State of Chaos (Collapse Series) (11 page)

“So you
are
in charge.”

He shrugs.

Ah. Great. My boyfriend is now in charge of a rebel army leading raids on Omega supply chains. I’m not sure if I should be happy or conflicted about this.

“You look worried,” Chris remarks.

“I’m not. I’m just
tired
.”

“I know. We’ll be there soon.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to base.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll explain everything in more detail later,” he says in a softer voice, “when you’re feeling better.”

I nod. He’s right. I’m too spaced out right now to absorb any more important information. We make our way back into the lower foothills, zipping through familiar territory as we pass Squaw Valley. A lead weight sinks to the pit of my stomach as we travel. Last time I was here I woke up in the back of a semi-truck with my
head crammed into the wall. Won’t Omega know that this is the first place to look for escaped prisoners? The same place they picked them up? Wouldn’t they figure out that everybody would head back to their homes after they escaped from prison?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Chris says, ghosting a smile. “And don’t worry about it. We’ll be safe here.”

“Can you read my thoughts?”

“Pretty much.”

Just when I feel myself falling asleep, the truck sputters to a halt. I sit up straight, peering at our surroundings. We’re high enough in the hills to be considered “in the mountains,” but I know better. We’re probably around the snowline, putting us at three thousand feet. There are trees, creeks and forests. It smells like pine and wet earth.

“This is it?” I ask.

“This is it.” Chris opens the car door and steps outside, holding his hand out for me. “You’re going to love this.”

I take it. My skin prickles with
goosebumps in the cool afternoon air. The rest of the trucks are pulling up behind us. I was right. There’s about five or six of them, half of them packed with prisoners. The other half are packed with supplies raided from the camp. Militiamen are jumping out of the vehicles, surrounding Chris. I stand beside him, uncomfortable with being at the center of the ring.

“Good job, boys,” Chris says. “That was some of the best work I’ve seen from you yet. Omega will be scrambling to figure out what happened. By the time they call in backup, the camp will be gone, and their supplies will be destroyed or ruined.”

Everybody starts cheering. The rest of the militia men have removed their facial scarves and sunglasses, and for the first time I get a glimpse of their faces. Young men and women. Some of them don’t even look old enough to be out of high school. But here they are, fighting a war.

And then I see Harry Lydell.

He tries to duck his head and turn to the side to avoid my gaze, but it’s too late. The
damage is done. I cover my mouth with my hands just as Sophia comes up behind me, pointing.

“What are
you
doing here?” she demands, seething.

“Who is that?” Chris asks, following my line of sight.

“Harry,” I say, staring at the ground.

He spreads his arms out, waiting for an explanation.

“You were working with Kamaneva, last time I checked,” Max says, walking up to Harry. He grabs him around the collar, drags him to the center of the trucks and holds him there with one arm. Harry is sweating and shaking from head to toe.

“Please,” he begs, “Kamaneva forced me to turn you in, Cassidy.”

“
He
turned you in?” Chris looks surprised. “If you turned her in to Omega,
why
did you think you’d be safe coming with us?”

Chris curls his fingers around the front of Harry’s shirt, overshadowing the Englishman’s
lean frame. His eyes are steely – he looks
mad
. “You’re a dead man.”

“You don’t understand,” Harry says, choking. “Kamaneva was going to kill me.”

Chris gives him a lethal look. The kind of look he usually gives Omega troopers before he beats the crap out of them. Max doesn’t look too thrilled, either.

“Kill the traitor,” somebody hisses.

More people take up the same chant. Every muscle in Chris’s body is tense and coiled. His grip on Harry’s neck is tight. Potentially lethal.

“Chris,” I say, panic rising in my chest. “Stop. He didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Chris grits. “I would have died before I put you in harm’s way.”

“Yes, because you’re strong,” I reply. “Harry’s not. Let him go.”

“This is
not
a game,” Chris replies. “He almost got you
killed
.”

“Hang him,” somebody suggests.

Have I jumped into the Dark Ages
?

A chorus of agreement echoes throughout the camp. Chris adjusts his vice-like hold on Harry’s neck, pulling him in closer. For a split second I think he’s going to say something, but instead he lands a crushing punch to Harry’s stomach. The air goes out of him and he doubles over.

