State of Rebellion (Collapse Series) (22 page)

You know that feeling you get when you stand on the edge of a cliff? Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t. For me, standing on the edge of a cliff is just as exciting as it is terrifying. If I fall off the cliff, I’ll die. And that’s terrifying. But I’m also looking out over the world. I’m on
top
of the world. And
that
is exciting. There’s no way to describe it unless you’ve experienced it.

It’s exactly how I feel right now.

Exhausted as I am, hiding in the mountains
again
, awaiting Omega’s second push, I’m terrified. Because we might die. But excited, because we might survive, and we might succeed in keeping Omega out of the valley.

Hours have passed since our meeting with Harry. The shock has worn off. It’s been replaced with near boredom as we wait for Omega to do something. Anything. It’s like waiting for lightning to strike the ground. When will they hit us next?

Night comes. There is no moon tonight, just clouds. It makes the hills darker and more difficult to navigate. I sit with my legs in front of me, eating MRE rations, meat and vegetables chemically heated in a bag. It tastes like mashed baby food. But I’m not complaining. This food is better than no food, even if I do have to eat it in
the dark and feel for the contents like a blind person.

It’s been a long, restless day. I managed to get an hour or so of sleep, but my body was too wired for anything more than that. Harry’s words have replayed in my head over and over again:

“You will be responsible for the death of hundreds.”

I remind myself that he’s a professional liar, taking another bite of food. Forcing it down. Harry is just trying to get to us, specifically me. He spent enough time with me in the labor camp to know that I have difficulty engaging in warfare. Yes, it’s something I have to do. Yes, I realize that if I don’t fight, we’ll all die anyway, so I might as well go down swinging. But no, that
doesn’t mean I’m an emotionless monster who wants unnecessary bloodshed.

Harry’s wrong. You’re not all going to die. He’s bluffing and you know it.

I finish off the rest of my food, toss it aside and take a long drink of water. I hear a distant whining, like the escalating ringing in my ears before my hearing popped back. I tilt my head up, a fat raindrop hitting my nose.

Oh, lovely. On top of
everything
else, it has to rain, too?

A smattering of cold droplets peppers my face, and the whining grows louder. In that moment realization smacks me upside the head.

“Did somebody order air support in here?” I ask, turning to Chris. “Chris?”

He’s kneeling on the ground, listening intently.

“Those aren’t our jets,” he says simply.

I jump to my feet, shouting this order as loud as I can.

“Take cover, take cover! They’re sending jets!!!”

Fear, raw and real, grabs me by the neck. I can’t breathe. Are we about to get bombed? Our air support has kept the skies clear for us so far. But what if a bogey or two got through? Just one could do some serious damage to our front lines.

Chris grabs my arm and drags me down the hillside, heading for lower ground. We’re too far into the interstate to take cover
under
the freeway. The road is at ground level, plus we’ve planted landmines all along the road. We duck into the low bushes, staying hidden under rocks and trees. The screaming of the incoming jets strike terror into my heart. I clutch Chris’s arm
as he pulls me close. The rain is starting to fall harder, sticking my uniform to my skin. Uriah scrambles down next to us, while other members of our militia scatter throughout the hillside. The jets streak by overhead, sweeping through like dark birds.

Something drops from the first bird. It detonates upon impact, turning the grass into a smoldering mass of dirt and grass. Flames spring up despite the rain, giving everything a hellish aura. More weapons hit the earth. Every impact is like an earthquake. I can feel the expulsion of air on my lungs, each shockwave hitting me like a brick in the chest.

Chris holds me against him and I hang on for dear life, praying to God that one of those things won’t hit us. The barrage seems to go on for an eternity, never ceasing long enough for me
to recover from each shockwave. The hills are alive with flames now, and the rain isn’t falling hard enough to put out the fire. At last the enemy jets stop their attack, and Chris’s grip on me eases a bit.

“Are they gone?” I ask.

“They’ll be back,” Uriah replies, his dark eyes glimmering with hatred. “But we’ve got our own birds, too. I’d suggest you radio Rivera and call in the Air Force.”

Chris nods.

I remain still, listening to the crackle of fire against the dry grass.

Please rain harder,
I think.
Put out this fire before…

Wait.

