One more minute. That was all.

The figure sat on the corner of the rooftop, watching the clouds drift over the pure white dome of the Capitol Building. Wrapped in a scarf, gloves and black attire, it was impossible to tell whether or not it was a man or a woman. Just a shadowy figure crouched down, waiting. Nervous anxiety pooled in the pit of the person’s stomach, building and then subsiding as the countdown narrowed.

Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…

Trembling hands curled around the black optics sitting on the corner of the roof. Stay steady, the person kept thinking. This is an important job.

Ten, nine, eight, seven…

Sweat dripped down the shadow’s forehead.

Three, two, one…

A flash of light. Something streaked through the air. It came fast. Too fast for the human eye to catch. But to the person crouched on the roof, it was obviously there. They had been waiting for it. They recognized it.

The Capitol Building — so pristine and beautiful against the deep blue sky — shattered. It happened in slow motion at first. A gaping, jagged hole opened in the dome, coughing up billows of dust and falling shards of metal and concrete. There was a massive groan, as if the Capitol itself was lamenting the wound that had just been inflicted on its exterior.

Half of the dome collapsed inward, crushing those inside. A wall of black smoke swept over the boundaries of Capitol Park, consuming everything in its path with dark, stifling darkness. There was screaming. Sirens. Cries of agony.

And on the rooftop, the figure was already gone.

Sacramento, California

This can’t be happening.

Black, acrid smoke clogs my nostrils and burns my throat. I stumble backward and trip on a step. I hit the ground, rolling onto my hands and knees, deafened by the blast.

I grab the railing on the front steps of the Capitol Building. I glimpse the blue sky through the smoke swirling above my head. Which way is up? Which way is down?

I sprint down the steps and head to the corner of Capitol Park. Here, the smoke is not so thick. Fire engines and ambulances bounce to a stop, a sea of flashing lights and rescue workers made up of citizens, militiamen and the National Guard.

Chris Young is standing here, six foot four, dressed in black, shouting orders.

“This is our Emergency Command Post!” he yells above the chaos, making a fist. “Incoming rescue crews come through here. Where are my scouts?” A group of militiamen raise their hands. Two of them, I recognize. Uriah True — tall, dark-haired and handsome. And Alexander Ramos, all business. Not the least bit rattled. “Good,” Chris says. “Assemble a Hasty Rescue unit and assess the perimeter.”

“Yes, sir,” Alexander replies.

He gathers a team and they move toward the Capitol Building, becoming blurry images in the smoke. Chris continues to shout orders, directing the incoming militiamen. I push my way through the crowd and grab his arm.

I tell him, “The dome didn’t totally collapse.”

Chris nods, electric green eyes sparking with determination. With anger.

“Yes,” he says.

“We can’t save everyone,” I reply, yelling above the sound of the screaming sirens and shouts of the rescue workers and soldiers. “We’ve got to prioritize!”

Chris is barely containing his fury. He points to a sergeant.

“You,” he says. “Get some help and scout for a secondary. There could be more explosives timed to kill rescue workers.” He turns. “Assess your survivors,” he commands, the next rescue team coming to the Emergency Command Post — the ECP. They are lined up, waiting for the scouts to come back with information on the damage to the building. “Category A stays where they are. Category C can wait. Category Bs are your priority. Move out, let’s go.”

Category A are survivors that are already dead. Category Bs are those that need immediate help — those that have a better chance of survival. Those survivors are rescued first. Category C are the survivors that are not in immediate danger.

Without this structure, half of our rescue teams would be dragging dead bodies out of the burning building while living survivors screamed for help. It keeps the crews organized and prioritized.

From the smoke, Alexander Ramos and Uriah True emerge with their scouting unit, reporting back to Chris. “The structure is shaky,” Alexander announces. “There are a lot of people buried in there.”

“We’re going to need more manpower,” Chris replies. “Rescue teams, you’ve got a green light. Go!”

I turn to a team of militiamen and begin giving orders, passing along Chris’s commands, stressing the importance of following the triage structure in the hours that are to come. “Get your heads straight, ladies and gentlemen,” I shout. “Go in, find your category B survivors and get them out. We do this quickly and efficiently. Let’s move!”

I keep talking, passing along commands and orders to every rescue team that comes through the ECP. The hot, choking smoke makes dialogue a challenge. Perspiration coats the back of my neck. My hair sticks to my forehead. I am in the zone, barking orders and overseeing these rescue teams. It is the only thing that keeps me focused. Keeps me from panicking.

Because my father was inside the Capitol Building when it collapsed.

Where do I begin? Last December, an electromagnetic pulse destroyed modern society as we know it. The United States of America collapsed. A foreign invasion force called Omega rolled over our borders, massacred millions of people, and attempted a total takeover. So far, we’ve been able to push them back… but only so far.

Who am I? Cassidy Hart. Militia member. Sniper. Commander.

And now, Senator, representing the new government of California.

In the last year, I’ve had to do things that I never thought a twenty year-old woman would have to do. Fight a war. Live on a battlefield. Watch my friends and comrades die brutal deaths. Rescue the love of my life, Chris Young, from the horror of an Omega prison.

Nothing has been easy.

California was invaded by a million-man Chinese foot army. Chris and I — and our militias — joined the National Guard to help push them out of the Central Valley. We succeeded and temporarily halted Omega’s advance into our homeland. But they will be back, and there are a million more troops where those came from. Omega is made up of an alliance of countries. So far, we know that Russia, China, North Korea and possibly Syria are involved.

After I rescued Chris from a POW prison, we came back to Sacramento, California with our militia to rejoin the National Guard and meet with other militia and military commanders in the state to decide whether or not California would join something called the Pacific Northwest Alliance. The Alliance is comprised of Mexico, Canada, Oregon and Washington. A united western front against the Omega invasion on the Pacific coast.

I was nominated to be Senator Pro Tem. It will be my job to represent California in our negotiations with the Alliance. I am nervous that I won’t be able to measure up to the expectations of those that are counting on me to be a good spokesperson for the state. After all, I’m only twenty. But I have had more combat experience than most.

War does that, I guess.

There are still a lot of questions that need to be answered. What dark power is ultimately behind Omega? How many troops are we really facing? Will the United States military ever fully recover from this invasion? Will we be able to rebuild our cities if we are successful in this war?