Summer Lane - State of Chaos

“Tomorrow. Let’s just watch,” she replies.

“Okay.”

Chris is launching into a lecture (I’m starting to wonder if he’s got a laundry list of inspirational speeches memorized) about the kind of commitment it’s going to take for the new recruits to join the Free Army.

“It won’t be easy,” he says. “In fact, it’s going to be the most challenging thing you’ve ever done. You’re going to want to quit. You’re going to want to surrender. You’re going to want all of this to disappear.” He pauses, stretching the moment. The crowd is hanging on every word that comes out of his mouth. “But in the end it’s going to be worth it, because Omega can’t be everywhere at once. Our job is to create enough chaos to make them want to leave our homes alone. We’re not a big enough militia force to meet them on an open battlefield. We don’t have the manpower or the firepower for that. What we do have is strategy, and something to fight for. This is our home, and you have to decide if you’re willing to sacrifice everything to take it back from Omega.”

He stops and clasps his hands behind his back, instructor-style.

“Can you commit?”

There’s a dead silence. Isabel clambers across the log and squeezes me into a playful hug, her eyes on the conversation going down in front of us. At last, somebody in line steps forward. “I can commit,” he says. He’s a tall, lean young man with a rifle slung over his back.

“What’s your name?” Chris asks.

“Andrew,” he replies. “And I’m in.”

Chris nods. A few other guys step forward and, after several moments, the entire crowd of ex-POWs takes one step, signifying their decision. My chest swells with pride — pride for Chris’s leadership, pride for the people willing to give their lives to take down Omega.

It’s a rush.

“Thank you,” Chris says, rubbing his chin. “My men and I will start training you. It won’t be long before you’ll be able to inflict as much damage on Omega as they’ve inflicted on us. It won’t take much to turn all of you into their worst nightmare.”

After a few more minutes of talking, Chris lets another man start speaking. I don’t recognize him. He’s tall, blonde and blue eyed. He looks young. His plaid button up is tucked into his blue jeans as he speaks.

Chris looks over at me, ghosting a smile.

“He’s got it bad for you,” Sophia grins.

I feel myself blushing.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“You’d be crazy if it wasn’t.”

The blonde guy wraps up his talk, and then Chris is moving the group away from camp. I’m assuming they’re going somewhere to train. I stand up and stretch.

“We should train, too,” I say. “I want to help.”

“Me too!” Isabel starts walking back and forth on the log, balancing like a tightrope walker. “Chris says nobody’s too young or old to help win this war.”

Sophia winces at the word war . I don’t blame her. It’s a loaded word.

Small, but loaded.

“I’m going to grab lunch,” Sophia says. “Mrs. Young is making something. I can see her from here.”

“I’m coming with you,” Isabel replies, jumping off the log and taking Sophia’s hand. The two of them have become pretty close in the last few days. “Coming, Cassie?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Something catches my attention at the other side of camp. Sophia and Isabel start walking towards the Young’s tent as I go the other way. A tall, powerful man with dark, cropped hair is standing with his arms crossed. He’s studying me. Judging by his appearance, I’m going to make an assumption: he’s ex-military. He has to be with his build, hairstyle and presence.

“Hey,” I say, approaching.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I’m Cassidy,” I continue. “Are you helping Chris train the recruits?”

He shifts his stance, giving me a cold once-over.

“Ramos,” he replies, his voice gravelly. A smoker’s voice. “Alexander Ramos.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” I stop myself. “I mean, yeah. I heard about you.”

“Really?” He smells like smoke.

I furrow my brow as he pops a package of cigarettes out of his pocket.

“Smoke?” he asks.

“No thanks.” I watch him take a cigarette out. Light it. “Where do you get those? I don’t think they’re selling them at the local gas station these days.”

Alexander snorts.

“A lot of people leave them behind in their houses,” he says.

I notice the lines around his mouth. “Well, I just wanted to… introduce myself,” I say lamely. “Have a nice day.”

I turn to leave, but he catches my shoulder.

His hands are huge — almost three times the size of mine.

“Cassidy,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

I take a step backwards under the intensity of his gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful,” he warns.

“What are you talking about?”

He shrugs and takes a long drag, giving me a farewell wave. Then he stalks off like I never existed, leaving me alone on the edge of camp. How weird is that?

I shrug off his strange behavior as the “attitude problem” Chris was talking about and head back to the Young family tent. Mrs. Young has cooked up some lunch, and it smells delicious. I’m surprised Omega can’t track us down based on the scent of our campfire cooking alone.

“You know, Chris was telling me that you thought your father might have been taken to the city as a war criminal,” Mrs. Young says, setting a bowl down in front of me. “But after what I’ve seen of Omega, I don’t think they’d bother.”

She makes an attempt to smooth back her wispy gray hair as she sits down and joins Sophia, Isabel and myself at a table. “What makes you say that?” I ask.

“Because Omega doesn’t just single people out of the crowd,” Mrs. Young says, “unless they have a very good reason. As far as I know, your father just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“They made a point of leaving the warrant of arrest up for everybody to see,” I answer. “Why would they do that if they didn’t think he was important enough to single out?”

“Your father sounds like a smart man, from what you’ve told me,” Mrs. Young continues. “And I could be very wrong, Cassie, but I feel like Omega wouldn’t waste their time taking war criminals back to the cities.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Sophia asks.

“There’s nothing left of the cities,” Mrs. Young says, stirring her bowl of soup. “Rumor is Los Angeles was attacked with a chemical weapon not long after the EMP. I’ve heard from other people in camp that a lot of the major cities in the country were hit with a chemical weapon, too.”

Sophia stops eating. The color drains out of her cheeks.

“I thought New York was nuked.”

“There are those rumors, too.” Mrs. Young studies the branches of the trees before she goes on. “I don’t know a lot about military strategy like my son, but if I was an invading army, I would want to take over everything — not destroy it and rebuild it. If it’s already in place, why waste all that time building everything from scratch?”

“A chemical weapon would wipe out the population,” I say, realization dawning, “but it would leave the infrastructure of the city in place. Omega could literally clean out the dead people and then move in.”

Sophia covers her mouth.

“That’s disgusting !”

“It could be exactly what happened.” I fold my hands together, getting a plotting look on my face. “You might be right.”

Then what did happen to my dad?

Did Omega arrest him and send him to a labor camp? Was he killed on sight? I have no idea, and I’m afraid that if I spend too much time thinking about it, I’ll go crazy. So I focus on something else.