State of Alliance (3 page)

I round the edge of the hospital and find a secluded bench, away from the commotion. I sit down and bury my face in my hands, sobbing. Desperation and fear sinks in. If my father is not found, then it will be assumed that he is dead, and that will be the end of it. His life – his work, his legacy, and his connection to me – will be severed in an instant.

My hatred for Omega burns brighter.

What will I do if he’s dead?
I think.
Where will I go?

The answer is simple: I will go where I am needed. That is what I have done in the past, and it’s what I should do now.

I wipe my tears away, blinking at the world with blurred vision.

I steady my breathing, slipping back into battle mode.

Into
keep-it-together
mode.

I stand up, and I leave the hospital.

I am walking toward the hotel where the militia officers have been quartered. The sun has set. I zip my jacket up, pausing at the corner of the block. The hotel is glimmering against the night sky, buzzing with activity at the bottom level. Where there used to be valet parking, there are armored vehicles. It’s now a fortress, surrounded by concrete T walls and armed guards manning every entry point.

By the time I reach the hotel lobby, I realize how completely exhausted I am. My steps are slow and labored. The front desk and receptionist areas are being manned by National Guardsmen.

I head to the elevator, knowing that if I don’t sleep for at least a couple of hours, I won’t be any good to anyone. The elevator arrives, and I step inside. I reach the fifteenth floor. The doors open, and for the first time in hours, there is silence. I breathe a sigh of relief and walk to my hotel room. I close the door, lock it, and lean against it. I take a deep breath and slide down to the floor, sitting on the carpet, closing my eyes.

The city streets gleam through the windows with the lights of backup generators and patrol vehicles making their rounds. The rumble of engines and buzz of voices is a soft hum through the hotel window. How do we know Omega won’t attack again? Why did they stop with just two cruise missiles? Are they playing a game with us? Cat and mouse? The game of intimidation? If it was meant to scare the crap out of us, it certainly worked.

But I don’t think that’s their game. I believe their aim is to remove our leaders, kill us off one by one, and destroy the strength of the resistance to the Omega invasion.

Am I afraid? Yes. Will I stop fighting? Never.

I collapse on the bed, laying my cheek against the scratchy bedspread. This is luxury living, compared to what I have been doing for the last year. But I don’t care about that. As I fall into an exhausted sleep, my thoughts are on my father.

Omega has taken him away from me again.

Chapter Three

When I open my eyes, I forget where I am. Am I home? Why isn’t my alarm clock going off? Has Dad left for work already? Did I oversleep?

I sit straight up, confused and disoriented.

Wait. I swing my legs around and place my boots on the floor.

I’m not home. Dad is MIA. The Capitol Building was bombed. I am a Commander
and
a Senator. I have responsibilities.

I stand up and open the closet. I pull out my spare uniform – basically a carbon copy of the torn and dirty combat fatigues and jacket I’m wearing – and head to the bathroom for a quick rinse.

While I am getting ready, I reflect on everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours.

My friend Angela Wright is dead. The Capitol Building has been destroyed. Dozens of officers have been wounded. Dad is missing in action. And Chris…well, that’s not important, now
.

I get dressed, comb the tangles out of my curly red hair and look at myself in the mirror.

“I can get through this,” I say aloud.

I leave the hotel room and slam the door shut behind me. I’m not just tired. I’m
angry
. Omega has crossed a line. Killing Angela, potentially killing my father…I have been fighting all this time for my friends and family. For the people that I care about. If they are gone, what am I supposed to do?

Fight harder
, a little voice says.
Hit them back twice as hard
.

I step inside the elevator, exiting at the lobby. Morning sunlight is streaming through the glass windows, casting a heavenly glow on an otherwise gritty scene. Soldiers move around, rotating watches and patrols, acting with purpose and focus. I scan the crowds for familiar faces. There is nobody here that I recognize.

I reach the lobby doors and step outside, coming face to face with a young woman in a National Guard uniform. Her dark, honeyed skin blends with black hair and eyes. I stop dead in my tracks, staring for a minute, and then a smile spreads across my face.

