One or two desperate troopers duck for cover and yell for backup, but as they do, the main gate explodes. Just like it did at Kamaneva’s camp — only now I recognize the militiamen’s handiwork.
I duck my head as the explosion sends a wave of heat over our hiding place. I keep my weapon aimed at the entrance, sweeping back and forth, looking for an Omega trooper that might appear in my sights.
The explosion at the front entrance lights up the property and gives us access to the grounds. Omega troopers are scrambling, trying to figure out what the heck is going on. It’s like the rescue at the labor camp all over again — only this time, I’m on the other side of the fence.
Chris gives the signal. He takes half of our group and bounds towards the building, leaving me and a few other militiamen behind to cover them. I watch them storm the camp along with Alexander, Derek and Max, systematically taking out Omega’s lines of defense. If anything, they make it look too easy.
But I know better.
Chris is just that good.
Omega troopers are running out of the building, trying to stop the militiamen from rushing the camp, but there’s not a lot they can do. Our forces are already inside. Explosions rock the ground like thunder. Gunfire rips the air. Yelling, screaming. Fire, smoke, heat. It takes every ounce of self-restraint in my body to stay on the ground and not run after Chris to try to help him.
But this is the new me. I actually do what I’m told…most of the time.
As I’m watching the scene unfold, I notice an Omega trooper coming around the corner of the big warehouse. He’s armed and, because of the thick smoke, hard to see. He shoots one of our men. I suck in my breath, dropping my head, looking down my sights. I don’t even think about what I do next. I just aim, squeeze, and shoot. He’s at least two hundred yards away, but it’s a good shot. He drops instantly as my bullet hits him right in the chest.
I release a breath and close my eyes.
Somebody — I don’t know who — claps me on the back and says something congratulatory. A sick feeling pools in my stomach and I fight the urge to gag. I intentionally killed someone. Granted, I did it to keep him from killing someone else, but still. The realization hits hard.
There’s no time to feel guilty. Everything’s moving fast. Alexander reaches the entrance and gives the all-clear signal, and the rest of us jump to our feet and storm the camp with the remainder of our forces. Omega is overrun, dropping their weapons, throwing their hands in the air. I enter the property with my weapon raised, the stench of burning metal and gunpowder singeing my lungs.
“Cassie, stay behind cover!” Chris yells, appearing from the smoke. He grabs my arm and pulls me behind the corner of the warehouse. “Stay out of the open.” He pauses, looking at the Omega trooper on the ground. “Nice shot.”
His gaze falls to the other side of the camp, and his features harden. Alexander is rushing the last of Omega’s defense with all of his troops. I watch three militiamen get shot and killed in the process. We can’t afford those kinds of losses.
“Stay here,” he orders.
Something about his tone screams danger. I stay behind the corner of the warehouse and watch as he makes his way across the parking lot, weaving through the battle zone like a boss. Derek cuts through the property, guns blazing, a feverish glint in his eyes. I’m guessing he’s enjoying this. Max takes off after Chris. I watch them, wondering what the problem is.
“Sophia!” I yell, waving her down.
Her head pops up and she runs over, clad in the same black clothing I am. She’s sweating. Besides the trail of blood running down her cheek, she looks unhurt. “Are you okay?” she asks, breathing hard.
“Yeah, fine. You?”
“Good. Something’s going on with Ramos, though.”
“I know.”
Something slams into my right shoulder, smashing me against the warehouse wall. I see stars and lose my balance, falling to the side. Sophia yells something and I hear a loud thud. I scramble to my feet, an Omega trooper right above us. He’s using the stock of his rifle to attack us, which means he must be out of ammo. Blood and soot is smeared all over his face.
I roll out of the way, narrowly avoiding a painful encounter with his boot. By the time I manage to climb to my feet, he’s already attacking Sophia. I slam the stock of my own weapon into the back of his neck. He screams and stumbles, hitting the warehouse. I hit him again and, as he falls, Sophia plants a deadly kick to his head. He goes limp.
“Dead?” Sophia breathes.
“No. Unconscious.”
Panting, I kneel down and dig through his pockets. Nothing. The dude is out of weapons. I turn my attention to the far side of camp. Chris is fighting side by side with Alexander. Max is doing the same and it looks like Derek is joining in.
“We should help,” I say.
“I don’t know. Neither of us can fight like that.”
As we speak, liberated prisoners start running out of the containment units. There can’t be more than fifty people, but it’s enough. They overwhelm what’s left of Omega’s defense, making our job a lot easier. No more than ten minutes later, the supply center is nothing but a smoking memorial to Omega’s disgusting labor camp. Their men are either dead or disappeared — most of them dead. Burning embers are littered across the ground. Ashes are falling from the sky, coating my hair and skin. Dead troopers are everywhere. Several of our own militiamen are sprawled across the parking lot at unnatural angles. Fiery blazes are spreading across the edges of the property, crawling towards the buildings.
I bend down and gag, overwhelmed with the stench of burning flesh and human blood. My vision blurs with tears. This is the reality of war. Horrible killing. Chris is walking towards me through the smoke, his face covered with black smudge marks and sweat. He kneels beside me and places an arm around my shoulders. “You did good, kid,” he says, pressing his lips against my temple. “I’m proud of you.”
I cling to his arm as we stand up together. Refugees are piling into commandeered Omega pickups as fast as they can. Supplies are being stuffed in with them, to be packed into our own vehicles back at the rally point. Militiamen are planting more explosives around the buildings. They’ll detonate as we leave — which needs to be soon if we want to make a clean exit before Omega brings in backup.
“I had it!” Alexander growls from behind us.
His expression is lethal. Chris keeps his arm around me, undeterred.
“We’ll talk later,” he states. “Get in the truck.”
The veins are bulging in Alexander’s neck. He’s furious. I watch as he stalks away towards the truck. Chris’s grip on me is unbreakable as he leads me back towards another truck.
“What was that all about?” I croak, my throat dry from all the smoke.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t lie to me, Chris.”
“I’m not.” He opens the car door. “I’ll tell you later,” he promises. “Good job.”
I crawl across the seat and settle down in the passenger side of the cab, kicking out trash and empty water bottles. By the time Chris jumps in the truck and revs the engine, we’ve got at least seven new vehicles, half of those loaded with fuel and food. It’s an epic win. Chris floors it, and as we hit the road, the explosives detonate, turning what’s left of the property into smoking ruins. I hold my head in my hands, bracing myself for the aftershock of emotions that will definitely come once the adrenaline rush wears off.