“Any nominations?” he asks.

“I nominate Cassidy Hart.” Angela stands at her desk. She does not look at me.

“I second that nomination,” Dad says.

Oh, God. No. Not me. Please.

Why did I have to open my mouth and talk?

“I support the nomination as well,” Chris says. He stands.

The room is a chorus of agreement. The majority of the rebel leaders — Colonel Rivera excluded — are on their feet, and the audience is in an excited frenzy. I feel ill. Overwhelmed.

Why me…?

People all around me are talking. There is noise, activity. The militia leaders and military officers are speaking to each other, and many of them are…smiling. They are happy. I look at Chris. He squeezes my shoulder. I can see pride in his eyes.

“The decision is unanimous, Commander Hart,” Lockwood booms. His voice is a blur in the background. “You have been nominated for the position of Interim State Senator to represent California in the Pacific Northwest Alliance.”

I am dazed. I stare at him, nodding vaguely. I feel myself move my head, and I know the instant that I do that I am committed on an entirely new level. This is bigger. This is different. This is new.

I scarcely believe it when I say, “I accept.”

Because the words have to be spoken.

“Thank you, Commander Hart,” he says. “Ladies and gentleman, I present to you: Senator Cassidy Hart of the Great State of California.”

More applause. I am burning up, flushed with energy and excitement and the realization that this is a good thing. We are building a stable, structured system with which to fight Omega. We are allying ourselves with strong countries and friends. We are pooling our resources. We are standing united.

Hope blossoms in my chest.

This truly is new.

Militia leaders that I have never seen before flood to my desk, shaking Chris’s hand and mine. Angela embraces me for the first time in…well, ever. My father walks through the crowd and I throw my arms around his neck.

“We made it,” I say.

“Yes,” he replies. “We did.” He smiles. “Senator.”

I shake my head. Chris gives me a gentle hug. He whispers softly,

“You did the right thing.”

I look at his face.

“I know,” I reply.

And it is not a lie.

The commotion inside the Senate Chambers exudes a positive, vibrant energy. These people are filled with hope. It is infectious, and it is the first time since the EMP hit Los Angeles that I have felt this much encouragement. It is a miracle. I find myself closing my eyes and saying a silent prayer of thanks.

We have come so far… and although we still have a long way to go, we have accomplished much. Chris and I leave the Senate Chambers, Dad and Angela following us. Colonel Rivera has been lost somewhere in the crowd, and that is fine with me. I am no longer afraid of his wrath. I did what needed to be done, and it was the right thing.

Vera, Alexander, Uriah, Andrew and Manny are waiting for us in the hallway.

“You’re crazy,” Vera states.

That is all she says, but there is a slight smile on her face. Slight. Uriah is grinning like a proud older brother, and Alexander seems almost at ease.

“Not bad, Cassidy,” Andrew comments.

“Well, Senator,” Manny exclaims. “The world awaits you.”

“So dramatic,” I laugh. “Thank you, Manny.”

“For…?”

“For everything.”

I am overcome with the solemnity of the fact that everyone around me — at some point or another — has played a part in all of us getting this far. Especially Manny.

“Shall we adjourn to the great outdoors?” Manny suggests, winking. “It’s a little stuffy in here. All these politicians.”

Chris chuckles.

“They’re hardly politicians,” he says.

“Let’s just get outside,” I agree.

We follow the hallways, descend the staircase and leave the Capitol Building. It is a beautiful day, and from where we stand on the front steps, we have a perfect view of the entire boulevard, ending with the yellow bridge that crosses the Sacramento River.

“Everything’s different now,” I say. Just loud enough for Chris to hear me. “It’s all going to change.”

“Change is a good thing,” Chris replies, touching my cheek.

We walk to the edge of the park, cross the street, and stop at a water fountain surrounded with rose bushes. One library building sits on each side of the fountain, graced with Greek marble statues.

I meet Chris’s gaze, and I feel the camaraderie of the people around me — Vera included. I wrap my fingers around Chris’s hand and look back at the Capitol. Maybe it represents more than just a meeting place. Maybe it represents the starting point of a new era. Of something better. Of recovery and strength and rebuilding.

“Let’s go home,” I say.

As the words pass my lips, a deep, jarring rumble breaks the silence of the quiet Capitol grounds. It is a sound and a feeling that I am all too familiar with. The windows near the corner of the Capitol Building shatter, sending shards of glass through the air. I am knocked off my feet. I hit the ground on my knees. Chris grabs my arm and we crouch on the cement, behind the fountain and the roses. Billows of ash and dust rise from the base of the stately structure. There is screaming in the distance. Somewhere, a siren wails.

I stare in abject horror. The soldiers roll in and the security units engage.

And I watch as the dome of the Capitol Building collapses in a cloud of smoke and fire.

Tick, tock.

Time. Not so long ago, it was important to me. I lived my life on a clock. Time to get up. Time for breakfast. Time for work. Time for lunch.

It was always precious. Never enough minutes in the day.

It’s odd to me, then, how little time means anymore. The days blur together and the hours of the clock become one. I have no appointments to keep, no friends to meet with. My life is a never-ending cycle of grinding, gritty, warfare. The days become weeks and the weeks become months. There is no pause in the brutality that is found here.

I am twenty years old. The girl who left Los Angeles afraid and unsure after an EMP last year no longer exists. She has been remade.

The girl is gone. The soldier remains.

I have lost everything. My home, my friends, my country. But I have gained so much, too. My father, Chris, my fellow soldiers and the men and women that fearlessly went into the heart of Los Angeles to rescue their commander. There might be destruction, but I have found great loyalty. There might be death, but I have found life. There might be hatred, but I have found love. There is still hope. There is still a chance. For those of us who are willing to fight back, the situation is not as bleak as it seems.

The war has only just begun.

And I’m ready for it.

Writing a series is somewhat like an endless state of pursuit — a constant race to create a story that will do the characters justice and open audience’s imaginations to new adventures and dramas. This book was one of the most detailed novels I have ever written. From combat uniforms to tactical strategies, State of Pursuit would not exist without the technical expertise and experience of Don Lane. Cassidy Hart and Chris Young have survived the apocalypse because of him. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am also immeasurably grateful for the editing work by Dave Hudiburgh, a seasoned veteran himself and a wonderful friend. I want to thank my mother and my brother for being incredibly supportive of the work that I do, in addition to my grandparents, Pete and Nancy. You are all wonderful and I love you very much!