State of Alliance (14 page)

“Yes, sir,” I say. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He nods, opening the door. I get a glimpse of the foggy night sky and the murky waters of the Pacific Ocean.

I’ve been out a long time and he never brought the ship back to the mainland? Why would he do that?

“Your clothes should be just about dry, Miss Barton,” he tells me.

I nod. He closes the door and I stare after him, a sick feeling pooling in the pit of my stomach. I know that I should be nothing but grateful to this man for
keeping me alive…but I can’t shake the bad, premonitory cloud gathering in the back of my mind.

Something is wrong.

Very wrong.

Chapter Twelve

I finish buttoning my shirt, pull on my boots and reach for the handgun on the nightstand beside the cot. The weight of the weapon seems lighter than usual. I slide the magazine out. The chamber is empty. The bullets are gone. It is a useless piece of metal.

I grab the case for my knife and pull the Velcro back. The case is also empty; this makes me angry. Jeff Young gave it to me for Christmas, before he was killed in action during the Battle of the Grapevine.

I strap the empty case to my belt and slide the gun into the holster.

Apparently my rescuer doesn’t trust me enough to allow me to be armed on his ship. I can’t say that I blame him, but I’m going to need my knife back, at the very least. I check the inside of my right pant pocket. I have a small knife in here, and it looks like Jonas has missed it.

Good.

I keep it in the bottom of the pocket. It’s not much, but I may need it later.

I stand up. I feel fine aside from a dull headache. I walk to the cabin door, push it open, and tense as the
cold ocean breeze hits my face. The deck is quiet and dark. A couple of lanterns dangle from the ropes above my head, illuminating the small fishing rig with a dim, orange glow.

“Jonas?” I say.

“Over here, missy.” The old man standing on a higher deck, behind the ship’s wheel. The space is not enclosed like it was on the Coast Guard cutter. “Feeling up to walking, are you?”

“I feel great, thanks,” I reply. “How far are we away from Monterey Bay?”

“No more than an hour. Don’t worry, I’ll get you back to the mainland safe and sound.” He pauses. “Although judging by the weapons on your person, you’re probably quite capable of taking care of yourself.”

I say nothing. I only watch him.

Jonas clears his throat and I walk to the railing. The fog is thick. I can’t see the shore from here. In fact, I have no idea which direction we’re headed, although I’m assuming it’s east. I shove my hands in my pockets and settle back on a wooden crate. Although I don’t see any fish on this ship, I can
smell
them. The stench is pretty rank, permeating the wood and the cloth in
the sails. The slight putter of the motor propelling the little vessel through the water is the only sound aside from the waves lapping at the side of the boat.

I settle into my spot, silence hanging between Jonas and I.

I’m sure that Chris and the rest of the National Guard and militias have discovered the destruction of the Coast Guard cutter and the demise of Captain Adams and his crew. They won’t find my body among the dead in the water, so I wonder if they will assume that I am dead, as well. I wonder, briefly, if search aircraft was sent to look for the wreckage of the
Golden Shark
…and if there were, why didn’t they find me?

I curl my fingers into fists.

Chris is going to be angry when he finds out what happened.

The minutes pass. I find myself wandering back into the cabin to escape the cold temperatures. I sit in the chair in the corner, closing my eyes. I am still tired from the hypothermia, and I know that I am lucky to be alive.

“Miss Barton?” Jonas calls. “We’re coming into port in a few minutes.”

I stand up and leave the cabin once more. Jonas has cut the motor back a few notches and we are sidling up slowly to a long wooden pier. I see no lights or buildings onshore.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Back,” Jonas replies.

“This isn’t the bay, and it’s not Cannery Row,” I tell him.

“It’s where I dock my boat. You’ll have to walk a ways to get where you want to go.” Jonas shrugs. “I’m doing my best, missy.”

Guilt tugs at my heartstrings. This man saved my life – he didn’t asked to be ordered around by a militia commander. So I shut my mouth as he brings the boat alongside the dock and ties the
Mia Bella
up.

“Home sweet home,” Jonas announces, grinning widely, showing off four or five missing teeth. “Thanks for riding along with me, missy. I hope you make it back okay.”

