“Cassidy,” Alexander nods. “I heard you got shot.”
“You heard right.”
“Well.” He pauses. “Stay alive.”
“Um. I’ll work on it.”
The ghost of a smile touches his lips. I tuck the moment away in my brain:
Alexander Ramos smiles for the first time.
“He actually has emotions,” I whisper to Chris as Alexander walks off.
“Give the guy some credit,” he shrugs, grinning. “He’s only human.”
I look down at my hands — slicked down with dried tree sap, mud and crusty blood. “Gross,” I mutter.
“You look awful,” Isabel remarks.
“Gee, thanks.”
“I mean, does it still hurt?”
“Yeah. Getting shot does that.”
Chris rubs his thumb up and down my ankle, his lips pressed together in a thin line. I only have to look at his face once to know that he’s doing the same thing I am: Thinking about the dead we left behind on the battlefield.
“Hey,” I say, nudging him with my boot. “You okay?”
He looks at me, weariness in his eyes.
“Yeah. You?”
I shrug.
I sit up, eyeing the group around me. There’s nearly seventy-five people here. Many of them lost mothers, brothers, sisters and fathers last night. Things are different, somehow. We’ve been jolted into the reality of war in a way we hadn’t been before.
“What do we do, Chris?” I whisper. “Omega’s looking everywhere for us. They won’t stop until we’re all dead. You know that. I know that. We’re screwed if we stay in one place.”
“We need to set up a new base,” he replies, staring at the ground. Calm, steady. Just like a leader should be.
“Where? We can’t just go set up living quarters in Boyden Cave.”
“No,” he smirks. “Your father will be able to help us.”
I swallow a lump in my throat.
But we can’t stay in one place for too long. That could be lethal. We’re dealing with asymmetrical warfare here. To stay alive we have to stay active. We have to keep moving. If Dad isn’t here soon — very soon — we’ll have to move on to somewhere else. And since we’re a guerilla warfare militia, we have small pockets of supplies hidden all over these mountains.
I don’t want to leave without my father, though.
My father. The Commander of the Mountain Rangers. It’s a piece of information that hasn’t completely set in, yet. I need time to absorb it. How many times did we communicate with Eagle One — his codename — and have no idea it was my dad, Frank Hart?
If my life were a story nobody would believe it.
“They must have a basecamp,” I realize. “We can combine with them.”
“Possibly.” Chris throws me a sideways glance. “You know as well as I do that allying with somebody will change the dynamics of what we have here.”
“Chris, what we have here is a bunch of misplaced volunteer soldiers,” I reply. “And a lot of them are dead now. We can’t be picky. We have to do what we need to do to survive.”
“I know.” He swings his legs around the log, straddling it like a chair. “You’re right.” He closes his eyes. “But it will be dangerous.”
“What isn’t dangerous anymore?”
“Good point.” He brushes the back of my cheek with his hand. “You know, if you could avoid getting shot again, I’d appreciate it. You scared me. I thought you were going to die.”
“Nah,” I grin. “I’m too stubborn to die.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.” I place a kiss on his lips. “I love you.”
He smiles softly. A moment of happiness.
And then a commotion draws his attention to the edge of the slope. People are gathering at the border of the camp, talking in hushed voices. A few Rangers appear, dressed in worn clothing. A crude depiction of a white star is stitched onto their right sleeves. My breath catches in my throat.
“Well,” Chris says. “It looks like your dad finally showed up.”
“Good,” I reply, nervous. “He’s got some explaining to do.”
Call me dramatic, but I had pictured my reunion with my father as something a lot better than this. I’d imagined running towards him across some kind of meadow, giving him a hug, and then we’d walk home to Culver City and things would go back to normal. Just like that.
Nope. Reality check.
I pull myself painfully to my feet, Chris keeping a steadying arm around my shoulders. Dad is wearing dark clothing. A broad rimmed hat is pulled low over his forehead, casting a shadow over his unshaven face.
“Dad!” I exclaim.
“Cassidy!” He smiles widely, slinging his rifle on his back. “Cassidy, my girl.”
He crosses the distance in a few strides, wrapping me into a bear hug — albeit a gentle one, because I’ve been shot. I bury my head in his shoulder, a million emotions flooding me at once. Happiness, confusion, frustration. Mostly happiness.
“Where have you been?” I say. “Why weren’t you at our cabin? How did this happen?”
A tear slides down my cheek.
Embarrassing. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
Dad holds me at arm’s length.
“I’ll explain everything,” he promises. “Cassie, don’t cry.”
He hugs me again, and I don’t even care that everybody in camp is staring at us. Give me a break, people. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for my father? A long time.
“Frank?”
Dad slowly loosens his embrace as Chris steps forward.
“Glad you made it here alive,” he says. “I’m Alpha One. Chris Young. Your daughter’s been trying to find you for a long time.”
Dad keeps one arm around my shoulder, offering Chris a firm handshake.
“Chris,” he says. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for taking care of Cassidy for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dad, this is Sophia, and this is Isabel….” I begin introducing the people from my inner circle, feeling excited. Happy that, for at least one second, something good has happened.
“We need to discuss our next move,” Chris states, folding his arms across his broad chest. He’s a good four inches taller than my dad.
Dad looks at Chris.
“You have other supplies hidden in these hills, I assume?”
“We do,” Chris replies.
“I have something better.”
“You have a basecamp.”
Dad nods, the hint of a smile on his lips.
“Yes.”
“We need to move out now if we want to stay out of Omega’s crosshairs.”
“No. I want to know what’s been going on with you for the last year,” I interject, turning to Dad. “Why weren’t you at the cabin? How did you end up doing this? What happened?”
“It’s a long story, sweetheart,” he replies.
“Join the club.”
“Still sarcastic?”
“Some things never change.”
Dad chuckles good-naturedly.
“Okay, fine,” he says, grinning, looking at Chris again. “We fed Omega a false trail. Some of my men are leading them away from our position, which gives us a chance to head back to our basecamp.”
“Where is this place?” I ask.
“It’s a four day journey from here,” he replies.
“Four days? Where the heck are we going? Disneyland?”
“No. Someplace safe.”