State of Alliance

“I feel great, thanks,” I reply. “How far are we away from Monterey Bay?”

“No more than an hour. Don’t worry, I’ll get you back to the mainland safe and sound.” He pauses. “Although judging by the weapons on your person, you’re probably quite capable of taking care of yourself.”

I say nothing. I only watch him.

Jonas clears his throat and I walk to the railing. The fog is thick. I can’t see the shore from here. In fact, I have no idea which direction we’re headed, although I’m assuming it’s east. I shove my hands in my pockets and settle back on a wooden crate. Although I don’t see any fish on this ship, I can smell them. The stench is pretty rank, permeating the wood and the cloth in the sails. The slight putter of the motor propelling the little vessel through the water is the only sound aside from the waves lapping at the side of the boat.

I settle into my spot, silence hanging between Jonas and I.

I’m sure that Chris and the rest of the National Guard and militias have discovered the destruction of the Coast Guard cutter and the demise of Captain Adams and his crew. They won’t find my body among the dead in the water, so I wonder if they will assume that I am dead, as well. I wonder, briefly, if search aircraft was sent to look for the wreckage of the Golden Shark… and if there were, why didn’t they find me?

I curl my fingers into fists.

Chris is going to be angry when he finds out what happened.

The minutes pass. I find myself wandering back into the cabin to escape the cold temperatures. I sit in the chair in the corner, closing my eyes. I am still tired from the hypothermia, and I know that I am lucky to be alive.

“Miss Barton?” Jonas calls. “We’re coming into port in a few minutes.”

I stand up and leave the cabin once more. Jonas has cut the motor back a few notches and we are sidling up slowly to a long wooden pier. I see no lights or buildings onshore.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Back,” Jonas replies.

“This isn’t the bay, and it’s not Ca

“It’s where I dock my boat. You’ll have to walk a ways to get where you want to go.” Jonas shrugs. “I’m doing my best, missy.”

Guilt tugs at my heartstrings. This man saved my life — he didn’t asked to be ordered around by a militia commander. So I shut my mouth as he brings the boat alongside the dock and ties the Mia Bella up.

“Home sweet home,” Jonas a

I nod.

“Thanks.” Then, “Can you tell me where I am so I can find my way back to city? It helps to have a starting point so I know which direction to head.”

Jonas’s smiles fades, turning to a small twitch.

“Well, you’re about… let’s see… maybe twenty miles north of the city.” He reaches for his pipe. “You’d probably better find a vehicle…”

“Or you could ride with us.”

That voice.

My blood runs cold — colder than the water in Monterey Bay. The fog is so thick, I can barely make out the figures standing along the dock. Four… five… ten… twenty. Raw fear shoots through me — this is a trap. What have I allowed Jonas to do to me?

Never trust people. Never, never, never…

“Cassidy, it’s been too long. Last time we crossed paths you were laying waste to my prison, and I was scrambling to clean up your mess.” A pause. “My, how the tables have turned.”

I take a step away from the railing as Harry Lydell steps out of the shadows of the fog, the lantern-light casting a glow on his fine English features. He’s wearing an Omega uniform, dark curly hair combed back.

“Harry,” I say, breathless.

“Yes,” he replies. “Charmed to see me?”

I frown.

He laughs, amusement in his face.

“You know, when we were informed that you survived the terrible tragedy that befell the Golden Shark and its crew,” he says, “we had to meet you here. It’s only polite, don’t you think? So glad to see that you made it.”

I look at Jonas. The old man’s expression is crestfallen — he is completely pale, almost sick. I glare at him.

“You radioed Omega?” I say. “You’re a spy.”

“I’m just a fisherman,” he mutters. “I’ve got to stay alive, just like the rest of you.”

“Well,” I say, lifting my chin. I ignore the terror in my heart, the feeling of helplessness. I know that Harry will kill me. I know what this means. “Shall we go, Harry?”

“That’s General Lydell, actually,” Harry corrects, lifting a finger. “And yes. Let’s go. There are some people who will be very interested to know where you’re staying the night.”

The smug smile on his face is like a bullet in the chest.

The Omega patrols near and around Harry have their weapons trained at my head. If I move, I’m dead. There’s nowhere I can go, anyway. The water? Nope. The dock? Occupied. I am trapped, this is it.

Three Omega soldiers, dressed in their dark uniforms — the signature white O stitched into the sleeve — jump onto the boat, still holding their guns to my head.

“Time to go,” Harry says.

Jonas starts to say something, but decides against it. He shrinks back onto his boat as I turn my back on him, kicking myself for failing to trust my initial instincts. I could have forced him to tell me where we were going — but instead I made the fatal mistake of trusting someone.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I blame the hypothermia and the shock of the attack on the Golden Shark for trusting Jonas.

Oh, God. Help me survive this.

Please.

It is early in the morning, and I am sitting in the corner of an old elementary school lab. My bare feet are covered with mud. I am filthy. My short hair is matted with dirt and leaves from fieldwork. Harry is sitting beside me, staring at the wall.

“You think we’re going to die here?” Harry whispers. His voice comes light and breathy, like something out of a British movie. “If we live long enough to get on Omega’s good side, we’ll be worked to death. What’s the point of living?”

“First,” I reply, “there’s no such thing as Omega’s ‘good side,’ and second, the point of living is exactly that: to live. We have to keep trying, Harry. No matter what it takes.”

Harry presses his lips together, pensive.

Most of the other laborers — the enslaved fieldworkers like myself — are asleep, exhausted after many hours of difficult work harvesting produce for the enemy.

“If we escape…” he trails off. “There is no way out of this.”

I put my hand on his forearm, offering a smile.

“We have hope,” I tell him. “What more do we need?”

Harry gazes at me, something deeper than admiration sparking in his clear blue eyes. He leans closer, his face mere inches from mine. I snap out of it and pull away, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“We’ll be okay,” I say automatically. “One way or another.”

Harry frowns, hurt written across his face.

“One way or another,” he replies quietly. “We’ll see.”

Harry and his armed guards march me to an Omega convoy, shove me into the backseat of a Humvee with Harry, and slam the doors. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, but I maintain a calm and cold expression. I don’t smile, I don’t frown. I only breathe in and out, blink, and stare at the ground.

“My, aren’t you talkative today,” Harry comments. “Where is the spunky, big-mouthed Cassidy Hart I know and adore?”

I flick my gaze up, giving him a sour look.

“Ah, I see a flash of her now,” Harry chuckles. He is so smooth, so elegant. It is not difficult to believe that this young man was once a burgeoning actor in Hollywood — he’s full of drama and overblown theatrics.