State of Pursuit

What a horrible way to die. Hurtling to your death in a metal box, in a room full of strangers. None of the people that died here would even know why they were going to die. They probably thought it was a bomb or a freak accident.

How many children were on this plane?

I shudder.

“We should keep moving,” I say. “It’s not safe to stop.”

I pull away from the decimated passenger jet, silently mourning the i

I could have easily been caught in one of those explosions that night.

But I wasn’t. Why did so many people survive — and why did others die? Why did mothers and infants and children have to lose their lives? They were i

It’s an impossible question to answer.

We find two more passenger jets within the next hour. All of them were either landing or taking off from the Los Angeles International Airport — or LAX, as it’s more commonly called.

Or was called.

I wonder if my mother survived the EMP? I think.

Since Omega’s invasion, I have often wondered if my mother is alive. Where was she when the EMP hit? Did she leave the city? Did she escape Los Angeles before Omega attacked it with a chemical weapon?

Despite the fact that I was never close with my mother, it bothers me that I will never know what happened to her. And I guess that puts me in the same boat as millions of other people. People that have no idea what happened to their family members and friends.

Through everything, my focus was on two things: survival and finding my father. Once I found my father, survival was still my main focus. It still is, I guess. Only now I’m surviving for a reason. Surviving to fight Omega another day.

“Here’s what worries me,” Uriah says in a low voice, falling into step with me. “If Los Angeles was attacked by a chemical weapon, are we breathing poison right now?”

“Unlikely,” Andrew answers, overhearing us. “I’m betting that Omega used Sarin. We’ll be safe to walk through the city without dying of radiation poisoning.”

“What’s Sarin?” I ask.

“It’s an odorless, deadly poison,” Andrew replies. “Before the EMP, there was a lot of it being used in the war in the Middle East. It’s a popular way to attack people without firing a shot.”

“How long does Sarin last?” I say. “The effects, I mean?”

“On the body? It doesn’t take more than a teaspoon to kill you.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t really linger in the air, though. We’d be dead already if it were still here.”

“Good to know,” Uriah says. “We could be breathing in poisoned air.”

“That’s the chance you have to take, coming back into Los Angeles,” Andrew points out. “Besides, if Omega has set up headquarters here, it’s got to be safe.”

Good point.

Then again, Omega might know something that we don’t.

As we burrow into the heart of the city, I see signs of Omega’s presence. Posters and billboards have been covered over with the Omega symbol: the white O containing the continents of the world. One poster is taped to the inside of an abandoned storefront window:

Uriah says, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that registering for the census is a command, not a suggestion,” Vera answers. “Anybody left alive in this city is probably registering. There’s no such thing as flying under the radar once you give them your information.”

“If they don’t already have it,” Andrew says. “Omega could probably pull up information on every citizen in the state based on Facebook pages alone.”

“But the EMP wiped out the computers,” Uriah replies.

“It didn’t wipe out everything,” Andrew counters. “Remember, Omega’s got satellites and televisions and access to the digital cloud. The EMP was directed to wipe out our access to technology — not theirs.”

“So you’re saying my Facebook page is still accessible to Omega?” Uriah says.

“You had a Facebook page?” I remark, gri

He grimaces.

“Probably ‘it’s complicated,’” Andrew snickers.

Uriah whacks the back of Andrew’s shoulder, and I laugh for the first time in hours. But when you really stop to think about it, there’s a massive pool of information on the Internet that Omega could use to pull up information on anyone they want. That’s how they found out where my dad used to work. That’s how they knew Chris was a Navy SEAL.

The Internet. A scary place in more ways than one.

“I don’t know what book face is all about,” Ma

“They’ll be able to find something,” Andrew answers, “if they really want to.” He pauses. “And it’s Facebook, not book face.”

“Facebook, book face,” Ma

“Citizens that are enrolled in the census,” Andrew continues, turning to me, “have to report weekly to General Headquarters. They only get a certain amount of buying power in the stores, and they’re given mandatory Omega jobs. Otherwise known as slave labor.”

“How do you know this?” I ask.

“I listen to the Underground radio.”

“It sounds like Omega’s turned L.A. into a dystopian society.”

“Dystopian? No. It’s blatantly obvious that things are controlled by Omega,” he says. “They’re not trying to hide it. There’s no illusion. The question is, who’s really in charge?”

“So nobody can buy or sell without Omega approval?” Vera asks.

“You’ve got to have a registered Omega identification card to buy or sell anything,” he explains. “And even then you can only buy a certain amount. I don’t know what people are using for currency. The dollar is worthless.”

“They’re probably selling their souls, for all we know,” Vera says.

During the fourth hour of our journey through the city, we change our route. The signs of Omega’s presence are very strong here, and as we progress, I hear something in the distance. Voices? Machines?

We move through an alley. I stop, eyeing a fire escape at the back of an apartment complex. “I’m going to take a quick look,” I say. “Stay here and keep an eye out.”

“I’ll come with you,” Uriah volunteers.

Of course.

I curl my fingers around the rusty rungs of the ladder and climb. The building is only four stories. I reach the top and roll onto the roof. I can see clearly in all directions from here. Miles of buildings wind across the landscape in every direction. I can almost see the ocean from here.

Almost.

Less than three miles away, the signature circular skyscraper of Los Angeles towers above the ground. The windows over the top half of the building have been painted red. The white Omega O is visible in the center.

“I think we found General Headquarters,” I say, sick.

“That’s the beehive,” Uriah replies. “Wow. They didn’t waste any time making L.A. their home, did they?”

I shake my head.

Uriah remains silent for a few moments. Then, “Listen, Cassidy…about the kiss. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have.” I maintain my crouched position on the roof. In the distance, there is movement. Lots of movement. People? Probably.

Uriah swallows, resting his fists against his knees.

“I just…I care about you, Cassidy,” he continues. I glance at his face, hesitating. His expression is one of hope.