“Whoa,” Uriah says.
We come to a straightaway in the road. It flattens suddenly and we’re pulling into a wide-open space, surrounded on all sides by thick trees and foliage. At the end of the road is a ranch house; similar to the ones I’ve seen on the way here. The house is old and big. Several outbuildings sit nearby We come to metal pole gate, topped with coils of wicked barbed wire. There are sand-bagged fortifications to our right and left. Four German Shepherds run the perimeter of the inside of the fence, barking and growling viciously.
A metal sign on the gate reads:
PRIVATE PROPERTY:
TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT.
Uriah kills the engine. The other trucks follow our lead. I open the passenger door, step outside, and breathe in the crisp mountain air. I grab my rifle and sling it over my shoulder, keeping it close.
“This isn’t what I had in mind,” Andrew says.
He files out of the back of one of the transport trucks, his gear on his back.
“What were you picturing?” Vera snaps, slamming the door to her Humvee. “The freaking Taj Mahal?”
I give her a look.
She rolls her eyes, twisting her hair into a tight ponytail. I’m surprised she doesn’t rip it out. But her eyes are watchful, fierce.
“Where’s Manny?” Derek asks.
“He’s here,” I assure him.
“Where do we go in?” Vera says. “How do we know this place is safe?”
“Manny should be—” I begin, but I stop. “We’re being watched.”
“Obviously,” Vera replies. “We’re surrounded.”
Well, duh. My men watch the sides of the road carefully. Several armed guards emerge from the foliage, well camouflaged and silent. They wear no uniforms. In fact, they are dressed as civilians. But they are armed, and that is enough.
“National Guard,” I say. “I’m Yankee One. We’re with Manny.”
“Yes, I know.” A slender, almost-invisible figure emerges from the woods. It’s a woman. She’s tall, white-haired. A green shirt is tucked into her combat pants. A pattern of soft wrinkles frames her pretty face.
A German Shepherd darts out of the bushes and streaks toward me.
I instinctively take a defensive stance and bring my rifle up, ready to smash the stock of the weapon into the dog’s face when it bites. And I realize something in that moment: I’m not afraid of the dog. I’m not afraid of being bitten.
I’m just reacting to a threat like a robot.
I really have changed.
“Cinco, no!” the woman says.
She rushes forward. The dog hesitates when it hears her command, and it pulls back, but it continues to growl, circling me. The woman grabs the dog by the collar, dragging it backward as much as she can manage, sternly telling it to stand down.
“I’m sorry,” she says, offering a halfhearted grin. “Cinco’s just doing her job.”
“I can respect that,” I remark.
“Welcome to Safe Zone One,” the woman keeps a hand on Cinco’s collar. The dog is still growling menacingly. “Is this it?”
“Is what it?” Vera snaps.
“Is this your entire rescue unit?”
“Yeah.” The small size of the unit must be disappointing. “We pack a mean punch.”
Arlene’s eyes soften a bit.
“I believe you,” she answers.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” I say. “We need to get moving as soon as possible. Do you have everything we need?”
“I will.” She looks over her shoulder, whistling shrilly.
As I turn and open the lead Humvee’s back door, Manny comes out of the woods. His flight cap is stuffed into the pocket of his duster. He’s flushed. It looks like he’s been running.
“Manny?” I say. “Are you okay?”
“Never been better,” he replies, bending down. Scratching Cinco behind the ears. “I see you made it in one piece. That’s good news.”
“You could say that,” Vera remarks.
“It wasn’t as bad as we thought it’d be,” I shrug.
He bats the dog’s tail away.
“I told you it was purely elementary, didn’t I?”
“Let’s go inside,” I say, reminding myself that I’m in charge, and therefore I should lead the way. “Standing around in the open isn’t wise.”
The hills could have eyes other than our own.
“Good call,” Andrew murmurs.
Vera gives him a condescending look as she passes him.
Why is she even here? I wonder. It’s certainly not because she’s my biggest fan.
I lead the platoon — about twenty-five people in all — to the front of the gate. The woman falls into step beside me, Manny on her left. The dog is silent. I keep my eye on it, regardless.
“I’m Arlene, by the way,” the woman says. “Codename Shepherd One on the radio.”
Ironic.
“You’ve got a reputation, Cassidy,” she continues
“So I’ve been told,” I answer.
She unlocks the gate, shouting at the powerful guard dogs on the other side, commanding them to be silent. They cease most of the barking and growling, prowling around the sides of the fence. They know their master, and they have been trained to respond well.
Manny says something to Arlene in a low voice.
She playfully slaps his shoulder. He laughs good-naturedly.
Hmm.
The front walkway to the ranch house is wide, packed tight with gravel, the lawn perfectly manicured. The house itself is three stories, painted in muted earth tones, blending in with the terrain. A sprawling bunkhouse sits on the right hand side of the property, and in the back, there are stables and corrals.
“Nice place,” Vera comments.
“Yes,” Arlene replies. “Been in the family for generations.”
We reach the front door. It’s huge, oak and bracketed with black iron hinges. Arlene pushes it open and we step inside. I take a deep breath, marveling at the 19th century design. Large windows in the second floor shed natural light into the room. It smells like aged leather and dusty books. And food! Something is cooking, and the scent is mouthwatering.
How long has it been since I’ve been inside a house?
“Welcome to the Double Y Ranch,” Arlene announces, standing at the end of the entryway. “We’re a way-station for traveling soldiers and a proud thorn in the side of Omega. What you see and hear in this place is confidential. We are a low-profile operation, and I expect you to all to treat this location accordingly.”
I nod.
“How long have you been working with the Underground?” I ask.
“Since the beginning,” she replies. She glances at Manny. “I’ll be able to help you reach Los Angeles. Up until this point, I haven’t been told what your mission is, and I won’t ask.”
“This is a rescue unit,” I explain briefly.
“Ah, so it’s true, then,” she frowns. “Commander Young was captured.”
I hold her gaze. Yes. It’s true.
“Commander, you have my word,” she says, “that I will do everything in my power to help you and your men pull off a successful mission.”
I find myself smiling.
“Thank you,” I reply.
And I mean it. From the bottom of my heart.
Chapter Four
Here’s the thing that nobody tells you about being in love:
It’s hard.
Anything good in life takes work, and lately, a lot of blood, sweat and tears. My relationship with Chris Young has always been defined not just by mutual attraction, but by the fact that we were brought together in the middle of a post-apocalyptic warzone.