State of Pursuit (15 page)

The chopper descends and bounces off the asphalt, coming to a harried landing.

“CASSIDY!”

I tilt my head up. The doors on the helicopter are open. Manny is standing in the doorway. He’s shouting my name, motioning me with his free hand, his shoulder bloody. In that moment, everything makes sense. It clicks.

“Move it! Everybody in!” I yell, motioning toward the chopper.

We sprint toward the chopper, snapping shots while we run. I feel like I’m clawing my way through a dream. Everything is overwhelmingly loud and each beat of the blades is like a punch in the gut. I reach the door and Uriah helps me climb inside.

“Manny!” I gasp, relief seizing me. He claps me briefly on the shoulder, and pushes his way into the cockpit. His flight cap is strapped tightly to his head and he’s grinning devilishly. The team scrambles inside. Vera slaps Manny’s arm and gives him the all-clear signal. Then we are airborne, and we are lifting fifty feet off the street.

“There’s a wounded POW in the back!” Vera screams.

I can’t hear her. I can only read her lips.

“Andrew?” I shout, jerking my thumb toward the back of the chopper.

He nods and makes his way through the aircraft, toward the wounded man in the back.

“Hold on, ladies and gentlemen,” Manny yells, still grinning like a madman. “This exit may be a bit bumpy.”

The inside of the helicopter is cramped, but we are together – and we are hanging on for dear life.

We gain elevation and bank right and left so fast that I become dizzy and fight the urge to gag. I hang on and hunker down. I see Alexander in the cockpit beside Manny, shouting something that I can’t hear.

The urban landscape of Los Angeles flashes past the doorway, but unlike the times that I remember before the EMP, this city is dark. Very few lights can be seen.

The helicopter continues to gain altitude and speed.

Someone grabs my shoulder.

“Cassidy, you’re going to want to see this,” Andrew says.

“Now is
not
the time to admire the city lights!” I gasp, exasperated.

He maintains his grip on my arm, insisting. The Commander in me kicks in and I realize that Andrew is not that shallow. He must have a reason. We stumble to the back of the chopper. There are two canvas beds on each side. Medical stretchers for the wounded.

Please, don’t be somebody I know
, I pray.

Andrew looks up at me. In the dim light, he opens his hands as if to offer an apology. He stands up. “He should be okay,” he says. He gives me a long, sad look and returns to a more stable position with the rest of the team, gripping the walls for balance. I kneel beside the stretcher. The man is clothed in black, soaked in blood and sweating. I scream.

“Chris?” I brush the hair away from his face. He opens his eyes. Unshaven, drenched in sweat and blood, he stares at the ceiling before turning his gaze to me.

“Cassie…?”

It’s barely a whisper, but it’s something. I touch his face, placing my hand on his chest. “Oh, my God,” I yell into his ear. “Chris? What happened? How…?”

The words die on my lips.

BANG!

The chopper shakes violently and spins through the air.

I clutch the stretcher. Chris is strapped in, but I’m not. I wrap my wrist around the strap of a safety belt. I will not leave his side. Manny shouts something. I can’t hear it above the roar of the engine and the air pouring through the opening. Gravity is sucking me sideways, but centrifugal force has pinned me against the floor. Chris is barely conscious, head lolling back and forth.

“I don’t have a choice!” I hear Manny yell. Warning lights flash bright. I see orange flames coming from outside.

I brace myself.

We are going down.

Chapter Eleven

I’ve imagined death so many times. As a soldier, it’s something that you have to think about. I figured I’d be dead on a battlefield sometime in the next year – if I even lasted that long. Going down in a flaming helicopter wasn’t something I planned on. First, because I was never crazy about heights. And second, because I didn’t think I’d be riding in a helicopter
.

Whatever. Life continually surprises me
.

