Summer Lane - State of Pursuit

“Manny should be—” I begin, but I stop. “We’re being watched.”

“Obviously,” Vera replies. “We’re surrounded.”

Well, duh. My men watch the sides of the road carefully. Several armed guards emerge from the foliage, well camouflaged and silent. They wear no uniforms. In fact, they are dressed as civilians. But they are armed, and that is enough.

“National Guard,” I say. “I’m Yankee One. We’re with Manny.”

“Yes, I know.” A slender, almost-invisible figure emerges from the woods. It’s a woman. She’s tall, white-haired. A green shirt is tucked into her combat pants. A pattern of soft wrinkles frames her pretty face.

A German Shepherd darts out of the bushes and streaks toward me.

I instinctively take a defensive stance and bring my rifle up, ready to smash the stock of the weapon into the dog’s face when it bites. And I realize something in that moment: I’m not afraid of the dog. I’m not afraid of being bitten.

I’m just reacting to a threat like a robot.

I really have changed.

“Cinco, no!” the woman says.

She rushes forward. The dog hesitates when it hears her command, and it pulls back, but it continues to growl, circling me. The woman grabs the dog by the collar, dragging it backward as much as she can manage, sternly telling it to stand down.

“I’m sorry,” she says, offering a halfhearted grin. “Cinco’s just doing her job.”

“I can respect that,” I remark.

“Welcome to Safe Zone One,” the woman keeps a hand on Cinco’s collar. The dog is still growling menacingly. “Is this it?”

“Is what it?” Vera snaps.

“Is this your entire rescue unit?”

“Yeah.” The small size of the unit must be disappointing. “We pack a mean punch.”

Arlene’s eyes soften a bit.

“I believe you,” she answers.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” I say. “We need to get moving as soon as possible. Do you have everything we need?”

“I will.” She looks over her shoulder, whistling shrilly.

As I turn and open the lead Humvee’s back door, Manny comes out of the woods. His flight cap is stuffed into the pocket of his duster. He’s flushed. It looks like he’s been running.

“Manny?” I say. “Are you okay?”

“Never been better,” he replies, bending down. Scratching Cinco behind the ears. “I see you made it in one piece. That’s good news.”

“You could say that,” Vera remarks.

“It wasn’t as bad as we thought it’d be,” I shrug.

He bats the dog’s tail away.

“I told you it was purely elementary, didn’t I?”

“Let’s go inside,” I say, reminding myself that I’m in charge, and therefore I should lead the way. “Standing around in the open isn’t wise.”

The hills could have eyes other than our own.

“Good call,” Andrew murmurs.

Vera gives him a condescending look as she passes him.

Why is she even here? I wonder. It’s certainly not because she’s my biggest fan .

I lead the platoon — about twenty-five people in all — to the front of the gate. The woman falls into step beside me, Manny on her left. The dog is silent. I keep my eye on it, regardless.

“I’m Arlene, by the way,” the woman says. “Codename Shepherd One on the radio.”

Ironic .

“You’ve got a reputation, Cassidy,” she continues

“So I’ve been told,” I answer.

She unlocks the gate, shouting at the powerful guard dogs on the other side, commanding them to be silent. They cease most of the barking and growling, prowling around the sides of the fence. They know their master, and they have been trained to respond well.

Manny says something to Arlene in a low voice.

She playfully slaps his shoulder. He laughs good-naturedly.

Hmm .

The front walkway to the ranch house is wide, packed tight with gravel, the lawn perfectly manicured. The house itself is three stories, painted in muted earth tones, blending in with the terrain. A sprawling bunkhouse sits on the right hand side of the property, and in the back, there are stables and corrals.

“Nice place,” Vera comments.

“Yes,” Arlene replies. “Been in the family for generations.”

We reach the front door. It’s huge, oak and bracketed with black iron hinges. Arlene pushes it open and we step inside. I take a deep breath, marveling at the 19 thcentury design. Large windows in the second floor shed natural light into the room. It smells like aged leather and dusty books. And food! Something is cooking, and the scent is mouthwatering.

How long has it been since I’ve been inside a house ?

“Welcome to the Double Y Ranch,” Arlene announces, standing at the end of the entryway. “We’re a way-station for traveling soldiers and a proud thorn in the side of Omega. What you see and hear in this place is confidential. We are a low-profile operation, and I expect you to all to treat this location accordingly.”

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.

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.”