“Stop this!” I say, running to Chris. I grab his arm. “You can’t kill him.”

“If he betrayed you once, he’ll betray you twice,” Chris replies. His eyes are bright with fury as he draws his handgun. “Get out of the way.”

“Just get on with it!” the militiamen urge.

I shove Chris’s gun aside. He turns his angry gaze on me and drops Harry, taking a step back. Harry coughs and hacks on his hands and knees. I stand between him and Chris, raising my chin.

“We
can’t
execute people,” I say. “We’ll be no better than Omega if we do.”

“Sometimes executions are necessary,” Chris spits.

“This piece of filth doesn’t deserve to live,” Max adds, folding his arms across his chest. “You
do
realize you almost got shot in the head because of him, right?”

“I know
exactly
what he did,” I reply, waving my fist in Max’s face. “And it’s not like I’m ready to give him a free pass out of jail and bake him a cake. I’m saying we
can’t
kill him.
Omega
kills people. We can’t. We
have
to live by the law of the land – nobody else will if we don’t.”

I glare at Chris. A muscle ticks in his jaw. We endure an epic stare-down before he finally turns to Harry. He kicks him
hard
and hauls him up by his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “Look at her,” he growls. “She just saved your worthless life. It won’t happen twice.”

He shoves him towards Max.

“Give him a job,” he commands, taking my arm.

I release a breath, thanking God that this little scene didn’t play out the way I thought it might. We just came
this close
to dissolving into total anarchy.

The tension is palpable as the militiamen disperse and Harry is dragged off by Max. As we leave the trucks behind, I realize that we’ve parked right outside a large campsite. Blankets and tents are arranged throughout the wooded areas. Pots and pans, bags of supplies, weaponry. Men wearing the same dark blue armbands are standing guard around the perimeter of the camp. They nod respectfully at Chris as he passes.

“So this is your army?” I whisper.

“You might say that,” Chris replies.

“Can I have an army, too? Because that would be awesome.”

Chris stops and pulls me aside, pressing me flat against a pine tree.

“Consider it done,” he says, kissing me on the lips. I thread my fingers through his long hair, feeling the roughness of his beard scratch my cheeks. “I missed you.”

He pulls away to look me in the eyes.

“Not as much as I missed you,” I say.

“Doubtful.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Do you have any idea what it was like
for me when I came back to the trailer and you were gone?”

“I have a general idea.” I smile softly. “I’m sorry. There was an Omega trooper inside the house. I don’t know how he got in.”

“Omega patrol.” Chris kisses my forehead. “We need to have a long talk about everything that’s happened.”

“I agree.”

“But first there’s something you need to see.”

“Does it involve dinner? Or a bath?”

Chris grins.

“Yes, actually.”

I take his hand and follow him through the camp. Men and women alike are mingling together, doing chores, stitching up wounds. Some of the females are standing guard along with the men. There’s a large makeshift tent set up at the edge of camp, open in the front and closed in the back. Camping chairs and tables are arranged around it. Chris places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me forward.

“Look who’s home,” he announces.

I give him a puzzled look before a familiar head of blonde hair appears at the mouth of the tent. My jaw drops.

“Isabel?”

Chapter Nine

“Cassidy
!”

Twelve-year-old Isabel crosses the space between us and throws her arms around my neck. I hug her back, shocked.

“How…?” I ask.

She stands back and I smooth her hair away from her face. It’s longer than it used to be, but still untamable. Her blue eyes are wide with delight. She’s wearing loose cargo pants and boots, her jacket buttoned up to her neck.

“I
can’t believe
you’re here!” she squeals. “I missed you so much!”

I look to Chris for some sort of an explanation. He laughs out loud just as somebody else walks out of the tent.

Chris’s mother is wearing old jeans and a plaid button up – just like she was the last time I saw her. Her gray hair is swept into a loose bun. When she sees me, she starts smiling. “Cassidy Hart,” she exclaims, pulling me into a warm embrace. “Thank God you’re okay.”

“How are you here?” I ask, returning the hug. “Seriously. I’m confused here.”