Manny fights for control of the chopper. It spins and lurches violently in the air. Militiamen and women scream, terrified. A hole in the side of the fuselage is sucking the flames and the smoke outside of the aircraft. The chopper skids sideways. Which way is up? Which way is down? I clutch the strap on the stretcher, gasping for air. The G-force presses down on my chest like a weight. Black spots dance before my eyes as the pressure increases. I can’t scream, I can’t see. I can’t breathe.

The chopper lurches and everything levels out for a moment. I swallow some much-needed air. Manny shouts, “BRACE YOURSELVES!”

I try. I really do. It’s not much of a preparation, though. The chopper slams into the ground. Manny has slowed our descent enough that the impact doesn’t
break the helicopter into pieces – but it still
hurts
. My neck snaps forward. My wrist is wrapped around the seatbelt strap but it does no good. My wrist is jerked at an odd angle. I feel the bones grind together. I don’t even have the breath to scream about it.

The chopper bounces roughly, gritting through dirt and trees. Are there buildings here? I don’t know. It’s too dark. Too loud. The sheer chaos overrides every sense in my body. I hang on with the one functional hand that I have left and slam against the wall. More pain shoots through my body.

This is going to hurt later.

If I’m even
alive
later.

The aircraft begins to slide, tearing apart. The strap that I’ve been holding onto snaps and I’m thrown against the opposite wall. I protect my head with my arms, landing in a crouched, compact position. The prolonged slide seems to stretch for eternity, but it is only mere seconds.

The giant rotor blades collide with the ground, shards of deadly metal flying everywhere – faster than the speed of a bullet, shredding everything in its path.

I’m thrown back across the chopper. I land on someone’s legs. Uriah grabs my shoulders and pulls me upright, offering support. The screaming engine
abruptly halts, smoke swirling around us, flames licking through the openings in the chopper.

“Find a hole and get out!” Manny warns.

He manages to climb out of the pilot’s seat, rattled by the crash as much as the rest of us. I climb on hands and knees to the medical stretcher again. I unsnap Chris’s restraints and drag him out of the bed. He is completely unconscious – and heavy. Superhuman levels of adrenaline is the only reason I have the strength to drag him the first few feet through the helicopter as the team hurriedly exits through the holes. They scramble and tumble outside. I am dragging Chris along with me – using every ounce of strength left in my body.

Uriah suddenly takes Chris’s other shoulder and we are dragging him together, outside, into the cold, night air. I stagger out, drop to my knees, and hold my head in my hands. I shake myself and turn back. Uriah and I take Chris further away from the burning helicopter.

I look at my left wrist. It’s already turning black and blue.

It could be worse.

“Help me get him out of here,” I tell Uriah.

Chris groans and a couple of the men carry an empty stretcher out of the helicopter, which is quickly becoming engulfed in flames. This thing is going to be a pain to escape with. We do a quick assessment of our
men – a headcount, a check – and hobble to our feet. The enemy is all around us. We are miles away from the Holding Center, but we are still in Los Angeles. If we are able, we should keep moving. We cannot stop. Not yet.

Uriah and Andrew carefully move Chris onto the stretcher. My heart sticks in my throat. I’ve never seen Chris down and out. Ever. Not like this.

“He’s going to be okay,” Vera says.

A gesture of comfort? I look at her, smiling sadly.

“I know,” I whisper.

The night air is a crisp, welcome change from the sweltering confines of the crashed copter. We’re surrounded by trees on all sides.

“Where are we?” I say.

“Looks like a park,” Andrew replies. “If we move, we can hide before Omega arrives in full force.”

“Okay, we’re all accounted for,” I say. “We move, we stay hidden, and we work our way back to the rendezvous point to meet with Derek and his team. I want men on point and men on the flank. I want a rear guard.” I point to two of the stronger militiamen – tall, burly soldiers. “You carry the stretcher.”

I brush the hair away from Chris’s forehead. He’s burning up.

We start moving. There is no time to waste.

“How did you find him?” I ask quietly.