I pull back from Chris.

“Which way is the wind blowing?” I ask.

“Um…I don’t know. South?” Uriah says.

“We need to drive this fire towards the Chinese. Nothing can stop a wildfire.”

Chris fixes me with a surprised look, a smile spreading across his face.

“Cassie, that’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

“It’s the only idea I’ve had all day.”

He hits the radio and contacts Rivera.

“Rivera, this is Alpha One,” he says. “What’s your status?”

“We’re alive,” Rivera replies. “What’s
your
status?”

“My platoon is uninjured. Radio air support. Tell them to be ready to combat military aircraft.”

“Will do,” Rivera says, but he sounds shaken.

I grab my radio and contact Max’s platoon.

“This is Yankee, over,” I say.

Nothing but static. Chris tries on his radio. Uriah tries his, too. Nothing.

“Oh, my god,” I breathe. “Do you think they’re hurt?”

Chris sets his jaw.

“Possibly.”

Uriah shakes his head.

“No. No way am I leaving this position to check on another platoon,” he says. “If those jets come back while we’re on the move, we’ll be out in the open.”

“I’m not leaving them to die,” Chris snaps. “And I’m not asking you to come.”

“You’re not going without me,” I tell him.

He nods. No argument.

That’s new.

Uriah rolls his eyes.

“You care too much.” He holds out his hands. “But I get your point.”

What Uriah might not understand is that despite the fact that it’s dangerous to check up on Max’s platoon, it’s worth it. Max, Derek, Sophia and Jeff are the best soldiers we have. If we lose them, we’ll lose a lot of the militia’s morale. We can’t afford it. Plus, Chris has already lost Alexander this week. He doesn’t want to lose anybody else. Neither do I.

Chris turns to a young man staked out behind us. I don’t remember his name. Andrew, I think. I don’t know.

“You’re in charge until I get back,” Chris says.

The kid stares at Chris with an expression of shock, then nods.

“Yes, sir,” he says.

Chris doesn’t hesitate in moving forward. I dart behind his shoulder, Uriah on my tail. We move through the grass, feet sinking into mud. My brilliant plan of driving a fire towards Omega won’t do much good if the rainfall continues to get heavier. Max and his platoon are four hundred yards from our position, and the rain and darkness make it even more difficult to navigate the rough terrain. All the while, Uriah anxiously listens for any signs of enemy aircraft.

As we approach their position, I stop dead in my tracks. Where Max and his platoon were hiding is nothing but a smoking, flaming crater. Horrified, I run forward and claw my way up the hill. “Sophia!” I scream. “Max! Derek! Jeff!”

Dead militiamen are lying in the mud, burnt and mutilated beyond recognition. I fall on my knees and cover my mouth, fighting the gag reflex.

“Cassidy!”

I look up. Sophia is running towards me. I pull myself up and throw my arms around her neck. She’s crying hysterically. “I barely missed it,” she chokes. “They dropped a freaking bomb on our heads.”

“Where are the others?”

“Here!” Jeff crawls out of the tall grass. Chris heaves a sigh of relief and pulls his brother into a fierce hug. Max is there, as well, but I don’t see Derek.

“Where’s the rest of the platoon?” I ask. “Where’s Derek?”

“I don’t know where everybody is. We scattered.”

I bite my lip.

“We need to get out of here. The cover’s been fried.”

“Exactly.” Chris kneels down. He grabs his radio and calls the other nearby platoons. “We’re going to light these mountains up. We’re burning them down.”

“But…why?” Sophia asks, trembling.

“We’re going to push Omega back. They can’t fight against a wall of flames.”

“They’ll try.”

“They’ll just come in with their jets,” Uriah says.

“It’s a lot harder to see the enemy when the ground is covered in smoke,” Chris replies.

Our militia platoons roll in with a couple of vehicles. Soldiers dump barrels of diesel fuel on the grass. And from there, all it takes is a spark. Soon the entire field before us on fire, the flames reaching skyward, the wind whipping it hotter, towards Omega.

“Keep lighting up the hillside,” Chris orders. “Follow the interstate and make sure you drive it back. The wind is blowing south, right in their direction. Keep it going.”

