused on the objective of the mission, and he
will
kill you, Harry. You know that.”

I see a flicker of fear in Harry’s eyes. It lasts for only a second, then disappears. He clears his throat and taps the table. “When the sun rises, we’re going to attack Monterey. They won’t see it coming. Your forces are so blind in so many ways.” He opens his hands. “And Chris Young will get himself killed trying
to save you. Once he’s dead, I’ll kill you, too. Two birds with one stone: Monterey
and
the both of you.”

I shake my head. Harry really is insane. Crazed with ideas of revenge. His hatred for Chris and me is the most puzzling thing in the world. Chris and I were nothing but forgiving and kind to Harry – even after I learned that Harry had turned me in to the commander of our labor camp, earning me an immediate death sentence.

I forgave him for that.

But Harry…he didn’t learn from his mistakes.

He took the easy route. He sold out, and now he’s the bad guy.

“You could have been a good guy,” I tell him. “You could have helped us.”

“There’s no fame or recognition in the militias,” Harry snorts. “With Omega, I’ve been given the world. The New Order will elevate me to an esteemed position while the stupid, idealistic militia drivel is crushed under our feet.” He sits on the edge of his cot. “You could still join us, you know. There’s always room for one more.”

I reply, “I think you know I’d rather die.”

Harry frowns. “Yes, I guessed that was what you’d say. Still…” He sighs. “It doesn’t hurt to ask, does it?”

He checks his watch.

“Ah,” he says. “It’s nearly time for the show.”

“You’ve been sending assassins into Monterey,” I say, maintaining a cool expression. “Monterey was relatively safe until Chris and I showed up. Why are you so obsessed with getting revenge? We never did anything to you, Harry. We helped you survive, and in return, you stabbed us in the back.
We’re
the ones that should hate you.”

“And you
do
hate me,” Harry hisses. “You know you do.”

“I don’t hate you. I hate what you’ve done.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Cassidy.”

“Unlike you. You seem to be the master of deception.” I fold my arms across my chest, unmoving. “How many more innocent people have to die before this ends?”

Harry’s lip twitches.

“Many more,” he says. “The war is far from over.”

I spend two hours in Harry’s tent, alone. I don’t know where he goes, but I’m sure that wherever he is,
he’s causing more trouble. The shock and numbness of being captured by Omega troops has worn off, and I am thinking hard, trying to figure out a way to escape.

Unfortunately, I’m coming up dry.

There is no way out of this. I am surrounded on all sides by hundreds of Omega troops. I can’t simply slip out of camp, and even if I did manage to get through their lines, I have no idea where I am. Where would I run to? Certainly not the beach. I’d have to run inland. That would be the only way…

“Well, Commander,” Harry says, pushing the flap aside on the tent, “it’s time to start the show. Care to join me? I’ve got a matinee showing.”

“Enough theatrics, Harry,” I reply. “Seriously.”

He grins and offers his hand. I rise from my sitting position on the cot and follow him outside. It is early morning. The fog is still heavy. The sun is dimly glowing behind the clouds.

“This way,” Harry encourages.

He is flushed, strangely excited. I do not trust him for a second.

The door to the Humvee that we arrived in several hours ago is open.

“After you,” Harry says, mockingly offering me the door.

I lift my chin and get into the vehicle, knowing that I have no choice.

I keep my hands in my lap, my eyes staring out the window as Harry climbs in to sit behind me, three guards in the vehicle with us, including a driver. I feel claustrophobic, being trapped in a confined space with one of my most despised enemies. Harry, after all, is the same sadistic man who captured Chris and tortured him in an Omega prison in Los Angeles.

If I had any love for Harry, it vanished when he hurt Chris.

The Humvee moves in line with the small convoy. We head toward the coastline. I can barely make out the Pacific Ocean. It is a dull gray in the foggy morning light, an ode to things to come, I fear.

The Humvee is driving down a side road. I can’t see how close we are to the main highway. We stop at the crest of a small hill. The engines cut out, the doors open, and Harry laughs.

“It’s show time,” he says.

I get a sick feeling in my stomach.

I follow him outside, where he makes me stand at the front of the Humvee.

“Watch,” he tells me, buttoning the top button in his black overcoat. A red piece of cloth is tied around his forearm. It reminds me of the Nazi Gestapo uniform from the 1940s.

Is Omega any different?

No.

I follow Harry’s line of sight. The other Omega officers in this group are smiling and watching the horizon, gleeful. I squint, then recognize the slight crescent shape of the Monterey Peninsula in the distance.

And then, just off the coastline, I see ships. Four of them. Large warships, surrounding the little harbor like a wall. I suck in my breath, praying,
No, no, no! This can’t be happening! Not after all the sacrifices we’ve made – all the battles we’ve already fought!

“Our warships are quite deadly,” Harry brags. “I’m sure this battle will be over very shortly, fortunately for your forces.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, I hear the explosion. It is similar to the detonation in Sacramento at the Capitol Building. It is a massive
strike. I see the rolls of smoke and the rumbling aftershock of the explosion reaches us even here, across the bay. There is a second strike, then a third one. All of them hit buildings and key installations along the coastline.

I raise my hands to my lips, horrified.

Monterey is under attack, and there is nothing I can do about it.

Chapter Thirteen

I grab Harry by the shoulders and slam him backward against the hood of the Humvee. “How could you
do
this?” I demand, tears burning in my eyes. “Innocent people are going to die.
Good
people, Harry!”

Two Omega guards grab my arms and pull me off Harry, forcing me to the ground. One of them slams the butt of his rifle into the back of my neck. I flinch from the pain and hang my head, heaving.

