“Cho is dead,” Alexander answers. “He was killed. We learned this shortly before the radios stopped working.”

“What’s wrong with your radios?” Andrew asks.

“It’s not a problem on our end. Omega’s gone radio silent.” Alexander stands up, pointing to Harry’s face. “Lydell is also in charge of the Officer’s Prison. It’s a POW holding center for high-ranking militia officers. They’re interrogated here, and most of them are eventually executed.”

Executed?

“How long do they hold them there before they’re executed?” I say. It’s a question that I have to force myself to ask. “Days, weeks?”

“It depends on the importance of the prisoner.” Alexander raises an eyebrow. “Chris is important.”

That’s all he says.

I take it as an implication that there’s a chance that Chris is still alive.

“Why haven’t you already tried a rescue mission?” I demand.

“We did try,” Alexander states. “And we failed.”

“Why?”

“We weren’t able to penetrate the security system.” Alexander’s chest heaves as he takes a deep breath. “But we know the layout of the base now. It wasn’t for nothing.”

I fold my hands between my knees and take a deep, steadying breath. The projector flips to a new image. It’s a photo of a squat concrete building. Cars and Humvees are parked out front as perimeter barriers. Armed men can be seen stationed on the roof.

“This is the POW Holding Center,” Alexander explains.

“How did you get these photos?” Vera asks.

“We’ve got cameras that escaped the effects of the EMP,” he replies. “The Holding Center is in downtown L.A. I’ll give you the exact coordinates in a moment. What you need to remember—” he looks directly at me, “is that security is going to be tight. This was a county jail before the war, a temporary holding center for prisoners being transported to court appearances. There are few weaknesses in the structure. No big windows to climb through. You’ll have to go in hard and fast. You’ll need the element of surprise.”

“Sounds like a good time,” Manny remarks.

“Sounds like suicide,” Vera says.

“How many guards are we talking about?” I ask.

“Thirty to forty at the site,” Alexander answers. “And you’ll be downtown, which means the city itself will be thick with Omega. The civilian population that remains is submissive to Omega, so don’t expect any help from them.”

“Cowards,” Uriah mutters.

“I think terrorized, enslaved individuals would be a more apt description,” Manny replies.

“You have to get in and get out fast,” Alexander presses, ignoring their negativity. “The Holding Center is near downtown L.A., so they’ve been landing helicopter and small aircraft at a base next door.”

“We’re walking into an Omega military base,” Uriah states. “We’re so dead.”

“We’re not dead yet,” I counter. “This isn’t harder than some of the other stuff we’ve done.”

That’s not necessarily true, but I’m trying to stay positive here. After everything we’ve been through — from surviving the ambush in Sanger to standing up against a million man Omega invasion force — I know that we’re capable of pulling this rescue off. It’s simply a matter of executing a good plan.

Go into a fight with the mindset of zero casualties, Chris would say. That’s not how I was trained, but it’s how we have to treat the militias, because our troops are finite. We can’t send in more troops when we run out. We’ve got to keep our guys alive.

That’s the thing. I’ve already lost four men on this journey. From a purely professional standpoint, my mission to reach Los Angeles would be considered a major success. But from a militia mindset, every single man is important. Losing just one is too many.

“You’ll be going into the city on foot,” Alexander continues. “It’s the fastest, most effective way to infiltrate the urban area. You’ll be able to slip unnoticed past the patrols… probably.”

“What about gangs?” Uriah asks.

“Where’s there’s Omega, there won’t be gangs,” Alexander replies. “Out here you’ll find them, but not inside the city. Omega’s got too much firepower.”

“We know how Omega works,” Uriah says. “I think we can get to the Holding Center and get inside. It’s getting back out that concerns me.”

Same here, I think.

“Any thoughts, Alexander?” I ask.

Sure, I’m the Commander. But I’m not above asking for help.

“I’ve got a few,” he answers. And this time, he almost smiles.

Alexander Ramos was Chris’s friend. There was a time when they were begrudging allies; I can remember when they did nothing but argue. But as the weeks and months of grueling militia life passed, they became more than commanding officer and soldier — they became friends.

Alexander went MIA on a scouting mission a couple of weeks ago before we lost Chris. It was difficult on everyone to lose such a respected soldier. It was hardest on Sophia Rodriguez — she loved Alexander.

If only she had come with us.

“I find it hard to believe that Sophia stayed behind,” Alexander comments. We’re standing in the kitchen of the mansion. I’ve got a cup of water in my hand. My fingers are shaking. I don’t know why. Raw nerves and fatigue, I guess.

“So do I,” I reply. “But she did.”

“She’s loyal to you, though.”

“She’s…hurt. She thought you were dead and then Jeff died.” I take a sip. “After Chris went missing, she just got angry. Maybe she got tired of trying.”

“Sophia has…” he trails off. “I may have underestimated you, Cassidy.”

“I wish people would quit being surprised by me,” I say.

“It’s not a bad thing.”

“It could be.” I shake my head. “How did you end up here, Alexander? What happened?”

His face remains serious. He doesn’t show a flicker of emotion.

“I wasn’t wounded,” he answers. “I was separated from my team. We were a few miles out and Omega mercenaries were working their way towards us. A few of my men were killed, others were wounded, and the rest of us scattered to stay alive. I ran out of ammo, then I got captured by Omega scouts.” He folds his arms across his broad chest. “I was in a truck with a few other men. Halfway back to Los Angeles, the truck stopped and the guards pulled us out of the trucks. They interrogated and killed the prisoners in the truck, one by one, while I watched. Harry recognized my face. He wanted to keep me alive for questioning.”

“How did you escape?” I ask.

“I got lucky.” He exhales deeply. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Alexander Ramos look truly sad. “Omega got lax in security because I was the only prisoner in the truck. I had nothing to lose. They tied me up, but I managed to get free. The guard in the truck turned his back on me — his last mistake. When the truck slowed through a curve, I jumped out and ran. I ended up in Toluca Lake, the Underground picked me up, and now I’m here, running recon for them.”

“Is this where you want to stay?” I press. “Or do you want to join the rescue unit? Or…do you want to go to Fresno with the National Guard?”

“I’d rather be with the Mountain Rangers in the hills,” he replies. “But that’s not going to happen.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Such a long time goes by before he answers that I almost think he forgets that we’re having a conversation. At last he says, “I’ll come with you. And then I’ll go back to Fresno with the National Guard.”

A warm smile touches my lips.

I had a feeling that Alexander would find his way back to Sophia.

I was right.

“What are you going to do when the war is over?” I ask.

“Build a house. Leave the war behind me,” Chris answers.

“Me too.” I’m lying on my back, looking up at the sky. It is a warm summer afternoon. The newest recruits for the militia are training in the background. Chris and I have just returned from a successful reconnaissance mission.