Thank God our rescue units are good at what they do.

Thank God we have Chris Young on our side.

I find the ECP at the edge of the park, locating Chris. I run to him, yelling above the noise, “What do we do? If they’re sending cruise missiles, how can we defend ourselves?”

Chris’s hair is hanging in greasy strands as he takes my arm.

“The Air Force will take care of it,” he assures me, but there is a level of doubt in his voice. “We need to check the building again for survivors.”

“The building was evacuated by the time the second missile hit.”

“We have to check anyway.”

I look to the sky, terrified that I am going to see a cruise missile heading toward us, detonating right on top of our heads.

What could we really do to stop it? Nothing.

“Let’s go!” Chris tells the rescue units assembling once again at the ECP. “You know the drill. We’ve got a job to do.”

War never ends, I think.

I say, “I haven’t found my father yet!”

Chris squeezes my shoulder.

“We will,” he promises.

But I know better. You can’t make promises during war.

You can only give people hope.

By the time evening settles in, we have finished rescuing the survivors from the Capitol Building. I am standing several blocks away from what’s left, studying the damage from a distance. Chris is right. This was an attack from the outside. We were hit with something from beyond the city.

How could Omega launch a missile without us even detecting it?

“Now, what have we got here?”

The voice is familiar. I meet Manny’s gaze. Tall, tanned, wild-haired Manny. His flight cap is sticking out of the pocket of his leather jacket. His wrinkled face is dusted with ash and dirt, like me.

“Hey,” I say.

“Did you find your father?” he asks.

I lower my head.

“No.”

The full impact of those words sears a hole in my heart. If my father is dead… then the last remnants of my family is truly gone. Forever. This realization is jarring, like a punch in the gut. I inhale sharply and look at the sky.

Please. Don’t be dead. Don’t do this to me.

I do not want to deal with the reality of this situation right now. The possibility of me finally snapping — of cracking under pressure — is very real. Manny folds his arms across his chest, following my line of sight. “Lots of men and women aren’t identified yet,” he says. “He’s probably in the medical center right now.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“It’s not my hopes that need to be upped.” He raises an eyebrow. “Cassidy, my girl. What’s on your mind?”

“What makes you think something’s on my mind?”

He gives me a look. I roll my eyes.

“Fine,” I say. “I was just thinking… if this was a cruise missile, like Chris said, then that means it was probably launched from the coast. Omega has been shipping troops in from the coastline, right?”

“True, true,” Manny agrees. “And…?”

“So what’s keeping them from destroying the entire city?”

“Retaliation from the Alliance, probably,” Manny shrugs. “And let’s not forget, more often than not, where you find a cruise missile, you find a laser designator.”

“Which means…?”

“Somebody was probably pointing a laser at the dome before it hit. The missile will follow the laser’s path to the T. Of course, there are cruise missiles with internal GPS systems built into the weapon itself. But it’d be interesting to find out if someone was helping the missile along.”

“You’re saying somebody inside the city guided the missile here?”

Manny lifts his palms up.

“We’ve had traitors before. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit.” He sits down on the curb. I join him, looking down the long, lonely boulevard of Capitol Mall, my gaze drifting to the yellow bridge crossing the Sacramento River. The fortifications have been doubled in the last few hours.

“Manny?” I say.

He waits for me to speak. I place both hands on the cement and take a deep breath. “Angela’s dead,” I say.

“I know.”

“It was hard, seeing her die like that.” I shake my head. “People keep dying. Good people. It’s not fair.”

“Life is not a game that’s ever been played fairly,” Manny replies. “Life’s a brutal match of tug of war. Some of the nicest people get trampled by the team with the biggest players.”

I blink back tears. I don’t want to talk about death anymore.

“Vera told me that Angela Wright knew Chris before the Collapse,” I continue. “She told me that Chris was married.”

Manny doesn’t react. He just waits.

“Chris said it’s true,” I go on, biting my lip. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be thinking about it at all,” Manny replies. “Our past lives are exactly that: the past. Dwelling on what was isn’t a wise thing to do, my girl. It’ll distract from what’s important now.”

“But our pasts shape our present,” I argue. “Manny, what if Chris is still legally married to this woman? It would change everything.”

“It would change nothing.”

Manny places his hand on my knee. A firm, steady grip.

“What you need to do, my girl, is talk to Chris about this,” he advises. “But I think you and I could both agree that the attack today, taking care of the wounded and making sure your father are okay are our priorities.” He pauses. “And let’s not forget that you’re our new Senator in the negotiations with the Alliance.” He tips his head, mock-bowing. “An honor to be in your presence, madam.”

I lightly slap his arm.

“Ha,” I say. And then I sigh. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” He winks. “Mostly.”

“This could change everything I know about him,” I whisper.

Manny shakes his head slowly.

“No,” he says. “It only changes what you think you know. Chris will always be a good man.”

Chris is good. That’s what Angela told me before she died.

“Thanks for listening,” I tell Manny.

Manny nods understandingly. He puts an arm around my shoulders and gives me a quick squeeze. “I suggest you get over to the medical center and look for your father,” he says. “You won’t help anybody sitting on this curb.”

I stand up.

“You have such a way of inspiring people.”

“I know. It’s in my blood.” He musses his long gray hair. “Now go on.”

I step off the curb and walk away, putting distance between me and the eccentric pilot sitting on the sidewalk.

“How come you’re allowed to sit on the curb and do nothing?” I tease.

“Because I’m older and wiser than you are,” Manny replies. “But mostly because I’m older and my back hurts.” He waves me off. “Goodnight, my girl.”

I shove my hands in my pockets.

“Goodnight, Manny,” I say.

The Medical Center is about a mile away from the Capitol Building. It is at least seven stories high, with white walls and cement. Old Sutter General Hospital. I hitch a ride with the militia on the way over, parting ways in the parking lot. When I approach the front entrance, there are hundreds of people. Rescue workers, militiamen and women, National Guard patrols and civilian volunteers who are working at the hospital.

I go in the main entrance. The posted guards wave me through. Everything is linoleum flooring and bright, generator-powered lights. Everything in the city is running on backup generators, fueled by diesel and gasoline, precious commodities in a time like this. The acidic stench of blood and burnt flesh are heavy in the air. It is a scent that is all too familiar to me. One that I wish I would never have to smell again.

“Excuse me,” I tell a middle-age woman in black scrubs. “I’m Commander Hart. I’m looking for someone who was inside the Capitol Building. Where should I start?”

“Senator Hart?” the woman says, blinking. “It’s an honor, Ma’am.” She grabs my hand, smiling hopefully. “It’s a thrill to see you here.”