“Good people, bad people,” Harry replies, “what’s the difference, really? We’ve all got bad
in
us, so we’re all bad. It’s just a matter of who’s
stronger
.”

“It’s a matter of choosing the good
over
the bad,” I say defiantly. “That’s what makes us who we are – that’s what defines us.”

Harry shakes his head.

“Take her away,” he commands. “Keep her safe and sound until the moment arrives.” He mock bows. “Pardon me, Senator. I’ve got the rest of Monterey to destroy, and so little daylight to work with.”

The guards drag me away, stuffing me into a different vehicle – a white, retrofitted pickup truck. They surround me. My neck is throbbing from the blow of the guards’ rifle, and I am trembling.

Did they blow up the postgraduate school? Is Chris dead? Is everyone I know gone? They can’t be. They just
can’t
…

I stop my train of thought, forcing myself to focus. The truck veers back onto the little road, disappearing into the fog. It’s just us. Two guards and the driver. I am in the center seat, staring at the console up front. I keep my hands flat against my hips, slowly slipping the fingers of my right hand into my pocket.

The small pocketknife that Jonas didn’t take is still there. Harry didn’t think to search me again, assuming that Jonas had already taken care of everything. Stupid move. Harry is brilliant in many ways, but he tends to miss the obvious.

The rumble of the engine in the car is enough to drown out the sound of me painstakingly opening the knife with one hand. I swallow when the blade clicks into the upright position, eyes darting sideways. The guards are oblivious, staring straight ahead, guns in their laps.

I curl my right hand around the handle of the blade and casually remove my hand from my pocket, keeping the knife just under my thigh, the flat of the blade against my pants.

This will have to be quick
, I think.
Very quick, or I’m dead
.

Despite the fact that Harry wants to keep me alive – for the sole purpose of hanging my kidnapping over Chris’s head – I know for a fact that these Omega guards won’t hesitate to kill me if I make a move.

So I’ll get one chance, and only once chance.

I realize that the drive to the crest of the hill was only about ten minutes, so I count to sixty over and over again until I reach five minutes. We are in the middle of fog, with no one around us or beside us.

I steel my nerves.

I take a deep breath and tighten my grip on the handle of the knife. I am still buzzing with adrenaline and anger from seeing the missile strikes on Monterey, so I take advantage of the fearlessness that comes from fury. I move quickly. I use my left hand to grasp the head of the guard on my left. I grip his hair, sliding my fingers under his helmet and slamming his head against the seat in front of him. I jam the blade
into the base of his skull, where the brain stem connects to the spine. I feel the blade slice through flesh, crunch through bone.

I do it quickly, in a split second.

I pull the blade out as he slumps forward, paralyzed.

The guard on my left is a second too slow. He makes a move to grab the knife, but I turn my body and place my boot on the door of the pickup, using the flat of my back as a sort of shield. I use the leverage I have against the door to push back and turn, thrusting the knife in the back of his neck, as well. It is a painful, horrible injury and he is momentarily frozen with the shock. I jab again, compounding the lethal blow.

My hands are slicked with hot, sticky blood.

I wrench the rifle out of the guard’s hands – the one on my left – and shove the cold, steely muzzle of the weapon into the back of the driver’s skull.

“STOP THE TRUCK!” I command.

He veers off the road, diving into a chain link fence and a grove of weeds. I hit the center console as the truck runs its tires into the dirt and the driver throws the vehicle into park. Heart pounding, I say, “Get out of the truck and throw your weapon on the ground.”

The driver barely manages to stumble out the door, tossing his rifle onto the ground, along with his knife. He heaves and then pukes onto the grass, shaking. I crawl into the front seat and jump outside.

I sling the rifle over my shoulder and grab the driver’s weapon.

“Give me your ammunition,” I say.

He does. He is pale. Sick.

“See this fence?” I say, nodding to the chain link fence. “Put your hands flat against it and stare at the ocean. Count to five-hundred. You move and I’ll shoot you right between the eyes.”

He does as he’s told, wrapping his fingers around the chinks in the fencing, silent. I open the back door of the pickup and drag the dead guards on the ground.

I feel a twinge of guilt, of sadness.

And then it’s gone. I have no room for mercy in my heart today.

I take their guns and clips, too. I kick the side of the first guard’s boot.

“You’re wrong, by the way,” I say, turning to the guard grasping the fence. “The people with the stronger forces don’t win. The people with the stronger
spirits
do.”

I turn my back on the dead guards and the pitiful driver and slide behind the wheel of the pickup. I look at the fuel tank. Almost completely full. Finally, a stroke of good luck. I throw the truck into reverse and tear away from the fence, screeching onto the road, leaving hot, burnt rubber marks on the asphalt.

I see a sign that reads
Cabrillo Highway, Highway 1
.

I take the road, racing at breakneck speed through the fog.

My heart is still racing, my breath is short. I am covered in blood. It’s still warm, and it makes me sick. Sick that I have to kill people to save my own life. Sick that I have to kill people to save the lives of others.

I have so much blood on my hands.

The image of the Virgin Mary and the crucified Jesus flashes through mind.

“I’m not a murderer,” I whisper aloud. “I’m a soldier.”

I repeat those words until I believe them.

I hit the city limits of Seaside, just minutes away from downtown Monterey. I know that I am out of enemy territory when I see the United States Military vehicles driving down side roads. But the atmosphere
is different, now. The calm structure of safety is gone. Black smoke is rising from the shorelines, smearing the sky with darkness. There are sirens. A pall has been cast over the city.

We are no longer safe. We are under attack.

We were never safe in the first place
, I think.