I steel my nerves.

And I choose to move on.

The tears will come later.

“Get out of here!” I say. “Move out, let’s go!”

I force myself up. The adrenaline of combat keeps my emotions at bay for the time being. We push back through the office. It is actually easier getting out than getting in because of the efficiency of my team — most of the Omega troops are dead and the entrances have been opened on our way inside.

“Manny?” I yell.

To have someone completely disappear during a mission is an anomaly. By the time we reach the other side of the office area, there is a trail of dead Omega troopers in our wake. The frantic scream of the sirens is grating on my nerves. It’s times like these that I wish I could simply throw down my gun and make a run for it. Unfortunately, you can’t do that if you want to stay alive.

We sweep the stairwell, moving back onto the first floor again. The walls are bathed in red light. I continue to scream Manny’s name while we move. Honestly, there’s nowhere Manny could really be where we wouldn’t come across him at some point. It’s almost as if he left the building.

And he did it quickly.

Or…he’s dead on the floor with countless other Omega troopers.

Please, God. Not Manny, too. Manny’s a good man.

I hope God is listening, because nobody else is.

We slam the rear exit doors open and enter the alley. We stick to the plan and retreat around the east side of the alleyway. The airport is clearly visible from here — literally just across the street. Our rendezvous point with Derek is several blocks away from this location. The trick will be getting there without being shot.

“Commander!” Uriah says, pointing.

A black helicopter is rumbling to life on the tarmac. Its blades begin to spin — slowly at first, and then faster.

“We should leave,” Andrew advises. “Like, now.”

I don’t disagree. We stick under the cover of the building, rounding the corner. Omega troopers suddenly emerge onto the street. We return with heavy rifle fire, knocking down troops like bowling pins. We retreat back to the opening of the alley. More guards are flooding the street.

“We can go west!” Andrew says.

“If we go west we’ll just run into Omega!” I reply.

We can’t dash across the airport — there is absolutely no cover there.

Patrols are surrounding us from three sides. Our only escape route is straight ahead of us — the airport. It’s surrounded by a chain link fence and barbed wire. Our chances of getting over the fence, running and finding cover are minimal. Very minimal. We’re trapped.

The helicopter is pounding the air with its blades, obnoxiously loud, even with the sound of gunfire and shouting here at the end of the street. I grimace. We’re boxed in on four sides, now. Three sides by troops and one side by a combat helicopter.

Still in tight, familiar formation, the few people I have with me tuck in and fight valiantly. I take cover behind the wall of the last building on the block. I am exposed to the clearing of the airport, in addition to being in clear sight of the helicopter. Omega is surrounding us from three sides of the building. We fire and peel back, fire and peel back.

A huge blast rips through the cyclone fence around the tarmac. I drop to the ground, covering my head from pieces of hot metal and flying dirt. The fence springs apart like a slinky. The thundering black helicopter swoops forward, the snouts of the heavy automatic weapons visible from the fuselage.

We are so dead.

“Take cover!” I shout.

Heavy, ripping automatic weapons fire razes downward. It misses us! The trail of thudding bullets whips through the air, taking an Omega patrol out with it. They scream, collapsing, blown apart. I stay where I am, firing and reloading furiously.

The Omega patrols closing in on us from the opposite side of the building scramble to take cover behind the brick walls. The helicopter is hovering about one hundred feet away from our position, but the blast from the blades and the roar of the aircraft itself is tremendous. Enough to knock you off your feet.

The chopper descends and bounces off the asphalt, coming to a harried landing.

“CASSIDY!”

I tilt my head up. The doors on the helicopter are open. Manny is standing in the doorway. He’s shouting my name, motioning me with his free hand, his shoulder bloody. In that moment, everything makes sense. It clicks.

“Move it! Everybody in!” I yell, motioning toward the chopper.

We sprint toward the chopper, snapping shots while we run. I feel like I’m clawing my way through a dream. Everything is overwhelmingly loud and each beat of the blades is like a punch in the gut. I reach the door and Uriah helps me climb inside.

“Manny!” I gasp, relief seizing me. He claps me briefly on the shoulder, and pushes his way into the cockpit. His flight cap is strapped tightly to his head and he’s grinning devilishly. The team scrambles inside. Vera slaps Manny’s arm and gives him the all-clear signal. Then we are airborne, and we are lifting fifty feet off the street.

“There’s a wounded POW in the back!” Vera screams.

I can’t hear her. I can only read her lips.

“Andrew?” I shout, jerking my thumb toward the back of the chopper.

He nods and makes his way through the aircraft, toward the wounded man in the back.

“Hold on, ladies and gentlemen,” Manny yells, still grinning like a madman. “This exit may be a bit bumpy.”

The inside of the helicopter is cramped, but we are together — and we are hanging on for dear life.

We gain elevation and bank right and left so fast that I become dizzy and fight the urge to gag. I hang on and hunker down. I see Alexander in the cockpit beside Manny, shouting something that I can’t hear.

The urban landscape of Los Angeles flashes past the doorway, but unlike the times that I remember before the EMP, this city is dark. Very few lights can be seen.

The helicopter continues to gain altitude and speed.

Someone grabs my shoulder.

“Cassidy, you’re going to want to see this,” Andrew says.

“Now is not the time to admire the city lights!” I gasp, exasperated.

He maintains his grip on my arm, insisting. The Commander in me kicks in and I realize that Andrew is not that shallow. He must have a reason. We stumble to the back of the chopper. There are two canvas beds on each side. Medical stretchers for the wounded.

Please, don’t be somebody I know, I pray.

Andrew looks up at me. In the dim light, he opens his hands as if to offer an apology. He stands up. “He should be okay,” he says. He gives me a long, sad look and returns to a more stable position with the rest of the team, gripping the walls for balance. I kneel beside the stretcher. The man is clothed in black, soaked in blood and sweating. I scream.

“Chris?” I brush the hair away from his face. He opens his eyes. Unshaven, drenched in sweat and blood, he stares at the ceiling before turning his gaze to me.

“Cassie…?”

It’s barely a whisper, but it’s something. I touch his face, placing my hand on his chest. “Oh, my God,” I yell into his ear. “Chris? What happened? How…?”

The words die on my lips.

BANG!

The chopper shakes violently and spins through the air.

I clutch the stretcher. Chris is strapped in, but I’m not. I wrap my wrist around the strap of a safety belt. I will not leave his side. Manny shouts something. I can’t hear it above the roar of the engine and the air pouring through the opening. Gravity is sucking me sideways, but centrifugal force has pinned me against the floor. Chris is barely conscious, head lolling back and forth.

“I don’t have a choice!” I hear Manny yell. Warning lights flash bright. I see orange flames coming from outside.

I brace myself.