“Let this be a lesson to everyone here,” Kamaneva growls, stalking around the circle like an angry cat. “Look at Cassidy Hart and witness what happens if you disobey.”

I raise my head, suddenly angry,

A rush of satisfaction fills my heart. It’s as if the crowd of prisoners isn’t even there. There’s no stage fright, no humiliation. I’m furious and hey, I’m about to be executed. I might as well say what I want to say.

“You can kill me,” I state, lifting my chin higher, “and you can kill everybody else in this camp. But you can’t kill the desire to be free. Somebody will take you down. It will happen.”

Kamaneva’s jaw is tight. Her cheeks redden.

“You’re replaceable.”

“I’ve got news for you,” I reply. “You’re replaceable, too.”

The crowd murmurs softly. Kamaneva’s eyes dart to Grease.

“Give me your weapon,” she commands, referring to the handgun he’s holding. “Let’s get this over with.”

I swallow and fist my hands at my sides.

So this is how it ends for Cassidy Hart? She gets shot in the head by a crazy woman at a bus stop? Not the glamorous death I’d envisioned for myself. I’d always pictured myself dying some kind of tragic death where I get put in a glass coffin and people look at me lying there and say nice things about me.

Not that I have an ego or anything.

“Any final words?” Kamaneva asks, taking Grease’s weapon.

“Yeah.” I make a monumental effort to keep my lower lip from trembling. “I didn’t go down without a fight.” I turn to the crowd. “And neither should any of you!”

Kamaneva lifts the gun, pointblank range, muzzle to my forehead.

This is it. My ears fill with the frantic beating of my heart. My vision turns hazy as I stare down the cold, steely bore of the gun. I blink and tears run down my cheeks. I curl my fingers into fists to control my shaking.

I hear the crack of a gunshot and jerk backwards, expecting a short burst of pain. Light at the end of a tunnel. Blood. Something. But instead I just hear a lot of screaming. I open my eyes and stare at Kamaneva. She’s on the ground, shrieking in pain, clutching her side. Blood is soaking her jacket.

A long burst of automatic fire erupts, and a second later two Omega guards are sprawled dead on the ground. The prisoners freak out. They start running in all directions, panic setting in. I search the trees and the school property line for the source of the gunfire but I don’t see anything. Omega guards are shoving and firing.

I leap to my feet and sprint away from Kamaneva, weaving my way into the panicked mob. Omega guards are scrambling to close the gate around the prison, randomly firing into the crowd. In the midst of the chaos, Grease shoves his way through the crowd and grabs my arms.

“Come on!” he yells.

I jerk away and plunge into the crowd, squirming out of his reach.

“Cassidy, if you want to live you have to stay with me,” he continues, chasing after me. I ignore him, fear pumping through my system. Well, fear and a lot of shock. I came way too close to getting shot in the head.

“Cassidy, I’m with Chris!” Grease shouts.

I spin around, staring at him.

“You have to believe me,” he says.

Stunned, I open my mouth to reply, but my words are lost as a massive explosion rocks the school. I’m thrown backwards by the impact. Heat hits my face and the front stretch of the gate outside the administrative building bursts into pieces. Heat and flames lick around the edges. Omega troops as well as prisoners are flat on their backs (or faces), groping around, trying to regain their balance. My ears are ringing and my hearing is temporarily out of order, making everything just that much more confusing.

A wave of men start pushing through the front entrance, guns blazing, systematically working their way onto the property. I struggle to my feet, looking at their clothes. Worn pants and boots, rifles. Blue bands of cloth tied around their upper right arms.

Blue?

I search the crowd for Grease. He’s saying something, but between the ringing in my ears and the background noise, I can barely make it out. Something like, Follow me!

“You’re with Chris Young?” I ask.

He nods.

There’s no way logic can even factor into what I do next. I jump up and follow the man because of two words: Chris Young. As I struggle to keep up with Grease, a trooper on the ground jams his boots into my legs, knocking me off my feet. I hit the ground hard. The air rushes out of my lungs.

I roll to the side, just out of his reach, and crawl towards an Omega man who’s unconscious on the ground. As I do, the rapid sound of gunfire peppers the camp as the mystery men with the blue armbands flood the area, picking off…Omega soldiers.

They’re not hurting prisoners.

Realization slowly dawns. Omega is being attacked. By the good guys. Whoever the “good guys” are. I don’t know and I don’t care. I grab an obnoxiously huge gun off the unconscious trooper’s body and get to my feet, determined to do something to help.

I have no idea where Grease went. I lost him in the crowd. I look over the weapon, trying to figure out how to operate it. No such luck. It’s about as alien to me as a UFO. I just squeeze the trigger…barely. A spray of bullets razes the administrative wall next to me, hitting a few Omega troopers in the process. I let go of the trigger and take a few steps backwards, blinking at the downed men.

Oh. That would be my handiwork, I guess.

Five Omega men are charging towards the front gate, preparing to take on the advancing enemy — the Blue Bands. I squeeze the trigger again and take the whole group down with one sweep of the gun. I don’t think they’re dead. I was aiming low. Their legs have been shot out from under them, sending them sprawling.

I swallow, and a shout of exhilaration bursts out of my mouth as adrenaline surges like fire in my veins.

This is war, isn’t it?

I squeeze the trigger again in an attempt to scare off some more troopers from the front gate but I don’t get anything but an empty click. Nothing. I drop it to the ground. I don’t know enough about weapons to figure out how to load it and fire it again. I just turn to run, smacking into Grease. He grabs me by the arms.

“Not bad shooting, kid,” he says. “For a girl.”

“Jerk.”

“You need to come with me now.”

He keeps a steady grip on my arm.

“Where?” I demand, hesitating. “Where’s Chris?”

Another explosion detonates on the other side of the schoolyard. The sound of glass shattering and people screaming fills the air. Black, acrid smoke fills the sky, making my eyes tear up.

“I’m taking you to Chris.” He pulls me forward. “Look, I’m not the enemy here. I just killed Kamaneva for you.”

“Whoa. You?”

And that’s the extent of our five-second conversation. Because all hell has broken loose in the school. Windows are being blown out, bullets are flying everywhere. Prisoners are sprinting away from the building and Omega troopers are rushing around the perimeter, trying to close the civilians in and keep the Blue Bands out.

It’s not working very well.

“We’re in trouble,” Grease says.

I follow his line of sight. A few Omega troops are pointing at Grease, and next thing I know, we’re being fired at. I duck for cover behind the edge of the front administrative building, barely missing a bullet to the head.

“Why are they shooting at you?”

“Because I just betrayed Omega.” He stands up and takes the butt of his gun, smashing an office window apart. “Come on. We have to take cover.”

Right. My dad told me once, back when he was still an active-duty cop in LA, that concealment and cover are two different things. Concealment is when you’re hidden from your enemies, but if they see you for some reason, they can still shoot you. Cover is anything that will physically stop a bullet. Your enemy might know you’re there, but they can’t hurt you.