This is going to be a whole new ballgame.

When we roll onto the pavement of the long avenue of Sacramento’s Capitol Mall, the Capitol Building and its glittering dome is gleaming white and pure against the dusky evening sky. Somehow it has escaped the effects of the war’s devastation. It’s lit up like a Christmas tree, glowing with interior lighting. There are blockades and concrete barricades in security rings around the building itself. Soldiers are patrolling and snipers are on top of every building on the strip.

“You think we did the right thing, coming here…?” Andrew whispers.

“Yes,” Chris answers. Firm.

There is no hesitation in his answer, and I draw strength from that. As we reach the end of the street, we stop at another checkpoint. The guard there asks for our names and identification. They have been expecting us, and we are directed to take our vehicles to a large building on the north side of the park. We roll into the loading area and get out of our vehicles.

“This is a hotel,” I state, looking up at the pretty edifice — there are too many stories for me to count.

“It was,” Chris corrects. “Now it’s a fortress.”

And he’s right, of course. There are soldiers everywhere. The lobby is huge inside, with shiny flooring and a concierge desk that is being manned by a woman in a National Guard uniform. The sound of phones ringing and the electric lighting inside the building are jarring. It’s as if we have stepped into the past — back when things like this were normal. Our team is assigned rooms on the upper floors. Vera looks pleased with the arrangement. I stare at the paper hotel room map that the man at the front desk gives us. He is dressed in uniform, like we are.

“I’m Commander Chris Young,” Chris offers. “And this is Commander Hart and our team. We’re here for a meeting at the Capitol Building…?”

He leaves the sentence as an open question.

“Yes,” the man replies. “It’s an honor, sir.” He smiles at me. “The negotiations will be held tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred. You’ll want to find the Senate Chambers — that’s where the other militia leaders will be.”

“Thank you,” Chris says, nodding. “We’ll be there.”

Andrew, Uriah, Alexander and Manny are studying their hotel maps. They, like me, are scanning for exits and entrances. What is the fastest escape route? Funny how our minds are always on the defensive.

“The elevators are to your left,” the man says, pointing.

Chris and I glance at each other.

“Elevators?” I echo.

I follow his line of sight and stare at a row of several elevators. Vera pushes the call button and it lights up. We gaze at it like fascinated children. Andrew is the first one to make a smart remark.

“Look at us,” he says, “staring at the pretty lights. You’d think we’d never seen any before.”

“Not like this,” I reply.

“It’s been a while,” Uriah agrees.

The elevator arrives. By the time our entire team makes it to the fifteenth floor, we are so in awe of the clean, beautiful surroundings that we are moving in total silence. Maybe it’s just the exhaustion of the mission taking its toll. Or maybe we’re just really suffering from that much culture shock.

I open the door to my room. It’s at the end of the hall, across from Chris’s. Inside, there is carpet, a bed, and a window that overlooks the street and Capitol Park below. As the rest of the team checks out their new temporary living quarters, I close my eyes and heave a great sigh.

We are safe.

For the time being.

I sit on the edge of the hotel bed and look around. The room is airtight. Clean, white walls, blue carpet and a gray bedspread. It smells fresh. I stare at my feet, comfortable and laced into brand new combat boots. Dressed head to toe in black — pants, shirt, jacket — I am the epitome of what a sniper should look like. Minus the red hair, of course. That is pulled back in a tight military style bun.

I take a deep breath.

It’s quiet. No birds, no wind, no gunfire, no shouting. Nothing. I am alone, and I don’t like it. I stand up and walk to the window. Six stories up, I have a perfect vantage point of the street. I could easily kill anyone before they even had a chance to reach the front of the building.

And it frightens me a little — that I think of things like this. That the first thing I see when I look out a window is a tactical opportunity.

“Cassie?”

Someone knocks on the hotel door. I turn my back on the window and look through the peephole, even though I know who it is. Chris. I open the door. He’s standing there, wearing a black outfit, same as me. He has cleaned up well. He looks professional and handsome. Every bit the model commander.

“Are you ready?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure,” I reply. A little bit too fast.

“Maybe I should ask again.”

“Don’t. I’m fine.” I take a step backward as he moves into the room, closing the door behind him. “This is no big deal. It’s not like we’re walking into a firefight, right?”

“No,” Chris says. “This is a different kind of fight.”

I lean against the wall, exhausted and afraid.

“What good is this going to do?” I whisper. “Sitting around and talking about everything is just going to make people mad at each other. Remember when we talked about rebuilding the government at Camp Freedom? My dad was about ready to throw punches over the difference in opinion.”

“At some point, it has to be discussed,” Chris shrugs. “I’d rather do it now than later. If we wait, we may not have the chance.”

“I guess.” I sigh. “You handle the talking, okay? I’ll mess it up.”

“Don’t be naïve, Cassie,” Chris replies. “You won’t mess anything up.” He places one hand on each side of me on the wall. “You can do anything. You’re strong.”

I press my lips together.

“It’s different,” I insist.

“No. It’s not.” Chris kisses my forehead. “Just relax.”

“Right. Because it’s so easy to relax.”

He smiles a little.

“No. Because it’s healthy,” he says.

He presses his lips against mine. I slip my hands behind his neck and melt into him, his strong hands gripping my back. He tastes like coffee. I pull back for a moment.

“We’re in this together,” I say. “We’re a team.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He gives me a puzzled look. “And we act like one.”

I nod. And I kiss him again, heady with his scent and his touch. There is no place in the world I would rather be — regardless of the apocalypse. A few moments later, Chris holds me at arm’s length.

“I’m proud of you,” he states. “No matter what happens.”

“Ditto,” I grin.

I take one last look around the hotel room before we walk out the door. There are no sounds as we take the elevator to the bottom floor. The lobby area is heavily guarded with troops. I ache to hold Chris’s hand as we walk here, but it wouldn’t be professional. Outside, there are vehicles and guardhouses. Armed soldiers. Checkpoints and more checkpoints. It feels good to be on the inside of this steel ring of protection — rather than the other way around.

I almost feel safe.

Almost.

We cross the street. Capitol Park is beautiful. The grass is green again and the hedges have been trimmed. The American rebels have wasted no time in cleaning up the place. The sparkling white exterior of the Capitol building itself is stunning, reminiscent of a Greek temple or an amphitheater — white pillars and marble statues. The bronze Great Seal of the State of California is preserved in concrete in front of the building.

A long canvas tent is pushed up against the entrance. Chris and I walk inside. There are enough guards to form a small rescue unit inside. We go through the checkpoint and enter the building.

In wartime, we are allowed to keep our firearms.

It’s one of those necessary things.