Summer Lane - State of Chaos

A wave of men start pushing through the front entrance, guns blazing, systematically working their way onto the property. I struggle to my feet, looking at their clothes. Worn pants and boots, rifles. Blue bands of cloth tied around their upper right arms.

Blue?

I search the crowd for Grease. He’s saying something, but between the ringing in my ears and the background noise, I can barely make it out. Something like, Follow me!

“You’re with Chris Young ?” I ask.

He nods.

There’s no way logic can even factor into what I do next. I jump up and follow the man because of two words: Chris Young . As I struggle to keep up with Grease, a trooper on the ground jams his boots into my legs, knocking me off my feet. I hit the ground hard. The air rushes out of my lungs.

I roll to the side, just out of his reach, and crawl towards an Omega man who’s unconscious on the ground. As I do, the rapid sound of gunfire peppers the camp as the mystery men with the blue armbands flood the area, picking off… Omega soldiers.

They’re not hurting prisoners.

Realization slowly dawns. Omega is being attacked. By the good guys . Whoever the “good guys” are. I don’t know and I don’t care. I grab an obnoxiously huge gun off the unconscious trooper’s body and get to my feet, determined to do something to help.

I have no idea where Grease went. I lost him in the crowd. I look over the weapon, trying to figure out how to operate it. No such luck. It’s about as alien to me as a UFO. I just squeeze the trigger…barely. A spray of bullets razes the administrative wall next to me, hitting a few Omega troopers in the process. I let go of the trigger and take a few steps backwards, blinking at the downed men.

Oh. That would be my handiwork, I guess.

Five Omega men are charging towards the front gate, preparing to take on the advancing enemy — the Blue Bands. I squeeze the trigger again and take the whole group down with one sweep of the gun. I don’t think they’re dead. I was aiming low. Their legs have been shot out from under them, sending them sprawling.

I swallow, and a shout of exhilaration bursts out of my mouth as adrenaline surges like fire in my veins.

This is war, isn’t it?

I squeeze the trigger again in an attempt to scare off some more troopers from the front gate but I don’t get anything but an empty click. Nothing. I drop it to the ground. I don’t know enough about weapons to figure out how to load it and fire it again. I just turn to run, smacking into Grease. He grabs me by the arms.

“Not bad shooting, kid,” he says. “For a girl.”

“Jerk.”

“You need to come with me now.”

He keeps a steady grip on my arm.

“Where?” I demand, hesitating. “Where’s Chris ?”

Another explosion detonates on the other side of the schoolyard. The sound of glass shattering and people screaming fills the air. Black, acrid smoke fills the sky, making my eyes tear up.

“I’m taking you to Chris.” He pulls me forward. “Look, I’m not the enemy here. I just killed Kamaneva for you.”

“Whoa. You ?”

And that’s the extent of our five-second conversation. Because all hell has broken loose in the school. Windows are being blown out, bullets are flying everywhere. Prisoners are sprinting away from the building and Omega troopers are rushing around the perimeter, trying to close the civilians in and keep the Blue Bands out.

It’s not working very well.

“We’re in trouble,” Grease says.

I follow his line of sight. A few Omega troops are pointing at Grease, and next thing I know, we’re being fired at. I duck for cover behind the edge of the front administrative building, barely missing a bullet to the head.

“Why are they shooting at you ?”

“Because I just betrayed Omega.” He stands up and takes the butt of his gun, smashing an office window apart. “Come on. We have to take cover.”

Right. My dad told me once, back when he was still an active-duty cop in LA, that concealment and cover are two different things. Concealment is when you’re hidden from your enemies, but if they see you for some reason, they can still shoot you. Cover is anything that will physically stop a bullet. Your enemy might know you’re there, but they can’t hurt you.

I prefer cover to concealment.

Grease swings his legs over the windowsill. I follow, crawling along the floor of an office. Probably the principal’s. But all of the personal belongings and photos have been removed, replaced with cold, sterile ornaments. A Russian flag is sticking out of a pencil cup. A black Omega flag is on the wall. That’s about as cute and comfortable as this place gets.

We stay low as we push through the office, flinging open a door to the hallway. Grease doesn’t enter right away. He checks the hall and then waves me forward, just as the Omega troopers reach the window and start firing inside the office. I lunge into the hall, barely missing being shot…for the fiftieth time today.

It’s getting to be a bad habit.

We move down the hall. Smoke is seeping out of most of the rooms, making it difficult to navigate and breathe at the same time. Thankfully, Grease seems to have a good idea of where he’s going. As we round a corner, he suddenly drops to his knees and jerks me down with him. Omega troopers are coming up on us from the front and behind. We’re trapped. I crouch next to him, heart pounding, waiting for him to come up with a brilliant plan.

“Do something!” I say.

He moves backwards and disappears into an office with an open door. It’s filled with black, choking smoke. I dive in after him, staying low to the ground. Trying to breathe. Flames are crawling up the walls, slapping my cheeks with raw heat.

“This wasn’t what I had in mind,” I mutter.

“Here,” Grease calls, slipping through a door on the right. It leads to another office. We run inside just in time to come nose to nose with three Omega men making their way down the center of the building.

Surrounded on three sides by troopers in a burning building?

We’re so dead.

“Stay down,” Grease warns, shouldering his weapon.

I stay covered behind the wall of the burning office. Omega troopers are going to come up behind us in a few seconds, and then I’ll have no place to hide. Grease fires a few bursts from his rifle. Two troopers drop to the ground. But there are plenty more where they came from. They unleash a flurry of fire. Furniture splinters into pieces. Glass shatters.

Things aren’t looking so good, but Grease doesn’t seem as wired as me. He seems focused. “Duck,” he says.

I cover my head with my hands. He turns his body slightly to shield mine. Something detonates at the far end of the building, sending pieces of wood and plaster everywhere. My ears start ringing again . Blue Bands jump inside the building through windows on the far side, working their way through the cubicles like a SWAT team on a raid.

They’ve got scarves tied around their mouths, sunglasses shielding their eyes from the smoke. I stay next to Grease, wondering if I should stay put or run for my life. Because even though these people are beating up Omega, they could still have the potential to hurt me .

The Blue Band in the lead blasts killing gunfire into the troopers coming up through the front — the guards that originally chased Grease and I inside. He does it quickly and smoothly, without hesitation. His team fans out around him, checking the dead and dying. Grease stands up, holding his gun above his head with both hands. I expect him to be shot on sight since he’s wearing an Omega uniform — but they seem to recognize him.