We are going down.

I’ve imagined death so many times. As a soldier, it’s something that you have to think about. I figured I’d be dead on a battlefield sometime in the next year — if I even lasted that long. Going down in a flaming helicopter wasn’t something I planned on. First, because I was never crazy about heights. And second, because I didn’t think I’d be riding in a helicopter.

Whatever. Life continually surprises me.

Manny fights for control of the chopper. It spins and lurches violently in the air. Militiamen and women scream, terrified. A hole in the side of the fuselage is sucking the flames and the smoke outside of the aircraft. The chopper skids sideways. Which way is up? Which way is down? I clutch the strap on the stretcher, gasping for air. The G-force presses down on my chest like a weight. Black spots dance before my eyes as the pressure increases. I can’t scream, I can’t see. I can’t breathe.

The chopper lurches and everything levels out for a moment. I swallow some much-needed air. Manny shouts, “BRACE YOURSELVES!”

I try. I really do. It’s not much of a preparation, though. The chopper slams into the ground. Manny has slowed our descent enough that the impact doesn’t break the helicopter into pieces — but it still hurts. My neck snaps forward. My wrist is wrapped around the seatbelt strap but it does no good. My wrist is jerked at an odd angle. I feel the bones grind together. I don’t even have the breath to scream about it.

The chopper bounces roughly, gritting through dirt and trees. Are there buildings here? I don’t know. It’s too dark. Too loud. The sheer chaos overrides every sense in my body. I hang on with the one functional hand that I have left and slam against the wall. More pain shoots through my body.

This is going to hurt later.

If I’m even alive later.

The aircraft begins to slide, tearing apart. The strap that I’ve been holding onto snaps and I’m thrown against the opposite wall. I protect my head with my arms, landing in a crouched, compact position. The prolonged slide seems to stretch for eternity, but it is only mere seconds.

The giant rotor blades collide with the ground, shards of deadly metal flying everywhere — faster than the speed of a bullet, shredding everything in its path.

I’m thrown back across the chopper. I land on someone’s legs. Uriah grabs my shoulders and pulls me upright, offering support. The screaming engine abruptly halts, smoke swirling around us, flames licking through the openings in the chopper.

“Find a hole and get out!” Manny warns.

He manages to climb out of the pilot’s seat, rattled by the crash as much as the rest of us. I climb on hands and knees to the medical stretcher again. I unsnap Chris’s restraints and drag him out of the bed. He is completely unconscious — and heavy. Superhuman levels of adrenaline is the only reason I have the strength to drag him the first few feet through the helicopter as the team hurriedly exits through the holes. They scramble and tumble outside. I am dragging Chris along with me — using every ounce of strength left in my body.

Uriah suddenly takes Chris’s other shoulder and we are dragging him together, outside, into the cold, night air. I stagger out, drop to my knees, and hold my head in my hands. I shake myself and turn back. Uriah and I take Chris further away from the burning helicopter.

I look at my left wrist. It’s already turning black and blue.

It could be worse.

“Help me get him out of here,” I tell Uriah.

Chris groans and a couple of the men carry an empty stretcher out of the helicopter, which is quickly becoming engulfed in flames. This thing is going to be a pain to escape with. We do a quick assessment of our men — a headcount, a check — and hobble to our feet. The enemy is all around us. We are miles away from the Holding Center, but we are still in Los Angeles. If we are able, we should keep moving. We cannot stop. Not yet.

Uriah and Andrew carefully move Chris onto the stretcher. My heart sticks in my throat. I’ve never seen Chris down and out. Ever. Not like this.

“He’s going to be okay,” Vera says.

A gesture of comfort? I look at her, smiling sadly.

“I know,” I whisper.

The night air is a crisp, welcome change from the sweltering confines of the crashed copter. We’re surrounded by trees on all sides.

“Where are we?” I say.

“Looks like a park,” Andrew replies. “If we move, we can hide before Omega arrives in full force.”

“Okay, we’re all accounted for,” I say. “We move, we stay hidden, and we work our way back to the rendezvous point to meet with Derek and his team. I want men on point and men on the flank. I want a rear guard.” I point to two of the stronger militiamen — tall, burly soldiers. “You carry the stretcher.”

I brush the hair away from Chris’s forehead. He’s burning up.

We start moving. There is no time to waste.

“How did you find him?” I ask quietly.

“Ask yourself a question,” Manny replies. He’s limping, breathing hard. “If Chris Young and Harry Lydell are both gone at the same time, chances are, they’re in the same place, yes?”

“Possibly,” I reply.

“When we were moving into the Holding Center,” Manny says, “I noticed some activity on the airfield. They were using a POW transport truck and an official Omega vehicle. I thought it might save us all some time if I took the initiative. I was slowing the team down, anyway,”

“I thought you were dead.”

“But I wasn’t.” He winks. “They were moving Young into the chopper. Harry, too, but I didn’t see him. I got the feeling that they were transporting him somewhere…more important.”

“Why would they transport one officer with a District Prefect?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they think Chris is worth it.”

“No. Harry must have thought it was worth it.” I chew on my bottom lip. “God, Manny. If you hadn’t stopped that chopper…he’d be gone. Our whole mission would have been a waste.”

“Hijacking a helicopter was a piece of cake when Omega’s attention was on you,” Manny cracks. “Besides, it was a whim. Didn’t have time to explain it, our deadline was a little too tight, my girl.” He briefly puts his arm around my shoulders. “We’re still alive.”

It’s a statement that’s meant to cheer me up. I don’t feel cheerful. Not yet.

I only feel sweet, complete relief.

Chris is here. He’s still alive.

As we push forward through the city park, the distant echo of sirens is audible. Omega is searching for us, and that is exactly what we had expected. They will find the helicopter — a hulking, melted mass of metal — and hopefully assume that we are dead.

If Derek can meet us at our rendezvous point within the next twenty-four hours, we will have survived this thing with almost all of our team intact.

Like Andrew said, we can only hope.

Sometimes I think even that is a little too optimistic.

Beverly Hills, California, is no longer a celebrity city. It’s the dwelling place of high-ranking Omega officials. The houses have been taken over by soldiers and patrols. The entire glitzy neighborhood is under control.

We are careful to avoid it.

On our way to the rendezvous point, we pass famous streets like Wilshire Boulevard and Sunset Boulevard. Once swanky apartment buildings where only the elite lived are either being occupied by Omega officials or abandoned altogether. Millions of Milkshakes, a celebrity dessert hotspot, is empty. The windows have been blown out. Only the memory remains.

The famed Beverly Hills sign — which, for as long as I can remember, sat in the midst of a green lawn in the middle of the city — is covered with graffiti and smudge marks.

Nothing has escaped Omega’s devastating presence.