I nod.

“Thanks.” Then, “Can you tell me where I am so I can find my way back to city? It helps to have a starting point so I know which direction to head.”

Jonas’s smiles fades, turning to a small twitch.

“Well, you’re about….let’s see…maybe twenty miles north of the city.” He reaches for his pipe. “You’d probably better find a vehicle…”

“Or you could ride with us.”

That voice.

My blood runs cold – colder than the water in Monterey Bay. The fog is so thick, I can barely make out the figures standing along the dock. Four…five…ten…twenty. Raw fear shoots through me – this is a trap. What have I allowed Jonas to do to me?

Never trust people. Never, never, never…

“Cassidy, it’s been too long. Last time we crossed paths you were laying waste to my prison, and I was scrambling to clean up your mess.” A pause. “My, how the tables have turned.”

I take a step away from the railing as Harry Lydell steps out of the shadows of the fog, the lantern-light casting a glow on his fine English features. He’s wearing an Omega uniform, dark curly hair combed back.

“Harry,” I say, breathless.

“Yes,” he replies. “Charmed to see me?”

I frown.

He laughs, amusement in his face.

“You know, when we were informed that you survived the
terrible
tragedy that befell the
Golden Shark
and its crew,” he says, “we had to meet you here. It’s only polite, don’t you think? So glad to see that you made it.”

I look at Jonas. The old man’s expression is crestfallen – he is completely pale, almost sick. I glare at him.

“You radioed Omega?” I say. “You’re a spy.”

“I’m just a fisherman,” he mutters. “I’ve got to stay alive, just like the rest of you.”

“Well,” I say, lifting my chin. I ignore the terror in my heart, the feeling of helplessness. I know that Harry will kill me. I know what this means. “Shall we go, Harry?”

“That’s General Lydell, actually,” Harry corrects, lifting a finger. “And yes. Let’s go. There are some people who will be very interested to know where you’re staying the night.”

The smug smile on his face is like a bullet in the chest.

The Omega patrols near and around Harry have their weapons trained at my head. If I move, I’m dead.
There’s nowhere I can go, anyway. The water? Nope. The dock? Occupied. I am trapped, this is it.

Three Omega soldiers, dressed in their dark uniforms – the signature white O stitched into the sleeve – jump onto the boat, still holding their guns to my head.

“Time to go,” Harry says.

Jonas starts to say something, but decides against it. He shrinks back onto his boat as I turn my back on him, kicking myself for failing to trust my initial instincts. I could have forced him to tell me where we were going – but instead I made the fatal mistake of trusting someone.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I blame the hypothermia and the shock of the attack on the
Golden Shark
for trusting Jonas.

Oh, God. Help me survive this
.

Please
.

It is early in the morning, and I am sitting in the corner of an old elementary school lab. My bare feet are covered with mud. I am filthy. My short hair is matted with dirt and leaves from fieldwork. Harry is sitting beside me, staring at the wall
.

“You think we’re going to die here?” Harry whispers. His voice comes light and breathy, like something out of a British movie. “If we live long enough to get on Omega’s good side, we’ll be worked to death. What’s the point of living?”

“First,” I reply, “there’s no such thing as Omega’s ‘good side,’ and second, the point of living is exactly that: to live. We have to keep trying, Harry. No matter what it takes.”

Harry presses his lips together, pensive
.

Most of the other laborers – the enslaved fieldworkers like myself – are asleep, exhausted after many hours of difficult work harvesting produce for the enemy
.

“If we escape…” he trails off. “There is no way out of this.”

I put my hand on his forearm, offering a smile
.

“We have hope,” I tell him. “What more do we need?”

Harry gazes at me, something deeper than admiration sparking in his clear blue eyes. He leans closer, his face mere inches from mine. I snap out of it and pull away, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding
.

“We’ll be okay,” I say automatically. “One way or another.”

Harry frowns, hurt written across his face
.

“One way or another,” he replies quietly. “We’ll see.”

