Summer Lane - State of Chaos

The Free Army — or the Freedom Fighters , as we’ve come to be called — have become pretty well known in the area. Our forces have expanded. We’ve got a few hundred people in our ranks now, and Chris is becoming an impressive leader. He’s logical, fair and knowledgeable. People trust him.

I’ve become something different, too. Instead of just running with the pack, I work with Derek, Max, Alexander and Chris to train the new recruits. I’ve got responsibilities. I’ve got people who look to me for advice.

I never thought I’d see that day.

Despite the fact that our army is made up completely of volunteers — most of which are civilians who have never been in a fight in their lives — we’re well organized. Chris goes to a lot of trouble to train the new recruits, and to keep the older ones’ skills sharpened. Ever since the day Chris almost killed Harry Lydell, I’ve been painfully aware of the fact that all it takes is one wrong move to turn organization into murder. It’s easy to think that all you have to do is get a bunch of people together and fight the bad guys, but it’s not that simple.

It requires structure.

Chris is the head honcho in this camp, something along the lines of a mini-general, but he makes few decisions without consulting his officers first, which would be Derek, Max and Alexander, who are all platoon leaders. They each command a force of about thirty to fifty fighting men and women. I’m not in charge of a platoon, but I am in charge of training the new recruits. Yup, the “newbies” are all mine. I teach them the basics, go with them on missions and make sure everybody is doing their job. We work as a team, so we basically go on a majority vote. Everybody has a say in everything that goes on at the basecamp.

But sometimes things aren’t so simple.

When an organization gets big, there will inevitably be people who will betray you. In this war, betrayal can lead to the death of everybody in the militia, so it has to be dealt with swiftly and effectively. In the event that somebody commits a horrible crime, the officers convene with Chris. All it takes is three command level officers to vote for a punishment to make it happen. So far we’ve been lucky. We’ve only had to punish people for petty crimes like stealing extra food rations, hoarding ammunition and getting into fights. But at some point, somebody will do something so big that we’ll have to figure out how to handle the situation.

Maybe we should just build a jail.

At any rate, we’re not the only guerilla war fighters in the area. Other militia groups have been popping up in the state, an encouraging piece of information we learned from the Underground, a network of rebel militiamen who carry messages up and down the state for people like us. Like undercover pony express riders, they travel on foot from one destination to the next, passing on messages to fellow rebels. They have a dangerous job. They travel alone, they travel fast, and they travel light. The cover of darkness is their best friend as they run from camp to camp, sending messages between the rebel “communities.” If they’re caught, they’ll either be killed or tortured to death.

So of course their number one priority is to avoid getting caught.

Everything has gotten faster, cleaner and more efficient. The Freedom Fighters are turning into a well-oiled resistance front, and I’m starting to find my groove. I never thought I’d fit into a society like this, but life has a way of surprising you. For the first time in my life, I actually feel like I belong somewhere. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, I haven’t decided yet.

“I have some new information for you, Cassie,” Chris says one day. The scorching July heat is all but singeing my eyebrows off, so I’m huddled under the shade of a tall tree. The camp is busy with activity — there is no such thing as an idle moment here. Even our sleeping hours have purpose. “Cassie?”

I blink and look up, yawning.

“Sorry. I was dozing.”

He smiles and sits down next to me, one of the few moments lately when he’s been relaxed enough to do this. As the weeks have passed, the stress and pressure of being in charge of this militia have changed him. He’s even more logical and methodical than he used to be. He’s a lot busier, too. People depend on him to make life-changing decisions. It must be difficult to carry a burden like that.

“What’s up?” I say.

“Underground gave us some new information,” he replies.

I lean forward. “Is it good or bad news?”

“Both. The good news is, there’s a rebel militia force called the Mountain Rangers headed our way.”

I nod. We’ve all heard of the Rangers . They’re second only to the Freedom Fighters in notoriety. “What’s the bad news?” I ask.

“The bad news is, we have to decide if we want to join forces with the Rangers or if we want to keep our group separate. Joint operations change the dynamics. Right now our men work really well together. Bringing in an ally could either mess things up or make us stronger.”

“We don’t know enough about the Rangers to make a judgment, do we?”

“The Rangers are, as far as we know, very similar to our militia. They use guerilla war fighting tactics, they’re quick, they’re hearty and they’re no friends to Omega.”

That makes them on our side, I guess. But Chris is right. Exposing ourselves to anybody is a monumental risk.

“Why don’t you meet with their commander and talk to him about it?” I suggest. “Just you and him. Don’t drag everybody else into it until you’re absolutely sure that we need their help.”

“We don’t really need anybody’s help,” Chris replies. “But we could do a lot more with an extra force.” He stares at something in the distance, thinking. “That’s not a bad idea, Cassie. I should do that.”

“Can you get a message through to the Rangers using the Underground?”

“I should be able to.”

“Who’s in charge of their group?”

“I don’t know. Everybody’s got codenames.”

“Right. Alpha One .” I grin. “What’s their leader’s codename?”

“We’ll find out.” He stretches his long legs across the dirt, threading his fingers through mine. “The Underground also mentioned a huge Omega supply depot being stocked on the outskirts of the foothills. A lot of food and water are going in there. Omega’s tightening up security around the place — it’s important.”

“So we need to hit it, then?” I ask.

“Essentially.”

“Do we have enough manpower for that?”

“I think so. We’re outnumbered, but we’re smarter. And faster.” Chris looks down at our hands. “How are you holding up?”

It’s a sudden question. And something he hasn’t asked me in a while.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not very descriptive.”

“I am .” I bite back a smile. “I miss you, though. Even though I’m around you all the time, it’s like you’re not really here. You’re always so busy.”

Chris presses the palm of his hand against my cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But you understand, right?”

“Understand that people need you?” I nod. “Yeah. I do. I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I know.” He kisses my forehead. “You’ve adapted extremely well. You’re a good soldier. I’m not the only one people are looking up to, you know.”

“I know. That’s what scares me.”

“What? Respect?”

I gaze up at him.

“I guess so. When people respect you, they expect a lot from you. There’s so much responsibility. People’s lives are at stake.” I sigh. “I don’t feel up to being a hardcore rebel leader all the time.”