“Sophia!”

I throw my arms around her neck and embrace her. Sophia Rodriguez. The friend who helped me survive an Omega POW slave labor camp. The friend
who joined the National Guard and fought against Omega with me…and also the friend who claimed Chris was a traitor and refused to help me rescue him from Omega’s POW Holding Center in Los Angeles.

My shock and surprise at seeing her here overcomes the anger I felt the last time we were in the same room.

I pull away, noting Sophia’s pained expression.

“It’s good to see you,” I say, my smile fading.

She clears her throat.

“You survived,” she replies. There is no smile on her face.

“Yes. Operation Angel Pursuit was a success. We brought Chris back, Sophia. We did it!”

She shakes her head, not meeting my gaze.

“I was talking about the Capitol Building, actually,” she says.

“Oh.” I blink. “Yeah, I was outside when the missile hit.”

“Missile?”

“Yeah. Chris says it was probably a cruise missile.” I shrug. “He’s right. Nobody could have gotten inside the Capitol and planted a bomb that big. There’s way too much security.”

“Well. Chris would know. He always knows everything,” Sophia replies, and there is a note of sarcasm in her voice. “That’s why you rescued him from Los Angeles.”

“Sophia, what is
with
you?” I demand. “Chris has never done anything to you, and neither have I.”

She doesn’t answer.

So I switch tactics.

“Alexander Ramos is alive,” I say. “He was in Los Angeles. He’s here, now.”

She stares at me, and for a brief moment, I see a flash of the old Sophia. The spunky, optimistic young woman who helped me survive enslavement and countless guerilla warfare shootouts. And then she says,

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Go to Headquarters and see for yourself.”

“But that’s impossible,” she replies, and this time, her tone is unsteady. “Alexander went MIA weeks ago.”

“Well, he’s with us now.”

“I would have known about this.”

“No. You wouldn’t.” I fold my arms. “Because you chose Colonel Rivera and the National Guard over
Operation Angel Pursuit.” I shrug. “That was your choice, and now I’m just telling you what you missed.”

“If you’re lying, Cassidy-”

“-I’ve never lied to you before,” I frown. “I’ve never done anything to hurt you, Sophia.”

Her lower lip trembles.

“I need to get to Headquarters,” she mutters.

She pushes past me, leaving me alone on the sidewalk, staring after her. Dumbfounded by her behavior – and the shock of seeing her here – I barely remember how to move my legs and keep walking.

Sophia will heal
, I tell myself.
She just needs time. The stress of warfare just affects people in different ways
.

The Headquarters Building has been moved from the Capitol to the Sacramento Convention Center. It is several blocks away, but walking in the cool morning air does a lot to clear my head.

By the time I reach the Convention Center, I am alert and centered. The long, gray building is lined with glass walls and doors. A security perimeter has been established around the block. I spot several familiar figures near the front entrance, an ornate box office with the words,
Sacramento Convention Center
above the entryway. An empty water fountain is sitting on the concrete, pathetic and lonely.

“Uriah,” I say.

He is clean, dark hair combed back against olive skin. He assesses me as I approach, sadness in his coal-colored eyes. “Cassidy,” he replies. “You’re okay.” I raise an eyebrow. “Where is everyone?”

Alexander Ramos and tall, blonde Derek are not here. “Alexander is inside,” Uriah explains. “Derek is at the hospital.”

“Is he hurt?” I ask, alarmed.

“Just nicked. A support beam fell on him yesterday. His arm might be broken.” He sighs. “Another one bites the dust.”

“His arm is broken,” I say. “He’s not dead. Thank God.”

“Vera is inside the Convention Center,” Uriah continues. “She’s…different. Her mother’s death. It affected her more than she would like to admit, I think.”

“Understandable,” I say.

Angela Wright is dead. Yet another one of us dies at Omega’s hands.

It infuriates me.

“They’re waiting for you inside,” Uriah says, standing straighter.

“Me?”

“You’re a Senator now, remember?” A slight smile spreads across his lips.