Harry and his armed guards march me to an Omega convoy, shove me into the backseat of a Humvee with Harry, and slam the doors. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, but I maintain a calm and cold expression. I don’t smile, I don’t frown. I only breathe in and out, blink, and stare at the ground.

“My, aren’t you talkative today,” Harry comments. “Where is the spunky, big-mouthed Cassidy Hart I know and adore?”

I flick my gaze up, giving him a sour look.

“Ah, I see a flash of her now,” Harry chuckles. He is so smooth, so elegant. It is not difficult to believe that this young man was once a burgeoning actor in Hollywood – he’s full of drama and overblown theatrics.

“Why are you dragging this out?” I demand.

“Because we have something the militias want,” Harry replies. “And the rest of California, I might add. We have the great Commander and Senator Cassidy
Hart. Let’s also not underestimate the overprotective qualities of your dear Chris Young.”

Harry’s smile is now predatory, calculating.

“Neither Chris nor the militias or the State of California are willing to sacrifice the welfare or the survival of our cause because of me,” I tell Harry. “It’s not going to happen, and you know it.”

Harry doesn’t answer. He just continues flashing that dangerous smile.

The Humvee’s engine roars to life and the convoy begins moving. It is a familiar mode of transportation, only now I am a prisoner. Not an entirely alien situation to me, but still…it sucks.

I have no idea where we are. The fog covers everything like a thick blanket, masking the ghosts of buildings and street signs. According to Jonas, we were about twenty miles north of Monterey when the
Mia Bella
came into port. But he could have been lying.

I mean, he
did
radio Omega patrols to tell them he’d found Cassidy Hart.

“Where are we going?” I ask Harry.

The two armed guards on each side of me keep the cold, steely muzzles of their weapons digging into my side.

“That’s confidential information, Cassidy,” Harry replies.

“I think you could at least give me a hint.”

Harry leans back, crosses his legs. All bluff and confidence.

“Now that’s the girl I know,” he says. “Always willing to play a game.” He pauses and opens his jacket, pulling
my
knife out. He holds it flat in the palm of his hand. “A gift from Jeff Young, if I remember correctly.”

I flinch. It kills me that Harry has always known so much about me, but I hardly know anything about him – other than the fact that he was an actor, and now he’s an Omega crony.

“Jeff is dead now, if I’m not mistaken.” Harry shrugs. “What a pity. So many people dying on both sides of the war. It’s a waste, really.”

I grit my teeth, infuriated, fighting the urge to make a cutting retort. Harry is just trying to bait me – he knows what will make me angry.

Sometimes he’s too smart for his own good.

“Are you going to tell the military units in Monterey that you’re holding me hostage?” I ask.
“Because they’re not going to negotiate with you. We don’t negotiate with Omega anymore.”

Harry raises an inquisitive eyebrow. He doesn’t believe me? Fine.

He will learn.

We drive for about twenty-five minutes before coming to a halt in the midst of a foggy grove of sand dunes. The Humvees’ engines cut out. The doors open. Harry mock gestures for me to exit first. I do, rolling my eyes. When I step outside, my defense instinct goes into overdrive. There are Omega troops
everywhere
. They cover the dunes like ants, filling in all the available free space.

The breath leaves my lungs, and I know that the color has drained from my face. My legs shake slightly. I am literally in the heart of enemy territory, surrounded by hundreds of soldiers who would gladly shoot me on sight if asked.

I am in trouble. Big trouble.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Harry purrs, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Omega isn’t the only one who can stage a surprise attack.”

I level my gaze.

“We will push you out,” I tell him.

“You’ll try.” Harry nods, and the guards take me by the arm, leading me through the encampment. I notice that everything and everyone here is totally silent. There is no conversation, no background noise. Omega is literally sitting here, twenty miles out of the city, hidden. Waiting to strike an unsuspecting Monterey.

But how could they have moved this many troops here without us knowing about it? Surely the air patrols saw them – people like Manny are always flying security. We have to know about this.

We
have
to.

But what if Omega was waiting to move their troops when the fog rolled in?
I think.
What if they’re hiding their numbers in the dunes? What if Monterey really has no idea what’s coming their way?