“So you think Omega is like an alliance of countries?”
I open my mouth to respond, but I’m interrupted by a harsh,
“Of course that’s what Omega is.”
I whip around, almost bumping into a tall young man with curly brown hair. The first thing I notice about him are his piercing blue eyes.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I snap. “This is Group 13’s area.”
“I was sent here by my Group Leader,” he replies, and that’s when I realize that he’s got a British accent. “Apparently you’re not working fast enough.”
I peek over his shoulder. He’s right. Male workers are moving into the field with sacks. Some of the women look downright terrified to see male prisoners, and I don’t blame them. Sophia and I have had a couple of ugly run-ins with half-crazy men in the prison that have lost all sense of dignity and morality. Keeping the sexes separated is the only thing that keeps this labor camp moving.
Omega must be hungry or they wouldn’t let us work together. This is the first sign of weakness I’ve seen from them.
“Omega is an alliance,” the young man says, following us. “You’re dead on about that.”
“Look, we probably shouldn’t be talking,” Sophia replies, nervous.
“I’ve been here for three months,” the man answers, cracking a smile. “Trust me, if you keep your voices down and close your mouth when the guards walk by, you’ll be fine.”
I climb up the ladder and crane my neck to see how many oranges we’ve got left. After five days, I’m sick of seeing oranges. I’ll never be able to eat one again.
“Okay then,” I say, careful. “What do you know about Omega?”
“Well,” he replies, “I know what you know. But I’ve heard different rumors, so I have a slightly different theory.”
“Do tell,” Sophia says, folding her arms across her chest.
“Omega is like an umbrella,” he explains. “Underneath it are several different forces working together, but only one of those forces are responsible for the EMP. You know that an EMP is caused by a nuclear explosion in the atmosphere, yes?”
We nod.
“You have to ask yourself, who in the world today has the firepower and the gall to do something like that to the United States?” he pauses. “I’m from London, but I was living in Hollywood when the EMP struck. Omega is probably an alliance of countries, and one of those countries sent out the nuclear blast that destroyed our technology.”
“That’s kind of what I was already saying,” I deadpan. “Just…with a little more detail.”
He chuckles.
“I’m Harry, by the way,” he says. “Harry Lydell, but who cares about your last name these days, right? Who are you?”
“I’m Cassidy and this is Sophia,” I reply. “Welcome to the club.”
“Club?”
“Yeah. Our club.” Sophia and I share a secret grin. “You’re in.”
Harry looks confused, but he doesn’t question us. He ends up being a good worker. Fast, quiet, observant. Smart. The guy has some interesting theories about Omega and the source of the EMP, which makes my curious ears perk up. Anything is more interesting than manual labor, anyway. And to be honest, I’m glad to have somebody else to talk to. It’s been just Sophia and me since we were smashed together in the semi-truck, and it’s nice to have a newbie to get to know.
The three of us stick together through the day, trading conspiracy theories and complaints about our crappy environment. It makes the long hours more bearable, and it gives me hope. At least somebody besides Sophia and I are actually trying to figure Omega out. Most of the prisoners here are zoned out. Desperate and terrified.
I might have plenty of fear to go around, but I haven’t given up yet. Omega might be scary, but they’re also infuriating. They make me angry. This is our home, and they have no right being here, treating us like dirt.
I want them taken down. Hard.
And the first step towards taking down an enemy is familiarization. Know what you’re up against. That’s what Chris would tell me. Learn everything you can about your opponent, their strengths and weaknesses, and then attack. Not that I’m planning on taking down the entire Omega army, of course, but it gives me a sense of security to know that Omega is very human and very real. If they can be figured out, then they can be destroyed.
And that wouldn’t hurt my feelings.
Not one bit.
Chapter Five
Omega should go ahead and give classes in world domination, because they’ve got the formula down to a science. I don’t know how far their invasion extends — or whether or not the United States is the only one affected by it — but I do know this: they’re smart. Organized. Utilizing resources that are already here, enslaving the population that was already in place. Things are working out fine and dandy for them, while the civilian population is being forced to march through cold showers and do manual labor.
Yeah. I’d say people like me could have been better prepared for a situation like this. It’s weird, too. I was probably the only person in Los Angeles with an emergency go-bag, a getaway car and a pre-planned emergency rendezvous point when the EMP hit. I was ready and prepared. Naïve? Yes. Scared? You bet. But I was actually ready. Apparently somebody needs to write a survival manual about labor camps, because now I’m not prepared. I’m at Omega’s mercy, and that seriously ticks me off.
I hate being bossed around.
So yeah. Enslavement isn’t my fantasy job.
But there are things I can do to keep myself alive and well while some of the other prisoners shrivel up and waste away. For one thing, mental stimulation is a big part of keeping myself sharp. I play games with myself. I solve riddles. I recite memory verses. Whatever I can do to keep my mind working. Sophia and I tell each other stories, everything from the Three Little Pigs to Goodnight Moon just to avoid going crazy. Or maybe the fact that we’re reciting Goodnight Moon out loud is a sign of our insanity. Whatever. It helps the time pass quicker.
The food that we get around this place isn’t enough to keep me healthy and strong, either, so Sophia and I have started eating some of the oranges we pick. It’s a potentially lethal situation, because if we get caught eating the food that we’re supposed to be picking, we could very well be killed. Just like that. And I have a feeling Kamaneva would dance a Russian jig over my grave.
The oranges are full of Vitamin C, though, which keeps us healthier than the rest of the prisoners. But I’m sure we’re not the only ones bending the rules. I mean, if you don’t fly under the radar, you’ll die. You’ll burn out and turn into a hollow shell of yourself. I’ve seen it happen.
An older woman named Jenna arrived at the labor camp a few days ago, and she’s already wasting away. She’s retreated far inside of herself, refusing to talk to anybody or eat anything. She worked until she dropped unconscious in the fields and the guards kicked her awake, forcing her back to her job. She’s given up hope. She’s already dead.