“Quiet as a tomb everywhere I looked,” Manny shrugs. “The militias in California have done a good job of reducing the concentration and labor camps.”
“True.” Chris’s gaze narrows. “That could change.”
“We’re going to be okay,” I say. A lie? Not quite. I’m reaching for positive here.
“So what’s the plan?” Manny asks, plopping down on a chair. Kicking his boots up on a tabletop. “We’ve got — what? — a thousand men here? Five thousand coming our way. I’d say this is going to be interesting.”
“This is going to be tight,” Chris corrects. “If the Air Force can bring in their support for us on time, we stand a good chance. If not…. then we’ll just have to improvise. Use what we have here.”
“What’s Rivera’s plan?” Manny asks.
“We’re working together.”
“So you’re the big dog these days, then? Making all the decisions?”
“No.” Chris gives Manny a warning look. “Rivera and I share command. He’s got the guard forces and I’ve got the civilian militias.”
“Ah. By the way,” Manny says, digging in his pocket. “Your father wanted me to give this to you.”
He pulls a crumpled note out of his pocket and tosses it to me. I catch it neatly in the palm of my hand, unfolding it on the bar counter. I flick on the flashlight strapped to my belt. It’s an old piece of college ruled notebook paper. Dad’s handwriting is neat and clean, written in pencil.
I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you. But you’re not a little girl anymore, and you can make your own decisions. If this is what you feel is right, then I want you to know that I support you. I love you. You’ll always be my little girl. We will see each other again. I promise.
I swallow thickly, overcome.
I read it over again. My Dad is a very non-emotional person. He doesn’t pour his heart out to people. This note is rare coming from him. It means a lot. I hand it to Chris without a word, not trusting my voice to be steady.
“Don’t get all teary-eyed,” Manny mumbles. “I’m just a messenger.”
I roll my eyes.
“Enough,” Chris commands, handing the note back to me. He touches me on the cheek — a gesture meant to instill comfort. “We’ve got work to do.”
I nod. I leave Manny with Chris, excusing myself. I need some fresh air. Talking about what’s about to happen isn’t doing anything for my nerves, and I often find that taking a quick walk eases my anxiety.
As I leave the Taco House again, I notice the humidity in the air. The high temperature. I’m pretty sure we’ve got some major weather headed our way. It is October, after all. A storm or two wouldn’t be unusual.
The other end of the encampment is the east side of the parking lot. It takes a long time to walk all the way over here. A tiny old convenience store behind a gas station is where the Colonel is. I check in with the guards and step inside. Dull lanterns illuminate the back of the building. Rivera is leaning against the counter, and Angela and Vera are there with him.
“Colonel,” I say.
He looks up, barely blinking.
“I’m busy at the moment.”
“I’m just checking in, sir.”
I take a peek at the maps they’re studying. They’ve circled different locations with sharpie pens, connecting dots with lines and scribbling around the edges.
“May I ask what you’re mapping out, sir?” I say.
“Strategy, Hart,” Colonel Rivera replies, straightening up from the counter. “Just reviewing what we already know. I’ve got a group of men scouting the surrounding area right now. They should be bringing back some valuable information by the time morning rolls around.”
“We agreed to keep our scouts within the Chokepoint,” I say, “because we don’t know how many enemy scouts Omega is sending out.”
We don’t want to lose men before the battle even starts.
“The National Guard is making sure the area is secure,” he states, emotionless. “Your Commander would agree with me.”
Would he? Was this something they discussed? I’m a Lieutenant. If there is any change to any plan, I know about it. Period. If Rivera is making independent decisions like this…
Colonel Rivera checks a couple of things before he heads out the door, leaving Vera and Angela and myself alone. “Manny arrived, I see,” Angela says. “Is he well?”
“He’s Manny,” I answer.
That’s an answer in itself.
“When Alexander’s platoon comes back, will we move our forces farther into the mountains?” Vera asks her mother. “Or will we wait for word from air support?”
“Whoa,” I interject. “Did you say Alexander’s platoon? Rivera sent Alexander out on a scouting mission to the Chokepoint?”
“That’s what he just said,” she states. “Were you not listening, Hart?”
“I was listening. He just failed to mention who he sent.”
“Alexander is under his command.”
“Alexander is under Chris’s command. If Rivera sent him out without consulting Chris…” I bite my lip. “Excuse me, Angela.”
I make a point of ignoring Vera in my goodbye.
Angela must notice the tension between us, but she has never asked why. Personally, I think that’s a great question. I wouldn’t hate Vera if she were actually kind to me and wasn’t always angling to steal my boyfriend.
I think I’m being pretty reasonable about the situation.
By the time I reach the Taco House again, Colonel Rivera has beaten me there. He’s discussing something with Chris, and judging by the raised voices, I’m guessing Chris just found out that the Colonel sent Alexander on a scouting mission without consulting Chris about it.
Frankly, it’s not that big of a deal. But Chris and Alexander are friends. Chris is probably angry that Rivera commanded his men and hurt that Alexander took the order without talking with Chris. Technically, we’re all volunteers and Alexander can do whatever he wants. If he wanted to go on a scouting mission, there was nothing stopping him.
But that doesn’t change the facts. Rivera shouldn’t have done this.
And we really didn’t need this kind of tension right before we move out tomorrow.
Don’t do this right now. We’ve got enough problems without crap like this.
“Cassidy,” Manny says, calling me from across the lot.
I clench my fists, following the sound of his voice. Spotting his lean figure near a streetlamp. “Don’t be so loud,” I hiss. “We’re trying to keep a low profile.”
“You’re going to want to see this,” he replies, his tone flat.
“See what?”
He nods toward the east side of the boulevard, at the mouth of the freeway onramp. A group of soldiers are gathering there, and there’s a hushed murmur breaking out. Curious, I join the group.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Nobody answers. A few militiamen are limping up the freeway onramp, bloody and bruised.
“Oh, my god,” I say, turning to the men. “Go get the field medics. Hurry.”
I gasp, recognizing Derek’s tall form walking up the ramp. A thick smear of blood mars his chest. “Derek, you went on the scouting mission?” I offer him my shoulders for support. He takes it, his breathing heavy. “What happened?”
“Ambush. Omega’s forward scouts,” he pants.
“Where’s Alexander?”
“He…fell behind.”
“What?”
Derek grits his teeth.
“I don’t know what happened to him. But he’s not here.”