State of Pursuit

“How old? And exactly what do you mean by friends?”

Ma

“I mean they’re not my enemies, and for the moment that’s good enough for me.” He paused. “Are you doing all right, though?”

I shrugged.

“Chris is gone, Jeff is dead, Alexander is MIA,” I said, “And now I’m the Commander of a suicide mission going to Los Angeles. Everything’s great.”

Ma

“You can do it,” he told me cheerfully.

I’m not sure what he meant by that, but thinking back on the conversation gives me some peace of mind. Ma

I trust him.

Sophia, on the other hand…

“This is it,” I say, pointing to an off ramp. The mountains rise high into the air, the peaks dusted with snow. Mud and puddles mar the road. Tire tracks zigzag along the potholed highway, an indication of Omega’s recent presence.

And on the side of the hills, there is nothing but charred, ashy soot from the battle fires.

“It’ll grow back,” I whisper.

Uriah gives me a weird look. I ignore it.

It was my idea to start a fire to push Omega back. This is the consequence.

I have always loved the beauty of these mountains, and seeing so much of it burned is painful.

Everywhere I go, Omega has caused destruction.

The Tehachapi Mountains are unique. They stretch for about forty miles in the southern quarter of California. There are few pine trees or cedars here. It is mostly grassy hills and land best used for grazing cattle. The terrain is steep. In a few places, trees and shrubbery are thick.

I keep my eye on the three vehicles behind us.

It’s an hour drive from the bottom of the Grapevine to the rendezvous point, but it will take us longer because we are traveling slower. We have to keep an eye out for Omega scouts or rogue militia forces. The dangers of traveling without the rest of our convoy are immense. We are on our own.

We are deserters.

For the time being, at least.

Thinking about what we’ve done brings a sour taste to my mouth. I feel guilty for leaving the National Guard behind, but in my heart I know that this is the right thing to do. It’s not just Chris we’ll be rescuing if we’re successful, anyway. It will be other militia officers that have been captured, too.

“Hey, are you seeing this?” Uriah asks.

I look up from my map.

“Wow.”

The sun is hitting the snow-lined peaks just right, creating a prism of light. It’s almost heavenly. I admire it for a long time before saying,

“Not everything can be destroyed by Omega.”

Uriah nods.

We’re on a little known back road that winds through the mountains. We’re out in the open, exposed. It makes me nervous. The mountains rise up on each side of us as we roll into a small grazing valley. Broken cattle fences line the side of the road. Two ranch houses stand in the distance. It’s hard to tell, but it looks like they’ve been burned from the inside out.

An accident? Probably not.

“I don’t know Ma

“Ma

Most of the time.

Uriah doesn’t look too sure. It doesn’t make me any more confident about my decision.

Why did they have to vote me Commander? I think angrily. I don’t want to be in charge. I just want to rescue Chris.

I’m not a leader. I’m not.

After forty-five minutes of driving, the mountains loom closer, crowding the road. The trees are thicker here.

“We’re almost there,” I say. I look at the map. “There should be some kind of a basin coming up. It looks like a lake.”

“You mean that?” Uriah tips his head.

I stare at a huge hole in the ground. There is no water left. Only mud and sludge, an aftereffect of the heavy rain.

“Yeah, that,” I reply.

I scan the landscape. The road begins to climb upward, winding around the base of a huge mountain. We grind onto a gravel access road for a good half hour. I keep my eyes trained on the road, trying to avoid thoughts of ambush.

The pain of being separated from Chris is physical. Like a knife in the chest.

Please, God, I pray. Let him be alive.

“Whoa,” Uriah says.

We come to a straightaway in the road. It flattens suddenly and we’re pulling into a wide-open space, surrounded on all sides by thick trees and foliage. At the end of the road is a ranch house; similar to the ones I’ve seen on the way here. The house is old and big. Several outbuildings sit nearby We come to metal pole gate, topped with coils of wicked barbed wire. There are sand-bagged fortifications to our right and left. Four German Shepherds run the perimeter of the inside of the fence, barking and growling viciously.

A metal sign on the gate reads:

PRIVATE PROPERTY:

TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT.

Uriah kills the engine. The other trucks follow our lead. I open the passenger door, step outside, and breathe in the crisp mountain air. I grab my rifle and sling it over my shoulder, keeping it close.

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” Andrew says.

He files out of the back of one of the transport trucks, his gear on his back.

“What were you picturing?” Vera snaps, slamming the door to her Humvee. “The freaking Taj Mahal?”

I give her a look.

She rolls her eyes, twisting her hair into a tight ponytail. I’m surprised she doesn’t rip it out. But her eyes are watchful, fierce.

“Where’s Ma

“He’s here,” I assure him.

“Where do we go in?” Vera says. “How do we know this place is safe?”

“Ma

“Obviously,” Vera replies. “We’re surrounded.”

Well, duh. My men watch the sides of the road carefully. Several armed guards emerge from the foliage, well camouflaged and silent. They wear no uniforms. In fact, they are dressed as civilians. But they are armed, and that is enough.

“National Guard,” I say. “I’m Yankee One. We’re with Ma

“Yes, I know.” A slender, almost-invisible figure emerges from the woods. It’s a woman. She’s tall, white-haired. A green shirt is tucked into her combat pants. A pattern of soft wrinkles frames her pretty face.

A German Shepherd darts out of the bushes and streaks toward me.

I instinctively take a defensive stance and bring my rifle up, ready to smash the stock of the weapon into the dog’s face when it bites. And I realize something in that moment: I’m not afraid of the dog. I’m not afraid of being bitten.

I’m just reacting to a threat like a robot.

I really have changed.

“Cinco, no!” the woman says.

She rushes forward. The dog hesitates when it hears her command, and it pulls back, but it continues to growl, circling me. The woman grabs the dog by the collar, dragging it backward as much as she can manage, sternly telling it to stand down.

“I’m sorry,” she says, offering a halfhearted grin. “Cinco’s just doing her job.”

“I can respect that,” I remark.

“Welcome to Safe Zone One,” the woman keeps a hand on Cinco’s collar. The dog is still growling menacingly. “Is this it?”

“Is what it?” Vera snaps.

“Is this your entire rescue unit?”

“Yeah.” The small size of the unit must be disappointing. “We pack a mean punch.”