“Ask yourself a question,” Manny replies. He’s limping, breathing hard. “If Chris Young and Harry Lydell are both gone at the same time, chances are, they’re in the same place, yes?”

“Possibly,” I reply.

“When we were moving into the Holding Center,” Manny says, “I noticed some activity on the airfield. They were using a POW transport truck and an official Omega vehicle. I thought it might save us all some time if I took the initiative. I was slowing the team down, anyway,”

“I thought you were dead.”

“But I wasn’t.” He winks. “They were moving Young into the chopper. Harry, too, but I didn’t see him. I got the feeling that they were transporting him somewhere…more important.”

“Why would they transport one officer with a District Prefect?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they think Chris is worth it.”

“No.
Harry
must have thought it was worth it.” I chew on my bottom lip. “God, Manny. If you hadn’t stopped that chopper…he’d be gone. Our whole mission would have been a waste.”

“Hijacking a helicopter was a piece of cake when Omega’s attention was on
you
,” Manny cracks. “Besides, it was a whim. Didn’t have time to explain it, our
deadline was a little too tight, my girl.” He briefly puts his arm around my shoulders. “We’re still alive.”

It’s a statement that’s meant to cheer me up. I don’t feel cheerful. Not yet.

I only feel sweet, complete relief.

Chris is here. He’s still alive.

As we push forward through the city park, the distant echo of sirens is audible. Omega is searching for us, and that is exactly what we had expected. They will find the helicopter – a hulking, melted mass of metal – and hopefully assume that we are dead.

If Derek can meet us at our rendezvous point within the next twenty-four hours, we will have survived this thing with almost
all
of our team intact.

Like Andrew said, we can only hope.

Sometimes I think even that is a little too optimistic.

Beverly Hills, California, is no longer a celebrity city. It’s the dwelling place of high-ranking Omega officials. The houses have been taken over by soldiers and patrols. The entire glitzy neighborhood is under control.

We are careful to avoid it.

On our way to the rendezvous point, we pass famous streets like Wilshire Boulevard and Sunset Boulevard. Once swanky apartment buildings where only the elite
lived are either being occupied by Omega officials or abandoned altogether.
Millions of Milkshakes
, a celebrity dessert hotspot, is empty. The windows have been blown out. Only the memory remains.

The famed Beverly Hills sign – which, for as long as I can remember, sat in the midst of a green lawn in the middle of the city – is covered with graffiti and smudge marks.

Nothing has escaped Omega’s devastating presence.

We head back to Toluca Lake. Twice during our journey we run into Omega patrols, but we outnumber them and we overpower them easily. By the time dawn is breaking over Hollywood Hills, I am bone tired. I can barely lift my feet and keep my eyes open. Each step is robotic. Even the joy of knowing that we have rescued Chris is not enough to energize my body. I am worried that he might not wake up. I am worried that Derek won’t make it out of Los Angeles.

Our rendezvous point is a house. A mansion, technically speaking. It’s just outside of Toluca Lake, hidden behind a fence overgrown with shrubs and trees.

“Alexander?” I say. “Is this the right place?”

“This is it.” He shoves his boot into a crevice and begins pulling himself over the fence. “Start climbing.”

“How are we going to get Chris over this thing?” Vera asks, motioning to his still form on the stretcher.

“We’ll open the gate,” I say simply.

I dig my heels into the brick wall and use the thick foliage and vines to pull myself up. I reach the top of the wall and study the house. It’s a large two-story mansion. The entire façade has been overgrown with foliage and twisting vines. It’s almost impossible to find the windows.

I swing my legs over the top of the wall. We follow a cobblestone path to the front gate. We unlock it and swing it open. The rest of the militia cautiously moves inside, Uriah and Andrew bringing Chris in on the stretcher.

In the early morning sunlight, Chris’s complexion looks pale. Wrong. I press my fingers to his neck, nervously making sure his pulse is still there. It is, and I sigh with relief.