Uriah suddenly takes Chris’s other shoulder and we are dragging him together, outside, into the cold, night air. I stagger out, drop to my knees, and hold my head in my hands. I shake myself and turn back. Uriah and I take Chris further away from the burning helicopter.
I look at my left wrist. It’s already turning black and blue.
It could be worse.
“Help me get him out of here,” I tell Uriah.
Chris groans and a couple of the men carry an empty stretcher out of the helicopter, which is quickly becoming engulfed in flames. This thing is going to be a pain to escape with. We do a quick assessment of our men — a headcount, a check — and hobble to our feet. The enemy is all around us. We are miles away from the Holding Center, but we are still in Los Angeles. If we are able, we should keep moving. We cannot stop. Not yet.
Uriah and Andrew carefully move Chris onto the stretcher. My heart sticks in my throat. I’ve never seen Chris down and out. Ever. Not like this.
“He’s going to be okay,” Vera says.
A gesture of comfort? I look at her, smiling sadly.
“I know,” I whisper.
The night air is a crisp, welcome change from the sweltering confines of the crashed copter. We’re surrounded by trees on all sides.
“Where are we?” I say.
“Looks like a park,” Andrew replies. “If we move, we can hide before Omega arrives in full force.”
“Okay, we’re all accounted for,” I say. “We move, we stay hidden, and we work our way back to the rendezvous point to meet with Derek and his team. I want men on point and men on the flank. I want a rear guard.” I point to two of the stronger militiamen — tall, burly soldiers. “You carry the stretcher.”
I brush the hair away from Chris’s forehead. He’s burning up.
We start moving. There is no time to waste.
“How did you find him?” I ask quietly.
“Ask yourself a question,” Manny replies. He’s limping, breathing hard. “If Chris Young and Harry Lydell are both gone at the same time, chances are, they’re in the same place, yes?”
“Possibly,” I reply.
“When we were moving into the Holding Center,” Manny says, “I noticed some activity on the airfield. They were using a POW transport truck and an official Omega vehicle. I thought it might save us all some time if I took the initiative. I was slowing the team down, anyway,”
“I thought you were dead.”
“But I wasn’t.” He winks. “They were moving Young into the chopper. Harry, too, but I didn’t see him. I got the feeling that they were transporting him somewhere…more important.”
“Why would they transport one officer with a District Prefect?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they think Chris is worth it.”
“No. Harry must have thought it was worth it.” I chew on my bottom lip. “God, Manny. If you hadn’t stopped that chopper…he’d be gone. Our whole mission would have been a waste.”
“Hijacking a helicopter was a piece of cake when Omega’s attention was on you,” Manny cracks. “Besides, it was a whim. Didn’t have time to explain it, our deadline was a little too tight, my girl.” He briefly puts his arm around my shoulders. “We’re still alive.”
It’s a statement that’s meant to cheer me up. I don’t feel cheerful. Not yet.
I only feel sweet, complete relief.
Chris is here. He’s still alive.
As we push forward through the city park, the distant echo of sirens is audible. Omega is searching for us, and that is exactly what we had expected. They will find the helicopter — a hulking, melted mass of metal — and hopefully assume that we are dead.
If Derek can meet us at our rendezvous point within the next twenty-four hours, we will have survived this thing with almost all of our team intact.
Like Andrew said, we can only hope.
Sometimes I think even that is a little too optimistic.
Beverly Hills, California, is no longer a celebrity city. It’s the dwelling place of high-ranking Omega officials. The houses have been taken over by soldiers and patrols. The entire glitzy neighborhood is under control.
We are careful to avoid it.
On our way to the rendezvous point, we pass famous streets like Wilshire Boulevard and Sunset Boulevard. Once swanky apartment buildings where only the elite lived are either being occupied by Omega officials or abandoned altogether. Millions of Milkshakes, a celebrity dessert hotspot, is empty. The windows have been blown out. Only the memory remains.
The famed Beverly Hills sign — which, for as long as I can remember, sat in the midst of a green lawn in the middle of the city — is covered with graffiti and smudge marks.
Nothing has escaped Omega’s devastating presence.
We head back to Toluca Lake. Twice during our journey we run into Omega patrols, but we outnumber them and we overpower them easily. By the time dawn is breaking over Hollywood Hills, I am bone tired. I can barely lift my feet and keep my eyes open. Each step is robotic. Even the joy of knowing that we have rescued Chris is not enough to energize my body. I am worried that he might not wake up. I am worried that Derek won’t make it out of Los Angeles.
Our rendezvous point is a house. A mansion, technically speaking. It’s just outside of Toluca Lake, hidden behind a fence overgrown with shrubs and trees.
“Alexander?” I say. “Is this the right place?”
“This is it.” He shoves his boot into a crevice and begins pulling himself over the fence. “Start climbing.”
“How are we going to get Chris over this thing?” Vera asks, motioning to his still form on the stretcher.
“We’ll open the gate,” I say simply.
I dig my heels into the brick wall and use the thick foliage and vines to pull myself up. I reach the top of the wall and study the house. It’s a large two-story mansion. The entire façade has been overgrown with foliage and twisting vines. It’s almost impossible to find the windows.
I swing my legs over the top of the wall. We follow a cobblestone path to the front gate. We unlock it and swing it open. The rest of the militia cautiously moves inside, Uriah and Andrew bringing Chris in on the stretcher.
In the early morning sunlight, Chris’s complexion looks pale. Wrong. I press my fingers to his neck, nervously making sure his pulse is still there. It is, and I sigh with relief.
“Check it out,” I tell my team.
Wounded and exhausted, I let Uriah and Alexander lead the recon team around and inside the mansion, making sure there are no signs of Omega or unsavory individuals. The scouts report back, and Alexander gives the all-clear signal.
I cradle my aching wrist. It’s swollen, black and blue. Every step brings a throbbing sensation of pain. We pass the threshold of the front door. It’s cold inside. Musty, dusty. Dark. Rooms full of expensive, dusty furniture. Two sets of stairwells separate from the main hall, leading to an ornate second level.
“Take Chris upstairs, into one of the bedrooms,” I say. “I’m going to need a medic.” I pause. “Or two.”
“Roger that, Commander,” Andrew replies.
“Manny, you tend to that shoulder,” I command.
He winces, but still offers a smile.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.