“How could I forget?” I gesture for him to follow me. We walk together toward the entrance of the Convention Center, entering through the doors. A huge, carpeted foyer and escalators that actually work can be found here. Doors line the walls, each one an entrance to a different floor.

“Where were you last night, Cassidy?” Uriah whispers.

“At the hospital.”

“Why?”

“I was looking for my Dad.” I shake my head. “I’d rather not talk about my father right now. I need to be calm.”

“Okay,” Uriah continues. “Let me rephrase that: why weren’t you with Chris at Headquarters last night? The officers were meeting. We needed you.”

“I had an obligation to make sure my father was alive,” I say.

Uriah closes his mouth. He understands. He always does.

“Well…” he pauses. “Is he?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “He wasn’t at the hospital. He’s still missing in action.”

He says nothing. There is a gathering of National Guardsmen in uniform at the end of the foyer. We follow them into a huge room – gray floors, gray walls, and huge skylights above our heads.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you.” Andrew jumps up from a chair. He is tall and lean, short dark hair cropped into a military buzz. He is a good man. Our so-called “tech guy.” One of the most valuable people in my platoon.

“Andrew,” I say. “What’s going on here?”

“They need you,” he replies.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” Uriah points out.

I look to the front of the room. I recognize Robert Lockwood – the Pro Tem Speaker of the House. I’m glad to see that he survived the bombing. Manny is seated on a chair, watching the gathering of officers with an annoyed expression on his face.

Good old Manny. Completely anti-political.

Chris is standing with his arms folded across his broad, muscular chest, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, his jaw taut. He is talking with Vera Wright. She looks upset, her usually pale cheeks colored with splotches of red. Chris shakes his head and gestures to the door. She fists her hands at her sides and marches away, in our direction.

“Vera, what’s wrong?” I ask her.

She doesn’t answer. She glares at me as she exits the room, never pausing to speak to anyone else. Chris looks up and catches my eye. He nods slightly and turns back to the rest of the officers.

I walk over. And then I see why Chris is so tense. Colonel Rivera – a big, blundering man with a cigar wedged between his teeth – is speaking. This is the man who denied the militias backup during a fight with Omega. This is the man who refused to send a rescue unit into Los Angeles to rescue Chris when he was captured by Omega. This is the man who will hate me for the rest of my life for disobeying his ridiculous orders to abandon Chris and deny me a rescue mission into Los Angeles, Operation Angel Pursuit.

This man is no friend of mine.

“
Senator
Hart,” he sneers as I enter the group. “Where have you been?”

I don’t answer his question.

Instead, I say, “Commander Young.” I nod respectfully at the love of my life, then face Robert Lockwood. He is a tall man with dark brown hair and a deep, baritone voice. “Speaker,” I say. “What’s the situation?”

“The situation,” Manny interrupts, “is that Omega launched a cruise missile from a ship just outside of the San Francisco Bay, hit the Capitol Building twice, and injured several hundred people – and killed dozens. But we already know this. The question, boys and girls, is
what
we’re going to do about it.”

“We double our defenses and hit back,” Colonel Rivera booms. He looks directly at me as he speaks. “Unless the
Senator
objects.”

I glance at Chris.

“The Senator is still a Commander, Colonel,” Chris slings back. “Don’t forget that.”

Chris’s glare is lethal, and the Colonel shuts up.

“We don’t have the resources to attack a ship in the San Francisco Bay from here,” I say, stating the obvious. “But the Alliance does. If California is going to
survive, we need to join the Alliance as soon as possible.”

“Negotiations are beginning in two days,” Robert says.

“Where?”

“Monterey, California.”

“The coastline?”

Chris replies, “Monterey is heavily fortified with elements of the United States Naval Forces. Omega wouldn’t try to breach the steel ring around the bay area.”

“Omega will try anything,” Uriah points out.

“Where will the negotiations be?” I ask. “Because if Omega finds out, they could just send another cruise missile to wipe out all of the representatives from the Alliance.”

“The Naval Post Graduate School,” Chris answers. “It will be safe, trust me.”

I trust Chris. But I don’t discount Omega’s ability to screw everything up.

“How will I get there?” I press.