I notice the lines around his mouth. “Well, I just wanted to… introduce myself,” I say lamely. “Have a nice day.”
I turn to leave, but he catches my shoulder.
His hands are huge — almost three times the size of mine.
“Cassidy,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
I take a step backwards under the intensity of his gaze.
“Yeah?”
“Be careful,” he warns.
“What are you talking about?”
He shrugs and takes a long drag, giving me a farewell wave. Then he stalks off like I never existed, leaving me alone on the edge of camp. How weird is that?
I shrug off his strange behavior as the “attitude problem” Chris was talking about and head back to the Young family tent. Mrs. Young has cooked up some lunch, and it smells delicious. I’m surprised Omega can’t track us down based on the scent of our campfire cooking alone.
“You know, Chris was telling me that you thought your father might have been taken to the city as a war criminal,” Mrs. Young says, setting a bowl down in front of me. “But after what I’ve seen of Omega, I don’t think they’d bother.”
She makes an attempt to smooth back her wispy gray hair as she sits down and joins Sophia, Isabel and myself at a table. “What makes you say that?” I ask.
“Because Omega doesn’t just single people out of the crowd,” Mrs. Young says, “unless they have a very good reason. As far as I know, your father just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“They made a point of leaving the warrant of arrest up for everybody to see,” I answer. “Why would they do that if they didn’t think he was important enough to single out?”
“Your father sounds like a smart man, from what you’ve told me,” Mrs. Young continues. “And I could be very wrong, Cassie, but I feel like Omega wouldn’t waste their time taking war criminals back to the cities.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Sophia asks.
“There’s nothing left of the cities,” Mrs. Young says, stirring her bowl of soup. “Rumor is Los Angeles was attacked with a chemical weapon not long after the EMP. I’ve heard from other people in camp that a lot of the major cities in the country were hit with a chemical weapon, too.”
Sophia stops eating. The color drains out of her cheeks.
“I thought New York was nuked.”
“There are those rumors, too.” Mrs. Young studies the branches of the trees before she goes on. “I don’t know a lot about military strategy like my son, but if I was an invading army, I would want to take over everything — not destroy it and rebuild it. If it’s already in place, why waste all that time building everything from scratch?”
“A chemical weapon would wipe out the population,” I say, realization dawning, “but it would leave the infrastructure of the city in place. Omega could literally clean out the dead people and then move in.”
Sophia covers her mouth.
“That’s disgusting!”
“It could be exactly what happened.” I fold my hands together, getting a plotting look on my face. “You might be right.”
Then what did happen to my dad?
Did Omega arrest him and send him to a labor camp? Was he killed on sight? I have no idea, and I’m afraid that if I spend too much time thinking about it, I’ll go crazy. So I focus on something else.
“Who do you think Omega is?” I ask.
“An alliance.” Mrs. Young doesn’t hesitate with her answer. “We know Russia is involved. Alexander is from the Midwest. He said he suspected Syria and North Korea were involved as well. There could be more.”
“Well, somebody decided to gang up on us,” I sigh. “How nice.”
After we finish lunch, I decide to go for a stroll around the campsite. My strength has returned and I want to familiarize myself with everything before I start training with the rest of the recruits.
Then again, thinking of myself as a “recruit” is kind of hilarious.
I was never the type of person who engaged in strenuous physical activity outside of jogging, hiking or riding a bicycle. And suddenly I’m going to join a guerilla militia group and fight against an invading army. God has a great sense of humor.
On the east edge of the camp, a few guards are stationed around the perimeter. Many of them are actually hidden in the forest a good distance away from the camp, just in case somebody tries to sneak up on us. It’s always good to be prepared.
As that thought crosses my mind, Harry pops up out of the bushes. He’s wearing combat pants that are two sizes too big, and he’s holding a stick.
A big walking stick, by the looks of it.
“Um…” I say. “What are you doing out here?”
He draws back, clutching said stick, and drops his eyes.
“Guarding,” he replies.
“What’s with the stick? Getting in touch with your inner caveman?”
He doesn’t crack a smile.
“I’m not allowed to have a gun,” he says.
Gee, I wonder why.
“Look, Harry,” I begin. “I know you didn’t set me up on purpose. Kamaneva was the devil in disguise. I was angry with you at first, but I’m not anymore. I understand why you did what you did.”
Forgiveness is not something I dole out on a regular basis. In fact, I have been known to hold a grudge against late postal carriers and waitresses who forget to put lemon in my water. But this is different. Harry didn’t betray me because he’s a bad person. He betrayed me because Kamaneva was.
“I should have been stronger,” he replies, exhaling. “I should have refused. That’s what your boyfriend would have done.”
“You were scared. It’s okay.”
“Well, there comes a point when you’ve just got to look after your own skin,” he snaps, glaring at me. Mood swing alert. “That’s what I was doing. Any logical person would have done the same thing.”
One second he’s apologizing and the next he’s making excuses for himself. I’d say Harry Lydell is having an emotional crisis right now. I would be, too, if I’d set somebody up to be executed.
“Forget it,” I sigh. “I just wanted you to know I’m not angry with you.”
“Bloody likely,” he mutters.
“Whatever. Be that way.”
I leave, upset. I’ve never had anybody reject mercy before. Is that even possible? If I did something bad, I’d want somebody’s forgiveness…wouldn’t I? Maybe it’s just a pride thing. Harry’s obviously embarrassed that he sold me out to Kamaneva.
He’ll get over it.
If I can, he can, too.
Chapter Ten
Rest and relaxation can only last so long before A) something goes wrong or B) you have to get back to work. I consider life one big long list of As, but today is an exception. It’s time to get back to work.
The liberated prisoners are being turned into a guerilla war fighting group to be reckoned with. The militiamen are training them every day — hard. As a result, the Free Army has dozens of new citizen soldiers, both young and old. And Sophia and I are among the newest recruits.
Chris, because of his natural leadership abilities, has grown to become the leader of our militia. People look up to him. Ever since the raid on the labor camp came off successfully, nobody’s even questioned the idea that Chris should be in charge. Below Chris there are other men who instruct the newbies. The first one is Alexander Ramos. Tall, tanned, slightly creepy. Chris told me that he was an active-duty Recon Marine home on leave when the world went haywire. Aside from that, nobody knows anything about him. He’s a man of mystery, and despite his gruff exterior, Chris seems to trust him.
Next we’ve got Max. Outside of his Omega uniform, he looks like a different person. No more Grease. His hair is cut short and the fine features of his face stand out against his brown eyes. He can’t be older than thirty.