Elle closed her eyes, sighing.
She knew what she had to do.
The safe haven wasn’t what Elle expected. It was built under the ground, a stronghold beneath the towering Tehachapi Mountains. A chain link fence surrounded the property, guarded by soldiers on towers and mazes of concrete barriers. Georgia, Jay and Flash strained to see out the window, murmuring softly. Jay glanced at Elle. His expression betrayed worry.
Elle looked away.
They sat in the back of the Humvee, squished together in the backseat. Lieutenant Danes drove, and the two privates were keeping their gazes trained on the windows.
The inside strap of Elle’s jacket was weightless, as was the sheath on her back. She had agreed to leave her weapons in the back of the Humvee while they entered the camp — until the National Guard cleared their entry.
Elle had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Nervousness? Probably. What if the National Guard didn’t let them in? What if they tossed then out on their butts, back into the harsh, unforgiving plain of the Mojave?
Well. There was nothing they could do now but see what happened.
They rolled up to the front checkpoint. Elle had never been on or near a military base before, so she wasn’t sure what she should expect. The guards conversed with Lieutenant Danes. He gestured to Elle and the others a few times, keeping his voice low. The guards peered at the kids, shaking their heads. And then they got a green light, and the Humvee rumbled through the first checkpoint, past the barriers and into the entrance to the safe haven. The structure of the building was similar to a parking garage. It was made of concrete, built into the side of the mountain. A small, bunker-like opening sloped downward, allowing vehicles to roll into a loading area. The Humvee pulled into it, cut the engine, and Lieutenant Danes opened the rear doors.
“Okay, everybody out,” he commanded.
Elle bolted, anxious to escape the inside of the vehicle. She stood on the cement flooring. An open area of Humvees, trucks and Jeeps filled the inside of the first level. White numbers were painted on the walls: 27.
“What’s twenty-seven mean?” Georgia whispered to Elle.
“Don’t know.”
The place was buzzing with activity. Bravo jumped out of the Humvee, taking his place next to Elle’s leg. She scratched him behind the ears. He was calm — extremely calm, actually. She was jealous of his self-control.
Elle’s hands were trembling with fear, so she stuffed them in her pockets.
“Alright,” Danes said. “Welcome to Sector 27, one of many National Guard strongholds in the state of California. I’m going to need you to follow me. The dog, too.”
Bravo looked up at Elle.
This is a big kennel.
She shrugged. “It’s better than being in the desert.”
I kind of like it, to be honest.
Elle hid a sarcastic smile.
They followed Danes and the two rivates through the parking garage and through a heavy metal door. The door led to a huge, double-wide staircase that descended deeper into the ground. They ended up two flights below the loading area, deep beneath the mountain. They walked through more doors and into a huge room flooded with generator-powered lights. Everything was concrete. It resembled a colorless gymnasium — minus windows and screaming cheerleaders. There were men and women lying on cots on the floor, wrapped in blankets. There were children, infants.
“This is the Refugee Ward,” Danes said. He nodded at Private Yancey and Private Kilion. They pulled away and disappeared into the ward. “This is where you’ll be able to find some food and water. See that lady in the back over there?”
He gestured to a heavyset woman with white hair. She was standing behind a table, doling out bowls of soup. “That’s Myra Linch,” he continued. “She’s in charge of the Ward. You need anything, you talk to her.”
“When are we going to get our weapons back?” Elle asked.
“We’ll talk about that later,” Danes replied.
“Or we could talk now.”
“You’re starving and dehydrated. I suggest you eat first.”
“No. I want to talk.”
Danes folded his arms across his chest, chewing on his lower lip. He tilted his head, studying Bravo. “All right. We’ll talk.” He pointed to the far corner of the room. “You three”— he waved a hand at Georgia, Jay and Flash— “go eat.” He looked at Elle. “You and the dog can come with me.”
“Hey, if you’re talking, I want to hear, too,” Jay stated.
“I didn’t ask you what you wanted,” Danes answered. “Do what I say, kid.”
Jay curled his fingers into fists. Elle touched his shoulder.
“Just do it,” she advised. “I’ll be back.”
Jay swallowed and glared at the floor as Georgia muttered something under her breath. Jay seemed to agree with whatever she said and turned away, Flash following.
“This way,” Danes told Elle.
Elle clicked her tongue and Bravo stayed close to Elle as they moved out of the Refugee Ward, into the stairwell outside. Danes leaned against the railing, a pensive expression on his face.
“Where’d you find the dog?” he asked at last.
“Why do you care?” Elle demanded, defensive. She kept her arms folded, her stance defiant.
“Kid, your dog’s name is Bravo. He belonged to Nathan Ingalls, a lieutenant from Sector Twenty-Seven.” He shook his head. “Nathan went MIA about two weeks ago, along with his dog, a bomb dog from the military K-9 units that existed before the EMP. So what I’m asking you is this: why the hell do you have Nathan’s dog?”
“You knew Nathan,” Elle stated. “He was your friend.”
“Yeah, he was my friend,” Danes replies. “Now tell me the truth, because I can throw you out of here just as quick as I picked you up.”
“You think I killed him?” Elle asked, raising an eyebrow.
Danes didn’t reply. He only waited.
“I didn’t.” Elle looked him straight in the eye. “I found him dying in an abandoned mining camp in the middle of the desert. Bravo was the one who brought me to him. I tried to save him, I swear, but there was nothing I could do. He just… slipped away.”
Danes blinked, swallowing hard.
“So he’s dead,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you took the dog?”
“The dog took me, sir. I had nothing to do with it.”
Danes smiled slowly.
“And these kids you’re with?”
“They’re just kids.”
“You’re obviously in charge of the group. What’s your story?”
“My story is just like everyone else’s. I’m trying to stay alive.”
“You’re fresh out of Slaver Territory with a bomb dog and a group of kids trailing behind you like a Boy Scout troop,” Danes remarked. “That’s no small feat.”
Elle didn’t answer.
“You and your friends can stay here,” Danes said at last. “For now.”
Elle nodded. That was fair.
“We were originally headed to Sacramento,” she said. “We heard it was safe there.”
“It’s safe for now.”
“Is it worth trying for?”
“Anything’s worth trying for, now.” He paused. “You look after your dog, Elle, and he’ll look after you.” He touched Bravo’s head, scratched him softly. “Go eat and get some rest. We’ll talk more after.”
Elle didn’t argue.
She couldn’t afford to.
“Samuel is dead,” Elle said.
Aunt and Uncle were sitting at the breakfast table. Uncle was wearing his leather duster, his flight cap stuck into the pocket of his pants. Aunt raised an eyebrow.