The smoke is getting thicker. I watch in amazement at how quickly the fire takes hold of grass and devours it. Within a few minutes, acres of hillside is consumed with flames, billowing black, angry smoke and tossing it into the night sky. The cold drizzle is no match for its power.

We have to pull away from the fire as the heat becomes more intense. The militia
continues to ignite walls of flames across the hillside, skipping over the interstate and jumping to the other side.

“Not a bad idea, Cassie,” Chris compliments. “By the time it gets to them, it’ll be too big for them to stop.”

“I hate burning the mountains up like this.”

“Think of it as a reverse scorched earth policy.” He shrugs. “We’re burning up their supplies and their troops in front of us rather than behind. That gives us the advantage.”

“I guess.”

We’re standing at the base of one of the bigger mountain ridges, the one currently being eaten by fire. Sophia is holding onto Jeff’s arm, and I find myself smiling. She’s made a new friend.

Chris looks at them, then back at me.

“Jeff and Sophia?” he asks.

“Don’t ask me,” I shrug. “She’s trying to get over Alexander.”

“I didn’t see that coming.”

I laugh.

“I didn’t see
us
coming either, but here we are,” I say.

And then I’m surprised again.

Jeff suddenly moves away from Sophia and runs forward, yelling something at the top of his lungs. I don’t even have time to make out what he’s saying before something hits Chris in the chest.

He stumbles backward, and I can feel the force of the impact from here.

I scream and Jeff, Sophia, Uriah and Max drop to the ground. I do the same and crawl on
my belly over to Chris, who’s lying on his side, his face contorted in pain. I roll him on his back, frantically searching his body for any wounds. I hang my head in relief. A bullet is wedged into his vest, but it didn’t pierce the skin.

Thank God.

I twist around and pop a grenade off my belt, pausing. Militiamen are heading towards me, weapons out, shooting…at
us
.

What the hell?

That split second of hesitation almost gets us killed. One of the militiamen fires a round at my head. I drop to the ground and chuck my grenade blindly in his direction, as far as I can. At least thirty feet. I blow up the militiaman and another guy.

“We’ve been infiltrated!” I pant breathlessly.

Jeff and Sophia reach us just as I chuck another grenade in front of us, bounding it down the incline, slowing the attack. Sophia empties a half magazine of repressive fire on the oncoming troops to help me.

Chris hasn’t been shot, but the impact of the bullet knocked the wind out of him. It may have even broken a rib. Jeff puts his arm under his brother’s back, and Sophia and I take the other half of his weight, helping him kneel. He pulls his handgun out, rejoining the fight. “Just run,” Chris says, grimacing. “Just go.”

“We’re not leaving you, bro,” Jeff says. “Don’t start with the selfless crap.”

We help him run and, a few minutes into our escapade, Max is hit in the left leg. He slams into the ground, rolling over and grabbing his wound. Sophia – always prepared for these
situations – rips a compression bandage off the medic kit on her belt and applies it to his injury. She cinches it tight.

“You can move now,” she says.

I foolishly look behind me. The wall of flames heading south highlights the silhouettes of dozens of our own men hunting us down like animals.

How could this happen? This has to be a bad dream.

“Uriah!” I shout. “Get Max!”

Uriah drops back and hauls Max to his feet. He can’t walk, he can barely drag himself along. I grope for the radio on my belt, Chris’s pressure on my shoulders easing up as he recovers from the physical shock of the impact.

“Rivera,” I say, unable to hear my own voice over the sound of the gunfire and my heavy
breathing. “We’ve been infiltrated! Our own men are firing on us. Send backup! Send backup!”

I get nothing in response.

God help us. Is Rivera just being an idiot again or has his platoon been compromised by traitors, too? Chris removes his arm from around my shoulders and starts moving on his own, but every step is painstaking. He can barely breathe. I’m guessing one or two of his ribs have been broken.

The militiamen who are clearly still on our side are retreating in the same direction as we are, many of them standing and fighting their own friends. It’s the most chilling, heartbreaking thing I’ve seen since this whole mess started. Brother fighting brother. Men and women in matching uniform duking it out on the battlefield.

I try calling for backup again and again, getting nothing but static. Nothing but silence. “Sundog!” I beg. “Please, answer us. We’re dying out here. We’ve been compromised!”