“Well, you’re about to get a whole lot more confused,” a voice says behind me.

Chris’s younger brother, Jeff, ambles out of the tent, yanking me into a bear hug. He musses my hair. “What happened to you? You look like a rocker chick with that haircut.”

I make a face.

“You’re one to talk.”

His hair is starting to get shaggy around the edges, making me wonder if he’s trying to copy Chris and grow his hair out long. Whatever. I hug him again. And then Mr. Young steps outside. His appearance is unchanged, but his eyes are sad.

“Cassidy,” he says. “Good to see you back.”

I turn in a circle and look everybody over.

“This is
real
, right?” I ask. “Chris? Explain please.”

“Why don’t you come inside and rest?” Mrs. Young suggests. “We’ll explain everything.”

Chris slips his arms around my shoulders and leads me inside the tent. I take a seat on a
foam mattress, crossing my legs. Isabel snuggles up against my shoulder, wrapping her hands around my arm. “You look weird with short hair,” she says.

“Gee, thanks,” I reply, too tired to get my feelings hurt.

Jeff settles down beside us while Mr. Young sits on a camping chair. Mrs. Young starts rummaging through a cardboard box full of supplies. “You must be starving,” she says. “I’ll get something for you to eat.”

“Don’t forget your hungry son, either,” Chris comments.

“I won’t.” She smiles fondly at him. “I was worried about you today.”

“I’m back in one piece. Don’t worry, mom.”

She presses her lips together.

“How are you guys here?” I ask. “Chris and I saw your house burned down. There was
nothing
left. I thought Omega took you!”

“Do you remember when you left to go find your father up at your family cabin a few months ago?” Mrs. Young says, pulling out some
canned goods. “Chris left the next day to find you. He was so worried.”

“I remember,” I reply.

“You were gone for a couple of weeks,” she continues. “I knew you’d be coming back – Chris wouldn’t leave you out there alone. But Omega came.”

“I was out hunting,” Jeff explains. “I saw them coming, man. They were burning houses on their way up the hill. I came home and told the folks, and we took off.”

“Omega burned the farm and killed the animals,” Chris adds.

“Where did you go?” I ask Jeff.

“Here. Well, not here specifically, but to this group.” He leans forward. “The Free Army is basically what’s left of Squaw Valley. Anybody who hasn’t been enslaved, subjugated or killed is right here in this camp.”

“They took us in,” Mrs. Young adds. “We’ve been here ever since.”

“I found them after you were taken, Cassie,” Chris says. “I ran into some of the militia
and they took me back to camp. After I found my folks, I started working on finding
you
.”

“Mission accomplished,” I smile.

“Right.” He kisses my fingers. “My family was here the whole time.”

“Duh,” Isabel mutters. “I can’t believe you didn’t find us sooner.”

“Finding the militia is no simple matter,” Mr. Young says. “They’re well hidden and you can only find them if they
want
to be found.”

“Well, they’re much better organized now that Chris is in charge,” Mrs. Young sighs, pride lighting her features. “He really changed things around here.”

“So what does that make you?” I ask Chris. “Captain? Commander? Boss?”

“I’m not officially in charge of anything,” Chris replies, stretching his long legs across the floor. “It just happened.”

“People naturally follow Chris,” Mrs. Young says.

I nod. Max said almost that exact thing during the ride up here.

“Who was in charge before you got here?”

“Alexander,” Jeff answers, frowning. “But that’s another long story. Let’s eat, mom.”

Mrs. Young gets out a portable camping stove.

“Where did you get all this gear?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s ours,” Jeff says. “We loaded up that Hummer you two stole from Omega in December and filled it with all of our camping supplies before we left the farm. It was a smart move.”

“No kidding.” I pause. “What do you do about fuel?”

“We steal it.” Isabel sits up, grinning. “That’s kind of what we do here.”

“Steal gas?”

“No. We raid Omega supplies,” Jeff corrects. “We take back food, water, ammunition, weapons and fuel. It hurts them and helps us.”

“Destroying that labor camp today will screw up much of their supply line of food in the Central Valley for a while,” Chris says. “Plus, other militias will hear about it. It’s good for people know that somebody’s fighting back.”