I know that look. I’ve been there.

“Well, Mexico has been pushing Omega back in San Diego,” I say. “So maybe that’s helped get rid of the Klan. We didn’t see any sign of a gang that big when we were in Los Angeles.”

“Good. I hope they’re all gone.” Elle scratches Bravo behind the ears. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Senator. You’re famous. So is Commander Young and the Freedom Fighters.” She smiles. “A lot of people like you. They look up to you. You give them hope.”

Strong words from a young girl.

“Hope is important,” she continues, meeting my gaze.

Yes, I think. It is.

Elle nods, as if deliberately imprinting her observation in my mind.

“Uriah, I’m going into the next car,” I say.

Uriah rises and follows me. It’s odd to be protected constantly. I’m used to leading men into battle, not hiding behind them. Not that I’m actually hiding, but I feel as if I’ve been taken out of my element.

This is not what I’m used to.

I leave Elle and Bravo behind, stepping through the connecting doors. Walking on the train is similar to walking on a ship. It throws my balance off just enough so that I have to watch where I’m stepping.

Chris is standing in the center of the car, arms crossed over his broad chest. Andrew is there, as well, and so are Vera and Sophia.

“What’s up?” I ask, approaching them.

“We were just talking about Monterey,” Andrew replies. “When we get there, we’re going to try to keep you inside the Naval Academy as much as possible. It’s the safest location for you.”

“What about everyone else?” I say.

“We’ll be there with you,” Uriah replies, coming up behind me.

“And what about the other representatives?”

“They’ll be staying in the same place you are.”

I contemplate this.

“How far do we take the train?” I ask at last.

“San Jose,” Andrew answers. “And then we’ll take the convoy to Monterey.”

I nod. It sounds reasonable.

It should take just a couple of hours for the train to reach San Jose. The convoy is what will take a long time.

“Anything else I need to know before we get off the train?” I ask, looking directly at Chris. He doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead he looks out the window, a detached expression on his face.

“No,” he replies. “That’s everything.”

“Okay, then.” I turn and leave the car, heading back into the previous passenger level. Elle is still sitting there with Bravo. She looks curiously calm — happy, almost. If she’s anything like I was a few months ago, she’s just happy to be in the presence of the United States Military.

I step into the car just as the rumbling roar of an engine rips through the air. Even above the sound of the locomotive and the dramatic creak of the train cars moving on the track, I recognize the sound. It is the deafening rhythm of helicopter blades beating the air, slicing through the sky. I run to the window and crane my head to see through the small slits. I see the chopper — it is black with a single white O on the side of the door. Omega, of course.

“We’ve got company!” I yell.

But Chris already knows this. Everyone does.

Elle is on her feet, moving toward the window with Bravo. There is fear in her eyes. Her jaw goes taut. Her expression becomes stony.

“We’ve got this,” I tell her, finding strength in encouraging her.

She looks at me.

“Yes, ma’am,” she says.

The machine gun mounts on top of the roof and the plethora of soldiers should deter Omega from doing too much damage. But that is wishful thinking on my part, because I see the chopper move downward, directly parallel to the length of the train. The jarring, deafening roar of automatic weapons fire rains down on the roof of the train. It is extremely loud — like being trapped inside a tin can that’s being tossed down a hill. My ears ring and the train cars shake.

The National Guard units on top of the train return fire. The ground rumbles with each round. The chopper passes over our head with a climactic roar, pulling back into the air. Our deterrent fire drills into the side of their aircraft. I can see the bullet holes from here.

I grip the wall, worried. How many more of those choppers are out there?

The firing continues until the chopper pulls back, veering off course and disappearing into the sky until it’s nothing but a black speck in the distance. I release a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and look back at Elle. Her expression is still closed, but her grip on Bravo’s harness is vise-like.

“We’re okay,” I tell her. “We’ve got more firepower than one chopper does.”

Elle says nothing. She steps back from the window. I turn around and look at Chris. He shakes his head.

I know what he is thinking.

There is no such thing as safe. Not anymore.

We reach San Jose. It’s similar to the train station in Sacramento. The station is tall, made of brick, and fronted with outdoor passenger platforms. When the train slows down, screeching and rumbling to a stop in a cloud of steam, everyone gets ready. My security detail gathers around me. A human shield. Guns up and ready to go. I feel trapped inside the wall. I would rather be on the outside, protecting someone else.

We move through the open doors and step onto the loading platform. The air is crisp and clean. A line of Humvees and retrofitted armored vehicles are waiting, rumbling. I am brought to an armored Suburban in the center of the lineup. The door opens, I climb in, and Uriah and Chris follow. The rest of the security detail spreads out among the cars. I see Elle.

“You,” I say. “Come with me.”

She nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sophia and Vera are in another vehicle.

The Suburban is air-conditioned. It smells of worn leather, sweat and gunpowder. The driver is a National Guardsman wearing dark glasses. Chris sits up front, next to him. Uriah is in the seat beside me. I am sitting in the car in uniform, armored up, gun in my lap. A Senator I may be, but I am still a Commander, and this is still a battlefield.

I look at Elle. She is quiet and observational as she sits next to her dog. The door slams shut. I ghost a small smile in her direction.

“You doing okay, Elle?” I ask.

“Yes, Senator,” she says.

“Call me Commander,” I reply.

“Yes, Commander.” Elle’s lips curve upward and she looks out the window.

The convoy rolls out.

As we pull out of the parking lot, onto the battle-scarred road, I am overcome with a profound sense of premonition. I try to shake the negative vibe, but it lingers as we hit Highway 101, southbound toward Monterey.

I want to talk to Chris about it, but now is not the time. I am on my own with this one.

The convoy keeps rolling, maintaining a steady travel time.

“Trouble ahead, Commander,” the driver says.

I take my gaze from the side window and direct it through the windshield. We are not in the front of the convoy, so I can’t see what is right in front of us. I crane my neck to see ahead of us, and I glimpse movement down the highway.

Great.

The radio crackles with activity.

“We’ve got possible rogue elements on the road ahead,” comes the report. It’s Vera. “We’re driving through, no stopping.”

Our driver tightens his grip on the wheel. Uriah releases the bolt on his rifle and tucks the stock into his shoulder. I hold my weapon, too, nervous tension tightening my muscles, sharpening my instincts.

“Omega?” Chris says into the radio.

“No. Rogue militia, maybe. Can’t tell. There’s only two people.”

“Two people?” Chris slams the radio speaker down. “Don’t stop,” he tells the driver. “No matter what. Keep going.”

We come to a small hill. The freeway curves over the knoll, giving me just enough of a view of the road before us so I can glimpse the enemy in our path. There are two pickup trucks. There is one on each side of the freeway. Two men wearing dark clothing and strips of black cloth wrapped around their heads are standing just in sight to the side of the freeway.