“She’s a smart one,” Manny tells Arlene. “Or didn’t I tell you that already?”

“You’ve told me,” Arlene says. “Eat your dinner. I’ll explain everything afterward. I promise.”

I can live with that.

“We’re walking into a hellhole,” Vera mutters to me. “Once we go into Los Angeles, there’s no coming out.”

“I told you upfront that this was no picnic,” I reply, sharp. “If you’re worried, stay here. I don’t care.”

And I really don’t.

I don’t need Vera Wright any more than I need a diamond ring at this point.

She glares at me, and once again I wonder why she’s here.

For Chris? Because she’s got a crush on him? No. To go on a suicide mission into the heart of an Omega stronghold with a girl that you can’t stand requires more than a simple crush as motivation.

What does Vera Wright want from me?

“Tell me, Commander,” Arlene inquires, “how long you’ve been fighting with the militias.”

“Chris Young liberated me from an Omega POW camp,” I reply. “I joined at that point.”

“They say that you’re an excellent sniper,” she grins.

I take a sip of water. “They’ve said a lot of things.”

“It seems the story of Chris Young and Cassidy Hart has become prime entertainment for members of different militias across the state — and even across the country.”

It could be worse.

When we’re done eating, I follow Arlene into the living room. She pulls down a map from a floor-to-ceiling bookcase at the end of the room. The room is illuminated with 19^th century oil lamps. I stand with my arms crossed, studying the map.

“This is us,” Arlene says. She points to a region behind Highway 138, burrowed into the mountains. “You need to get here.” She drags her finger across the mountains and to the edge of Los Angeles. “Then to the city of Westwood, California. According to Underground operatives, Omega is housing prisoners of war in the Los Angeles County Jail.”

My heart sinks.

My father was a Los Angeles cop. I drove by the County Jail many times. It’s a fortress.

“Don’t look too discouraged, my girl,” Manny grins, patting my shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about the jail. They’re keeping militia officers in an entirely different location. Large prisons are too complex and crowded, with limited electricity. But smaller buildings? That’s where they keep the important officers.”

“Chances are, if Commander Young is still alive,” Arlene interjects, “he’ll be kept somewhere in downtown Westwood. It’s near where many of the ranking Omega officers are encamped, which makes him easily accessible for interrogation.”

“Where is the location of this building, exactly?” Uriah asks.

“That I can’t say,” she shrugs. “Scouts will have more information for you when you reach the Way Houses.”

“Say what?” Derek demands. “This is too complicated. Give it to us straight and simple, lady.”

“Derek,” I warn.

But I don’t disagree.

“I want the whole story,” I say, facing Arlene. “Before we leave here, I want to know everything that you know about Los Angeles.”

Manny chuckles, sitting on the couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table.

“I’d say that’s a fair deal,” he remarks. “What do you say, Arlene?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Fine,” she replies.

And that’s when she tells us.

“Omega was attacked in San Diego,” Arlene says.

The room goes silent. Like a tomb.

“By who?” Vera breathes. “United States military?

“Mexico,” Arlene answers.

“Mexico?” Derek repeats. “Does Mexico still exist?”

“All I know is what I’ve heard,” Arlene says, raising her hands. “They say that Mexico forces en masse attacked Omega in San Diego. It was huge. Omega was taken by surprise.”

“When?” Uriah asks.

“Just a few days ago.” Arlene points to the map. “Which is why so many of Omega’s forces retreated from the Valley Chokepoint, Commander Hart. Your instincts were correct.”

I run a hand through my hair.

“Does this mean Mexico is strong enough to actually help us win this thing?” I ask.

“I have no idea what Mexico’s situation is,” Arlene says. “But thank God for their help. There are rumors of forces attacking Omega in Washington and Oregon, as well.”

“Who would that be?” Andrew comments. He’s still fiddling with the radio, wires strung across his lap. “Mexico is in the south. Who’s up north?”

“Canada,” Uriah suggests.

“Are you saying that we’ve got allies?” I breathe.

“What’s she’s saying is that someone, out of self-preservation, is attacking Omega, too,” Manny interrupts. “Which means we’re not bearing the full weight of their attacks.”

Thank God.

Seriously.

“Which means it might provide the little bit of daylight you need to get your rescue unit into Los Angeles,” Arlene adds. “Omega is rolling south to defend their position in San Diego, and from what we’ve heard, they’ve got their hands full.”

A sign of weakness? A flood of hope rushes over me. Omega is struggling more than I thought they were.

Finally, some good news.

“We have transportation that will enable you to get into the city without being detected,” Arlene says. “Underground hotspots are everywhere. There is a Way House where you will meet scouts at the edge of Toluca Lake, not far outside of Westwood. They will give you the location of the facility where they are holding Commander Young.” She traces a circle around the ranch house on the map. “It’s about sixty miles from here to Westwood.”

“What’s a Way House?” Andrew asks, never looking up from his radio.

“A safe place for traveling militiamen to stay,” Arlene explains. “Manny will be your guide into the city, considering the mode of transportation that you’ll be taking.”

“Wait, hold it,” Derek says. “We’re not flying to Los Angeles. That’s impossible. Omega’s got aircraft everywhere.”

“I didn’t say we were flying,” Manny answers, leaning forward. He grabs a glass dish on the coffee table. It’s full of pine nuts. “Although I would prefer to fly.”

“Then how are we going in?” Vera demands, annoyed.

“You’ll see,” Manny says.

And he’s right.

We do.

“Cassidy, listen to me,” Chris says. “If I die fighting, I want you to stay safe. Do you understand?”

“Everything’s going to be fine. It always is,” I reply, smiling faintly.

“Not this time.” He seems desperate to make me believe that this is the end. That we’re all going to die, and that I need to brace myself for it. “Cassie. I…need you to promise me that you’ll take care of yourself if I’m not here to help you. Make wise decisions. Do what I would do.”

“I’m not you,” I shrug. “And what’s with all the doom and gloom talk? You’re Mr. Motivation, remember?”

He grabs my shoulders. Presses a fierce, hot kiss to my lips. I wrap my arms around his neck, stroking his cheek with my thumb. His heart is beating fast.

“What’s wrong, Chris?” I whisper. “This isn’t like you.”

I study his eyes. They’re tinged with red. From stress? From physical exhaustion? Probably a combination of both. But it’s unlike him to voice concerns like this out loud.

“I just need you to promise me that if I die,” he says, “you’ll go back to Camp Freedom. Find your father. He’ll protect you. Can you promise me that?”

“You’re not going to die,” I state firmly. “And neither am I.”

“Cassidy. Promise me.”

His gaze is intense.

I drop my eyes, studying the stitching on the collar of his uniform jacket.

“I can’t make a promise that I won’t keep,” I reply. “I can’t lie to you.”

He brushes his lips across my forehead, fingering my hair.