Everybody starts cheering. The rest of the militia men have removed their facial scarves and sunglasses, and for the first time I get a glimpse of their faces. Young men and women. Some of them don’t even look old enough to be out of high school. But here they are, fighting a war.
And then I see Harry Lydell.
He tries to duck his head and turn to the side to avoid my gaze, but it’s too late. The damage is done. I cover my mouth with my hands just as Sophia comes up behind me, pointing.
“What are you doing here?” she demands, seething.
“Who is that?” Chris asks, following my line of sight.
“Harry,” I say, staring at the ground.
He spreads his arms out, waiting for an explanation.
“You were working with Kamaneva, last time I checked,” Max says, walking up to Harry. He grabs him around the collar, drags him to the center of the trucks and holds him there with one arm. Harry is sweating and shaking from head to toe.
“Please,” he begs, “Kamaneva forced me to turn you in, Cassidy.”
“He turned you in?” Chris looks surprised. “If you turned her in to Omega, why did you think you’d be safe coming with us?”
Chris curls his fingers around the front of Harry’s shirt, overshadowing the Englishman’s lean frame. His eyes are steely — he looks mad. “You’re a dead man.”
“You don’t understand,” Harry says, choking. “Kamaneva was going to kill me.”
Chris gives him a lethal look. The kind of look he usually gives Omega troopers before he beats the crap out of them. Max doesn’t look too thrilled, either.
“Kill the traitor,” somebody hisses.
More people take up the same chant. Every muscle in Chris’s body is tense and coiled. His grip on Harry’s neck is tight. Potentially lethal.
“Chris,” I say, panic rising in my chest. “Stop. He didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Chris grits. “I would have died before I put you in harm’s way.”
“Yes, because you’re strong,” I reply. “Harry’s not. Let him go.”
“This is not a game,” Chris replies. “He almost got you killed.”
“Hang him,” somebody suggests.
Have I jumped into the Dark Ages?
A chorus of agreement echoes throughout the camp. Chris adjusts his vice-like hold on Harry’s neck, pulling him in closer. For a split second I think he’s going to say something, but instead he lands a crushing punch to Harry’s stomach. The air goes out of him and he doubles over.
“Stop this!” I say, running to Chris. I grab his arm. “You can’t kill him.”
“If he betrayed you once, he’ll betray you twice,” Chris replies. His eyes are bright with fury as he draws his handgun. “Get out of the way.”
“Just get on with it!” the militiamen urge.
I shove Chris’s gun aside. He turns his angry gaze on me and drops Harry, taking a step back. Harry coughs and hacks on his hands and knees. I stand between him and Chris, raising my chin.
“We can’t execute people,” I say. “We’ll be no better than Omega if we do.”
“Sometimes executions are necessary,” Chris spits.
“This piece of filth doesn’t deserve to live,” Max adds, folding his arms across his chest. “You do realize you almost got shot in the head because of him, right?”
“I know exactly what he did,” I reply, waving my fist in Max’s face. “And it’s not like I’m ready to give him a free pass out of jail and bake him a cake. I’m saying we can’t kill him. Omega kills people. We can’t. We have to live by the law of the land — nobody else will if we don’t.”
I glare at Chris. A muscle ticks in his jaw. We endure an epic stare-down before he finally turns to Harry. He kicks him hard and hauls him up by his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “Look at her,” he growls. “She just saved your worthless life. It won’t happen twice.”
He shoves him towards Max.
“Give him a job,” he commands, taking my arm.
I release a breath, thanking God that this little scene didn’t play out the way I thought it might. We just came this close to dissolving into total anarchy.
The tension is palpable as the militiamen disperse and Harry is dragged off by Max. As we leave the trucks behind, I realize that we’ve parked right outside a large campsite. Blankets and tents are arranged throughout the wooded areas. Pots and pans, bags of supplies, weaponry. Men wearing the same dark blue armbands are standing guard around the perimeter of the camp. They nod respectfully at Chris as he passes.
“So this is your army?” I whisper.
“You might say that,” Chris replies.
“Can I have an army, too? Because that would be awesome.”
Chris stops and pulls me aside, pressing me flat against a pine tree.
“Consider it done,” he says, kissing me on the lips. I thread my fingers through his long hair, feeling the roughness of his beard scratch my cheeks. “I missed you.”
He pulls away to look me in the eyes.
“Not as much as I missed you,” I say.
“Doubtful.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Do you have any idea what it was like for me when I came back to the trailer and you were gone?”
“I have a general idea.” I smile softly. “I’m sorry. There was an Omega trooper inside the house. I don’t know how he got in.”
“Omega patrol.” Chris kisses my forehead. “We need to have a long talk about everything that’s happened.”
“I agree.”
“But first there’s something you need to see.”
“Does it involve dinner? Or a bath?”
Chris grins.
“Yes, actually.”
I take his hand and follow him through the camp. Men and women alike are mingling together, doing chores, stitching up wounds. Some of the females are standing guard along with the men. There’s a large makeshift tent set up at the edge of camp, open in the front and closed in the back. Camping chairs and tables are arranged around it. Chris places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me forward.
“Look who’s home,” he announces.
I give him a puzzled look before a familiar head of blonde hair appears at the mouth of the tent. My jaw drops.
“Isabel?”
Chapter Nine
“Cassidy!”
Twelve-year-old Isabel crosses the space between us and throws her arms around my neck. I hug her back, shocked.
“How…?” I ask.
She stands back and I smooth her hair away from her face. It’s longer than it used to be, but still untamable. Her blue eyes are wide with delight. She’s wearing loose cargo pants and boots, her jacket buttoned up to her neck.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” she squeals. “I missed you so much!”
I look to Chris for some sort of an explanation. He laughs out loud just as somebody else walks out of the tent.
Chris’s mother is wearing old jeans and a plaid button up — just like she was the last time I saw her. Her gray hair is swept into a loose bun. When she sees me, she starts smiling. “Cassidy Hart,” she exclaims, pulling me into a warm embrace. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“How are you here?” I ask, returning the hug. “Seriously. I’m confused here.”