Vera, Sophia and Andrew are dispersed throughout the militia, each in command of their own unit within my force of two-hundred. I trust their judgment and capabilities enough that I am not worried about them anymore. I pray for their safety, but I focus on the task at hand.
We keep moving, brushing through shrubs and skirting around abandoned buildings until we reach the fence of the Naval Postgraduate School. I follow the length of the fence. We curve north, reaching a large pond that has almost completely dried up.
Here we are.
There is no barbed wire on the top of the fence, no electrically wired shock system. When the National Guard and Navy were keeping this school safe, there was no need for measures like that. The guards and the military force kept the school from being attacked.
And now this will be a weakness for Omega.
I sling my rifle over my back and jam my boot between two bars, pulling myself up and over the fence in one swift motion. I land on the other side, smiling. I remember when I could barely figure out how to climb over a chain link fence.
The world has changed. Cassidy Hart has changed.
I check my shoulder. My men are coming fast, pulling themselves over the fence in silence. We keep low, close to the ground, going from cover to cover, hiding in the trees and overgrown bushes along the side of the pond. The sedentary water in the bottom of the small basin smells putrid. Dead animals are rotting around the edges. Warning signs are posted on trees.
We move around the pond, stopping at the bend. We are right on the edge of the parking lot in front of Hermann Hall. The generators are running. The hotel and the parking lot are lit. Omega guards and patrols fill the empty space. They are everywhere, like insects. I nod to Uriah and we kneel down. I look back over my militia. Vera and Sophia have taken their units around the other side of the hotel. I have about a hundred men behind me, holding their breaths.
There is a distant boom. The battle on the north and south ends of the city rages on.
“Hear that?” An Omega guard says. “It’s really cooking over there.”
He sounds American, and that angers me.
Traitor. You’re one of them.
“Yes, the militias are attempting to break through our defenses and take back the city.” This is the voice of another guard. Chinese. But he speaks English well. “They will fail. We have far more firepower than they do. They will burn.”
Uriah tightens his grip on his rifle. I place my hand on his shoulder.
Steady, I think. You’ll get your chance. We all will.
I think of the Capitol Building, how the dome collapsed and buried so many people alive, sentencing them to tortuous deaths, pinned under concrete support beams, burning alive in the flames. I think of my father, missing in action. Probably dead. I find the anger and fight within myself to carry on, to finish this battle.
There is a gunshot. It cracks through the night air, sounding much closer than it really is. The guards in the parking lot are suddenly alert, searching the parking lot. There is no sign. There is a window on the fifth story of Herrmann Hall, facing the sea. Another gunshot, and the window shatters.
“It’s time,” I say.
And then it is all chaos and bloodshed and killing.
It is all war.
It begins with me. I shoot the Chinese guy that had been talking about the militias. It is a perfect shot — right in the side of his head. He jerks sideways, a spray of blood covering the asphalt. And then everyone attacks at once and it is a barrage of earsplitting gunfire. Glass shatters, alarms go off, Omega troops fall to the ground in twisted, bloody heaps. The parking lot is cleared in no time. I stand up and run, rifle in hand, breath coming fast and uneven.
I hit the parking lot and the militiamen rush in behind me. I am struck by the sheer mass and size of my group as they surge around me, hot, sweaty bodies yelling and moving forward, toward the main buildings.
Snipers are on the roof of Herrmann Hall. Uriah and I fall back, ducking behind a Jeep as some of our militiamen hit the pavement, dead. I look at Uriah. He looks at me. We read each other that fast.
I raise my head above the hood of the Jeep and take a quick shot, sighting the sniper on the far north side of the roof. My aim is not perfect, but I hit him. He is standing close to the edge and he tumbles off the roof, falling through the air like a lead weight. I watch him hit the concrete. I swear I can hear the impact of his body hitting the ground from where I’m kneeling.
That’s impossible, I tell myself.
Uriah takes out the sniper on the south side of the roof. We systematically bring down every shooter on the roof that we can find, bump fists, then roll out of the cover of the Jeep, following the flow of militiamen toward the main buildings.
Chris’s militia is coming around the back of Herrmann Hall. Our combined forces flood the area, pushing inside the doors of the buildings. I see militiamen drag Omega soldiers into the grass and line them up in a row, a makeshift and quick execution.
I want to cry for them. I want to pretend that I am not a part of all of this.
But I am. This is the reality of war, and I know where I stand.
“Cassidy, let’s go!” Chris is yelling from the steps of Herrmann Hall, searching the madness of the crowd for my face. I sprint across the parking lot, Uriah hot on my heels. And then I see Manny. I feel relief, seeing his face. He is smudged in dirt and grime, blood droplets staining his jacket. He is holding two handguns, eyes wild, hair crazy. He reminds me of an eccentric, steam punk cowboy.
“This hotel was never quite my style, anyway,” Manny comments, gesturing to Herrmann Hall. The back of the building is spewing flames. Black smoke is rising into the air. “Consider this my version of a bad online review.”
I want to laugh, but I can’t. Not right now.
“Come on, inside!” Chris urges, looking at me.
I follow him. Manny and Uriah follow me.
We push into the hall. An Omega trooper is standing behind the counter of the front desk. He fires off a round. I duck aside, hitting the ground. The bullet misses my head but shatters the glass mirror on the wall.
Chris fires his weapon into the center of the trooper’s chest. He slumps over the counter, dead. Vera bursts into the building from the side door, running full speed. She is flushed, radiating adrenaline. “About time you morons got here,” she mutters. “Where’s Sophia?”
I stare at her.
“She was with you,” I say.
“Not anymore. Andrew’s right behind me, though.”
As if to illustrate her point, Andrew slides through the side door. There is a massive gash on his forehead. Blood is pouring down the side of his face. The sight is horrible, momentarily shocking. But I remember that head wounds bleed excessively and often look much worse than they really are.
“Are you okay?” I ask Andrew.
“Fine. Bumped my head. It happens.”
“You bumped your head on someone’s fist,” Vera corrects.
Andrew flashes her a wry grin. Vera… grins back.
I don’t believe it, I think vaguely.
“So Sophia is outside?” I ask.
“Must be.”
“She’s supposed to be in here!” I fist my hands. Chris touches my shoulder. “We can’t wait for her. We have to move on.”
I swallow my argument. He’s right. We have no choice.
We leave the lobby, following the hallway until we come to the stairwell. Omega troops that cross our path wind up dead. To confront us is to invite an instant death sentence.
It is both scary and impressive how deadly we are.
“Harry should be here somewhere,” Chris says. “We’ll search every level, kill every officer we see. Spare no one.” He looks angry as he says the next few words: “We’re a kill team, now.”