What is this place?

It’s been a long time since some of these people have been inside a building. Many of them have been living in the mountains since the day the EMP hit. Confined spaces can be pretty shocking after that kind of lifestyle. It’s an adjustment for me. It smells so…urban. Diesel fumes, gasoline and hot metal.

Large white lettering is painted across the far wall.

I meet Chris’s gaze from across the room, a silent agreement echoing between us: This is going to be a lot different than fighting in the mountains.

You know that feeling you get when walk into a room full of strangers and nobody looks up to say hello to you? That’s how I feel when I walk into the barracks for the first time. Women are everywhere — all ages, but mostly between fifteen and thirty years old. It’s an interesting scene. I feel no fear, no nervousness. I’ve been through too much for that. I simply am. We are all here for one reason, for one purpose. And that unifies us.

Women from other militia groups that were staying at Camp Freedom are among the new arrivals here. Vera is bunking three beds over. She avoids my gaze, and I remember that she handed me my backpack on the truck. A simple gesture. A kind gesture, even. Coming from her, I have no idea what the motivation was behind it. She notices me watching her and looks up. She opens her mouth as if to say something right as Sophia decides to intervene. “I’ll take the top bunk,” she announces. “That way we can be next to each other.”

“Sounds good,” I agree.

Vera clenches her jaw. Whatever she was going to say remains unsaid.

Sophia assembles her gear on her bunk.

“There’s no ladder,” she says. “This is criminal.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“I guess. As long as you don’t mind me bouncing off the bottom mattress when it’s time to get up in the morning.”

We both laugh. After we settle in we check out the bathrooms, which are no more than a huge hall of showers separated by thin plastic curtains. There’s a dressing room, a row of sinks and a long line of mirrors. I leave, not wanting to glimpse my reflection. I’ve had enough stress today without having to look at my face, too.

“This is a little more crowded than the barracks at Camp Freedom,” Sophia says. “I’m used to sleeping in a room with just our militia.”

“If we could sleep in Kamaneva’s labor camp, we can sleep anywhere,” I reply. “We could sleep on the concrete floor with the rats.”

“And then there were the ones that didn’t sleep at all.”

And the ones that didn’t wake up in the morning.

We both pause, chilled by the memory of our imprisonment. I physically shake myself and lean against the bunk. “So,” I say. “Let’s go find out what the next step is. I’m not going to sit around and wait for Rivera to give me an order.”

“Okay,” Sophia shrugs. “But Rivera’s not in charge of what we do, is he? We get to use their weapons and equipment, but we answer to our militia leaders.”

“But which militia leaders? There are a lot of different groups here.” I look around the room. The ages, sizes and ethnicity of the women here are very diverse. I wish I knew what everyone’s story was. How did they get here? What happened to them after the EMP? Why are they fighting in the militia?

Their story is a lot like yours, a little voice says. That’s what unites all of you.

“The commanders have called a meeting.” Vera brushes past us. “Your presence is requested.”

I fight the urge to make a smart comeback.

Sophia and I head out of the barracks, down a long concrete corridor that descends further beneath the ground. It smells musty, but the temperature is nice and cool. Two gigantic steel doors are at the end of the hall, guarded by soldiers. Sophia and I follow Vera through the doors, entering a vast concrete chamber. There’s a long table, sturdy chairs and maps on the walls. It looks like a top secret briefing room from a spy movie. It’s unimaginably large. Vera, Sophia and I can only stare at everything, awed.

Colonel Rivera is sitting at the head of the table. Chris and Angela are there as well. Derek, Max and Alexander have showered and dressed in new National Guard uniforms. Chris is wearing combat pants and a brand new jacket, his beard freshly trimmed. He looks clean. He looks great.

Me? Not so much. I need new clothes and a shower, too.

“Have a seat, ladies,” Colonel Rivera says.

If he notices that I’ve brought Sophia with me to a bigwig meeting, he doesn’t show it. Chris doesn’t question her presence, either. We’re all on the same side here.

“Here’s the situation, folks,” Colonel Rivera begins. An unlit cigar is clenched between his teeth as he talks. “You Freedom Fighters need to establish a solid chain of command, with one command officer to interface directly with me. How you structure that chain of command is up to you, but I recommend that you establish Officers and NCO ranks that parallel ours.”

“NCO?” Sophia mouths.

“Non-commissioned officers,” I whisper.

“I’ve got my own platoons outfitted and mission ready,” Rivera continues. “You need to move ahead and get yours squared away.” He grinds his cigar between his teeth, glowering at us. “Well? Which one of you fine guerilla warfighters is going to be the Militia Field Commander?”

The room remains silent. Then all heads turn towards Chris.

So we are picking a single commander today. Somebody needs to state the obvious. “Chris,” I say.

Angela fixes me with a cold stare, turning back to Rivera. “I agree,” she replies, a thin smile on her lips. “Chris has the practical experience and background for this task. He will be a fine field commander.”

Well, duh.

“How about it, Alpha One?” Colonel Rivera growls, impatient.

“I’ll do it,” Chris says, locking gazes with me. “I’ll need help.”

“Angela, you will of course retain staff authority as militia leader,” Chris says, nodding at her. “I will handle combat operations. As to the officer corps, Alexander, Max.” He nods at each of them, leaning forward, looking directly at me. “And…Cassidy.”

I stare at him. Me? An officer?

He smiles. Vera stiffens, but says nothing to protest the appointment. I don’t speak, only nod slightly to indicate that I accept the appointment. What am I going to do? Say no?

Not happening.

“I’ll need new weapons and equipment for my troops,” Chris says, turning to Colonel Rivera. “Give us what we need, and we’ll be ready to go.”

“Excellent.” Colonel Rivera folds his arms. “Now that we’ve got that squared away, let’s get one thing straight: this base operates solely on its own electricity. It was built years ago as a failsafe in the event of a catastrophe for the elites, if you will. A place for federal and state leaders to bunk out in the event that something huge went down. It was a way to preserve the chain of command, from the Executive Branch down. Well, folks, the catastrophe is already here, and the feds and everyone else in between never made it to the shelters. So the National Guard utilized them.” He stops and surveys the room. “The Federal Government has been protecting itself from a possible EMP attack for years. True, Washington D.C. and the Eastern Seaboard have been nuked, but remnants of the government still survive. State governments. State militias. State law enforcement. Our leaders are gone, but what we’ve got in this base — and in bases across the country — is access to electricity, food, water, weapons and information.”

“Define information,” Chris says.

“Sit back and enjoy the show.” Colonel Rivera grabs a black device off the table. A remote control. He dims the lights with one flick of a button, and a white screen rolls down from the ceiling.