Chapter Ten
Today is my birthday.
I sit on the edge of my bunk, staring at the wall. I am twenty years old. The barracks are empty. I’m the only one here.
I pull my backpack out from under my bed. I rummage through the contents. I pull out my knife, a gift from Jeff, Chris’s brother. The one with my name engraved on the handle. I haven’t used it for a while, afraid of losing it in combat. I strap it onto my belt and take a deep breath.
Happy birthday to me, I think.
I head out into the hall. The long corridor is made of concrete, glowing with dull lighting. At the end of the hall I turn left, ducking into an open room. The Chow Hall. It looks like a high school cafeteria, minus the linoleum and plastic chairs. This room is full of metal benches, hard flooring and a counter with soldiers dishing out food. It smells like a barbecue and it’s loud with voices and clatter.
Sophia is sitting with Alexander on the far side of the cafeteria. Derek and Max are there, as well. Chris is talking with Jeff at the entrance, and I practically walk right into Chris’s chest as I enter the room.
“Hey,” Chris says. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Commander” I reply with a smile.
“You’re wearing the lucky knife,” Jeff comments.
“Yeah. Today’s special, I guess.”
“What’s so special about today?” Chris asks.
His hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail, his face no longer scruffy with stubble. The beard is shaved close to the skin, setting off his luminous green eyes. He looks more handsome than ever, and I’m reminded how different we all look when we’re clean.
“It’s just a special day,” I shrug.
It’s just my birthday.
Chris and Jeff follow me to the food line. We grab trays, utensils and plates. The breakfast is comprised of eggs and potatoes. Rich in calories, protein and starch. Enough to keep an army going.
And lots of coffee.
We join Sophia and the others at the table.
Today is my birthday, and it’s a good day. A great day. I’m safe and sound. I’m sitting next to my friends and the man I love. I have food and water. I’m fighting for a good cause.
Even in the middle of the end of the world, I can have a good day.
We finish our meals and head out of the Chow Hall, towards the training center. This is our routine. Breakfast, then drilling the militiamen and women. Everyone has to be kept on their toes.
But our routine is interrupted by Angela. She’s walking towards us, flanked by Vera. “The Colonel has called an emergency meeting,” she says. Her graying hair is pulled into a bun that matches Vera’s. “Something’s wrong.”
“What’s going on?” Chris asks. All of us change direction, heading back to the briefing room further underground. “Angela?”
“I don’t know,” she sighs. “But it’s not good.”
Alexander accompanies us, since he and I are both officers. Lieutenants, to be exact.
“Come on, Sophia,” I say.
“I’m not an officer,” she mumbles. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
I frown, unable to argue with her at the moment.
“Okay.”
She heads off with Jeff and Derek, while Max joins us, too. By the time we reach the briefing room, I’m buzzing with worry. What’s wrong? The Colonel is waiting with his arms crossed, a cigar in his mouth. Of course.
“We’ve got forty-eight hours,” he says.
The doors slam shut behind us.
“What do you mean by that?” I demand.
“Omega’s moving faster than our estimates,” Colonel Rivera replies. “We have to move out ASAP to set our forces at the choke point.”
“Whoa, hold it,” Derek interjects. “We were supposed to have one more week to plan for this.”
“Plans change,” Colonel Rivera says. “Warfare isn’t predictable, son.”
“We can be ready to move by morning,” Chris replies, calm.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Here.” Colonel Rivera takes a map out of the desk drawer and unrolls it across the table. It depicts two major interstates converging into one highway at the base of a mountain range.
“That’s the Grapevine,” I say, a chill crawling up my spine.
I haven’t been back to those mountains since I escaped from Culver City.
“That’s right. The Tehachapi mountains, south of Bakersfield and the main highway coming out of Los Angeles.” Colonel Rivera answers. “Enemy forces will be using the I-5 highway to move their troops into the valley. They’ll have troop transports, armored vehicles, artillery, air support. Our scouts are gathering intelligence as we speak and relaying reports via radio from Los Angeles.”
“What about air support?” Alexander replies.
“They’ll have some, but no more than we’ll have.”
“We have air support?” I say.
“We will.” Colonel Rivera takes a long drag on his cigar. “We’ll be deploying all of our troops here at Sector 20.”
“There are at least five thousand enemy combatants headed this way,” Alexander says. “We’re outnumbered five to one.”
“That’s why we’ll choke them on the interstate,” Chris replies. “We have a good chance of stopping their advance if we can face them in tight, steep, rocky terrain. We can maneuver faster than they can.”
As they talk, I study the map. I remember that interstate well. Chris and I drove the last stretch of it after a violent encounter at a gas station in Santa Clarita on our way out of LA. Desperate, dangerous mobs roved the freeway. They stole my car and destroyed it.
So yeah. Not many happy memories of that road.
“Be honest with us,” I say, interrupting their discussion. “What are our chances?”
Colonel Rivera shakes his head.
“Kid, this is war,” he replies.
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what chance do we really have of pushing them back? Of stopping their advance into the valley?”
“The odds aren’t in our favor,” Alexander agrees.
“We’ve got something worth fighting for,” Chris shrugs. “We’re motivated, and we’re smarter than they are. They’ll be met by National Guard forces on all entrance points into the valley. They won’t be expecting much of a fight at that particular ambush point, and that’s how we’ll lure them in.”
“What happens if we can’t stop them?” I ask. “Then what?”
Silence.
“We’ll stop them,” Chris answers. “We have no choice.”
I nod slowly, moistening my lips.
“Or die trying,” I whisper.
Because if we can’t stop Omega’s push on the west coast, they’ll take over California. And that could be the beginning of the end of the militia’s rebellion.
Hours later in the Dugout, I’m staring at a half melted birthday candle in the palm of my hand. There’s a huge cabinet along the back wall stuffed with odds and ends. Items like napkins, paper plates and sealed bags of candy. The kind of things nobody can buy anymore. The birthday candle is something I found in the bottom drawer next to a bottle of champagne that has never been opened.
There are only a few people in the Dugout tonight. Sophia is sitting with Alexander at a couch in the far corner. He’s got his arm around her shoulders as they talk in quiet voices. Funny how things have changed between them. How she’s been confiding in him more than in me lately.
Other soldiers are gathered around a plastic table, their feet kicked up, playing poker. I sit cross-legged on the floor, my back pressed against the wall. There is a tense feeling in the air. The anticipation and fear of what’s about to happen. About leaving. Deploying would be the proper term, I guess. Whatever. Either way you slice it, we’re likely marching off to a major bloodbath.