“So how long have you known Devin?” I ask as we take a right.
“About a decade. Before you were even in Middle School.” Chris grins. “We started in SEAL training together at the Coronado Naval Station. Wound up coming here for a postgraduate program. And Devin was a great linguist — better than me. He went to the Language Institute, where we were yesterday. That’s his strong point. Communication.”
I almost make a sarcastic comment about it not being Chris’s, but I don’t.
I know better.
“Small world,” I say.
“Not small enough,” Chris replies, sighing.
More silence. Then,
“Do you think my dad is alive?” I ask. “Be honest with me.”
Chris takes his time answering the question, glancing sideways at my expression — which I’m trying very hard to maintain.
“There’s a chance,” he replies, his voice quiet. “But don’t count on it.”
I nod. I have known this since the day the Capitol Building’s dome collapsed. I just didn’t want to admit it. Hearing it said out loud is a form of closure, of meager acceptance.
Chris continues to hold my hand.
What can you say to fix something like this, anyway?
Nothing. There are no words. There is only sadness.
“Cannery Row,” Chris says suddenly. “Haven’t been here in ages.”
We turn left from a small, packed boulevard, heading downhill. There is a large building at the end of the block. Two white smokestacks tower into the air like giant matches, contrasting against the sky. Chris follows Devin’s vehicle around the corner, past a couple of shops, then we pull up to the curb and stop.
“Here we are,” Chris murmurs.
I wonder what we are in for now.
I open the passenger door and step outside. I look down a long street. There is a red cannery building on one side and what looks like a tourist shopping center on the other. A Bubba Gump restaurant sits on the left, abandoned, a smiling shrimp sitting there, waiting for customers that will never return.
“Tourist spot?” I say.
“Yep,” Chris adds.
I follow Chris to Devin’s Jeep. There is a strong United States Naval presence here. Patrols on the sidewalks, vehicles on the streets. Guards on top of every building, keeping the area secure.
“I think it’s safer now than it was before the EMP,” Chris comments.
“True story, bro,” Devin replies. “Come on, this way. The lookout’s in the aquarium.”
They follow the sidewalk, diving between two of the bigger buildings. I’m hit in the face with a burst of cold ocean air. It whips my hair in circles. It feels good, clean. We check in before entering through a couple of glass doors. It is dark here, and we bypass abandoned counters and ticket-kiosks.
“The aquarium, huh?” I say.
“The Monterey Bay Aquarium,” Devin replies. “World famous. Or at least it used to be. The people here… they’ve been able to keep a lot of the creatures alive, like the otters and the sardines… but some of the other stuff… after the EMP, a lot of things died. Couldn’t save everything.”
We enter a large room filled with benches. A giant, life-size sculpture of a whale hangs from the ceiling. To the right, a huge, triple-paned glass tank wraps around the corner of the oversized hall. An otter happily floats on his back in the top of the tank, grasping a shellfish of some sort.
“How do they keep this place running?” I ask. “With all of the people that are dying, how can they spare water and food for animals?”
“Animals live in seawater,” Devin shrugs. “There’s no shortage of that. Most of the animals here have been released, anyway. There are a few that are kept alive because honestly, it keeps peoples’ hopes up. We can still do simple things like save otters, right?” Devin grins. “This place is run by the National Guard, and the animals are cared for by civilian volunteers, otherwise the animals left would be gone.”
I place my fingers on the glass and watch the otter from below. He’s very care-free. He looks like an aquatic teddy bear.
“Oh, to be an otter,” I mutter, only half-joking.
Devin and Chris share a knowing look and continue. The building is surprisingly crowded, brimming with militia and military activity. Soldiers are walking the halls. The aquarium gift shop has been stripped of all souvenirs. It is now a National Guard command post, manned by soldiers. The only things that remain on the walls are the aquarium directories, indicating which levels contain sharks and which contain jellyfish.
I’m still confused as to why we’re here exactly, but I trust Devin and Chris, so I follow them through the first floor, climbing a long staircase, hitting the second level. This level is divided into several sectors, and I recognize officer’s uniforms and militia leaders. I spot Anita Vega, the representative from Mexico and the Commander of the militia group Coyotes. She is standing near a wide, open window that overlooks the bay. I see her talking to Uriah, Vera and Andrew.
“What are they doing here?” I ask, surprised.
“We’re all meeting here today,” Devin explains. “Omega ships aren’t something to be taken lightly. They could be carrying a cruise missile.”
I feel nauseated.
That’s all we need. Another bombing.
I approach the group and tap Uriah on the shoulder. He smiles warmly at me.
“We were worried about you,” he states.
“I was with Devin.”
“That was Chris’s guess.” Uriah looks at Chris, who nods once. “Did he tell you what’s going on?”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“We’re practically waiting for them to kick in the front door,” Vera spits, furious. “We should take out those ships immediately. That’s what my mother would do.”
“Your mother, Lieutenant Wright, is dead,” Anita replies, short and clipped. “And regardless of what she would have done, this is not a decision that will be made based on the memory of one woman. This is a decision that will be made in the Alliance, by an elected council of representatives.”
Vera flushes. She opens her mouth to say more, but Chris holds up a hand.
And, as always, Chris is the only person in the world Vera really listens to.
“What do we know about these ships?” Chris asks.
“They’re unidentified,” Anita replies. “They’re over the horizon and they haven’t penetrated the Naval ring around Monterey… yet. Air Force patrols found them. There are three. They seem to be waiting. Just sitting and waiting. It’s very frustrating.”
“They’re there for a reason,” Devin replies.
“Obviously,” Vera says. “They’re letting us know that they’re close.”
“But why?” Anita continues. “That, my friends, is the question. Up to this point, Omega hasn’t done anything that hasn’t been calculated. The EMP, the invasion. Everything has been planned so far in advance, we should know that there could be something behind these ships that’s a lot bigger than any of us think.”
I want to roll my eyes. Anita is merely stating the obvious.
We wouldn’t be meeting here today if we were underrating Omega.
Hope for the best, get ready for the crappy.
That was my motto before the EMP, and it remains true today.
“There’s a Coast Guard Cutter that patrols the shoreline,” Devin says. “They’ve gone up the coast far enough north of Monterey that they’ve seen Omega troop movements on land. A couple of ships bringing new troops in.”
“Where is this happening?” I ask. “I thought the Alliance had secured the west coast.”
“Most of the west coast,” Anita corrects. “We don’t have the manpower to protect every square inch of territory. Besides, up until yesterday, California was not a part of the Alliance’s responsibility. Today it is, and we will do what we can to push Omega out.”