State of Rebellion

“You are a very lucky guy,” I murmur. “This didn’t even scrap bone.”

“If you say so, Ma’am,” he replies.

I flip my knife out of the pocket in my boot and cut away a strip of cloth at the bottom of my black undershirt. I’ve got a tiny emergency first aid kit on a pack nestled snugly on my back. I whip it around, unzip it, and open up some alcohol wipes. I swab the wound. He winces but doesn’t complain. I wrap his arm in clean bandages, tie the strip of cloth around that, and nod.

“You’re good to go,” I say. “Check in with the Medical Staff when we get to base.”

He smiles. It’s a kind, sweet smile.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he replies. “For everything.”

I’ve never known what to do with gratitude, so I just remain silent, zip up my little packet and sling it across my back. And I leave. I gather my platoon into one spot and watch as Chris approaches me through the crowd. He’s flushed. He’s mad.

“What was that?” he demands. He’s wearing black combat gear, a captured weapon in one arm, held at the ready. “Who gave your position away?”

“It was my fault,” I say, swallowing a sick feeling in my stomach. Why am I taking the blame for this?

Because that’s what a good leader does, I think. They take responsibility.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Chris gives me a long, hard look.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he states. He glances at Sophia’s face, then back at me. Perhaps he knows the truth. “We’re returning to base.”

I nod.

“Nice recovery, though.” Derek shows up, covered in ash and sweat. His short blonde hair is hidden beneath a black skullcap. “Not bad, Hart.”

“Thanks.” I gesture to the twisted mass of metal that used to be the gate around the camp. “You didn’t do too bad, either.”

“Ah, Max is the brains. I just plant the explosives.” He shrugs. “This was a lot easier than I thought it’d be.”

“Easy is a relative term,” Alexander replies.

“I mean, compared to the last time we engaged Omega.”

“We were betrayed and ambushed.”

“Exactly.” Derek smiles at me. “See you at base, Hart.”

“See you,” I say.

We head towards our just arriving truck convoy, on the other side of the distribution center. It’s under the freeway. It’s been staged and waiting for our arrival. Vera is talking with Chris when I arrive, and he’s listening intently. I grind my teeth together and make a point of avoiding looking in her direction. She’s probably giving him a point-by-point recap of everything that happened to her platoon during the attack. I’m sure their execution was flawless.

I check my team one final time, making sure that they’re assembled in their transport vehicles. Everybody’s fine. I walk to the lead Humvee. I get in the backseat and slam the door. Weary.

A few seconds later, Chris gets in and takes the seat beside me.

Silence.

“You took the blame for Sophia’s mistake,” he states simply.

I say nothing. Then, “It’s my team.”

“It wasn’t your mistake.”

“My team. My mistake.”

The driver starts the engine and the convoy starts to move. We’ve got roving gu

“Cassidy,” Chris says, lowering his voice. “You’re a good leader.”

I study his profile, noting the tightness of his jaw.

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” I surmise.

“Because you don’t need me anymore,” he says, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Maybe I’m just getting sentimental.”

“I’ll always need you,” I reply.

I need Chris more than I need anyone else. Even if the entire war against Omega is an utter failure and we all end up enslaved — if I have Chris, I can survive.

He doesn’t answer. He just reaches over, takes my hand, and holds it for a few minutes until we reach Sector 20. His hand seems so big compared to mine.

“I’ll always need you,” I repeat as we pull into the base.

He pauses and looks at me, green eyes brimming with emotion.

“And I will always need you,” he says.

Chapter Ten

Today is my birthday.

I sit on the edge of my bunk, staring at the wall. I am twenty years old. The barracks are empty. I’m the only one here.

I pull my backpack out from under my bed. I rummage through the contents. I pull out my knife, a gift from Jeff, Chris’s brother. The one with my name engraved on the handle. I haven’t used it for a while, afraid of losing it in combat. I strap it onto my belt and take a deep breath.

Happy birthday to me, I think.

I head out into the hall. The long corridor is made of concrete, glowing with dull lighting. At the end of the hall I turn left, ducking into an open room. The Chow Hall. It looks like a high school cafeteria, minus the linoleum and plastic chairs. This room is full of metal benches, hard flooring and a counter with soldiers dishing out food. It smells like a barbecue and it’s loud with voices and clatter.

Sophia is sitting with Alexander on the far side of the cafeteria. Derek and Max are there, as well. Chris is talking with Jeff at the entrance, and I practically walk right into Chris’s chest as I enter the room.

“Hey,” Chris says. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Commander” I reply with a smile.

“You’re wearing the lucky knife,” Jeff comments.

“Yeah. Today’s special, I guess.”

“What’s so special about today?” Chris asks.

His hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail, his face no longer scruffy with stubble. The beard is shaved close to the skin, setting off his luminous green eyes. He looks more handsome than ever, and I’m reminded how different we all look when we’re clean.

“It’s just a special day,” I shrug.

It’s just my birthday.

Chris and Jeff follow me to the food line. We grab trays, utensils and plates. The breakfast is comprised of eggs and potatoes. Rich in calories, protein and starch. Enough to keep an army going.

And lots of coffee.

We join Sophia and the others at the table.

Today is my birthday, and it’s a good day. A great day. I’m safe and sound. I’m sitting next to my friends and the man I love. I have food and water. I’m fighting for a good cause.

Even in the middle of the end of the world, I can have a good day.

We finish our meals and head out of the Chow Hall, towards the training center. This is our routine. Breakfast, then drilling the militiamen and women. Everyone has to be kept on their toes.

But our routine is interrupted by Angela. She’s walking towards us, flanked by Vera. “The Colonel has called an emergency meeting,” she says. Her graying hair is pulled into a bun that matches Vera’s. “Something’s wrong.”

“What’s going on?” Chris asks. All of us change direction, heading back to the briefing room further underground. “Angela?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “But it’s not good.”

Alexander accompanies us, since he and I are both officers. Lieutenants, to be exact.

“Come on, Sophia,” I say.

“I’m not an officer,” she mumbles. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

I frown, unable to argue with her at the moment.

“Okay.”

She heads off with Jeff and Derek, while Max joins us, too. By the time we reach the briefing room, I’m buzzing with worry. What’s wrong? The Colonel is waiting with his arms crossed, a cigar in his mouth. Of course.

“We’ve got forty-eight hours,” he says.

The doors slam shut behind us.

“What do you mean by that?” I demand.

“Omega’s moving faster than our estimates,” Colonel Rivera replies. “We have to move out ASAP to set our forces at the choke point.”

“Whoa, hold it,” Derek interjects. “We were supposed to have one more week to plan for this.”

“Plans change,” Colonel Rivera says. “Warfare isn’t predictable, son.”