“We can be ready to move by morning,” Chris replies, calm.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Here.” Colonel Rivera takes a map out of the desk drawer and unrolls it across the table. It depicts two major interstates converging into one highway at the base of a mountain range.

“That’s the Grapevine,” I say, a chill crawling up my spine.

I haven’t been back to those mountains since I escaped from Culver City.

“That’s right. The Tehachapi mountains, south of Bakersfield and the main highway coming out of Los Angeles.” Colonel Rivera answers. “Enemy forces will be using the I-5 highway to move their troops into the valley. They’ll have troop transports, armored vehicles, artillery, air support. Our scouts are gathering intelligence as we speak and relaying reports via radio from Los Angeles.”

“What about air support?” Alexander replies.

“They’ll have some, but no more than we’ll have.”

“We have air support?” I say.

“We will.” Colonel Rivera takes a long drag on his cigar. “We’ll be deploying all of our troops here at Sector 20.”

“There are at least five thousand enemy combatants headed this way,” Alexander says. “We’re outnumbered five to one.”

“That’s why we’ll choke them on the interstate,” Chris replies. “We have a good chance of stopping their advance if we can face them in tight, steep, rocky terrain. We can maneuver faster than they can.”

As they talk, I study the map. I remember that interstate well. Chris and I drove the last stretch of it after a violent encounter at a gas station in Santa Clarita on our way out of LA. Desperate, dangerous mobs roved the freeway. They stole my car and destroyed it.

So yeah. Not many happy memories of that road.

“Be honest with us,” I say, interrupting their discussion. “What are our chances?”

Colonel Rivera shakes his head.

“Kid, this is war,” he replies.

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what chance do we really have of pushing them back? Of stopping their advance into the valley?”

“The odds aren’t in our favor,” Alexander agrees.

“We’ve got something worth fighting for,” Chris shrugs. “We’re motivated, and we’re smarter than they are. They’ll be met by National Guard forces on all entrance points into the valley. They won’t be expecting much of a fight at that particular ambush point, and that’s how we’ll lure them in.”

“What happens if we can’t stop them?” I ask. “Then what?”

Silence.

“We’ll stop them,” Chris answers. “We have no choice.”

I nod slowly, moistening my lips.

“Or die trying,” I whisper.

Because if we can’t stop Omega’s push on the west coast, they’ll take over California. And that could be the beginning of the end of the militia’s rebellion.

Hours later in the Dugout, I’m staring at a half melted birthday candle in the palm of my hand. There’s a huge cabinet along the back wall stuffed with odds and ends. Items like napkins, paper plates and sealed bags of candy. The kind of things nobody can buy anymore. The birthday candle is something I found in the bottom drawer next to a bottle of champagne that has never been opened.

There are only a few people in the Dugout tonight. Sophia is sitting with Alexander at a couch in the far corner. He’s got his arm around her shoulders as they talk in quiet voices. Funny how things have changed between them. How she’s been confiding in him more than in me lately.

Other soldiers are gathered around a plastic table, their feet kicked up, playing poker. I sit cross-legged on the floor, my back pressed against the wall. There is a tense feeling in the air. The anticipation and fear of what’s about to happen. About leaving. Deploying would be the proper term, I guess. Whatever. Either way you slice it, we’re likely marching off to a major bloodbath.

“We’re going to be okay,” I whisper. “We’re all going to be okay.”

I’ve been repeating this phrase over and over to myself for a long time now. It’s not that I haven’t been in combat before. I’ve seen plenty of firefights and held my own with the tough guys. But this is going to be different. This isn’t a hit and run attack. This is a full on nosedive into a major battle. The lines have been drawn, and once we get out there, there’s no escape. It’s not like fighting in the mountains. Make a mistake? Hide behind a tree.

Out here there’s nowhere to hide.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” Chris says. His shadow falls over me as he gets down on his knees, scooting beside me. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you holding a burnt candle?”

I offer a weak smile and hold the candle up to eye level.

“Today’s my birthday,” I shrug.

Chris smiles sympathetically.

“You should have told me.”

“Well…it’s not like you can get me a box of chocolates.”

“A guy can try.” He slips his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close to his chest. “Happy birthday, Cassie.”

I sigh, enjoying his warmth.

“I always thought I’d be celebrating my birthday in Disneyland for my twentieth,” I say. “My Dad and I had plans.”

“Plans sometimes get postponed.”

Chris says the words, but we both know that postponed is the least offensive word he could possibly come up with to substitute for the world ended and screwed up your plans.

“We should go out to dinner sometime,” Chris says.

“Oh, yeah. That’s going to happen. And the electricity is going to come back on, too,” I reply sarcastically.

He tilts his head, nodding at the glowing lights on the ceiling of the Dugout.

“If the National Guard can do it, the rest of the country can, too,” he says. “That’s why we’re doing what we’re doing. So we can turn the power back on. So we can start over and rebuild.”

I trace my finger over the edges of the buttons on his jacket.

“You have to promise me something,” I whisper.

He leans closer.

“Promise me that when we get out to the front lines,” I continue, “we’ll stay together.”

Chris slowly brushes the hair away from my face, studying my expression.

“We’ll stay together,” he promises.

“I love you,” I say. “You know that, right?”

He nods, kissing me on the forehead. But he says nothing, not returning the words. And that bothers me for some reason. How hard can it be to say I love you? Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way. Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

A few soldiers are sitting at various places in the Dugout, pen and paper in hand. I don’t have to ask to figure out what they’re doing: writing their wills. Their goodbye letters to their families and friends. Because if they don’t come back — and there’s a good chance they won’t — they want to leave their loved ones with something to remember.

Hours later, as I’m getting ready to settle in for the night, I grab a scrap of notebook paper from my backpack and a pen. I spread the paper out on my knee and take a deep breath.

I fold the paper and stick it in the pocket of my boot. If I die, this is the first place they will look for a last will and testament, right next to my name and blood type written in permanent marker on the side of my boot. I now understand the angst of every young man or woman who has gone to war. Writing your own will when you’re twenty years old is not something I thought I would be doing when I graduated from high school not long ago.