“We’ll keep her away from the windows,” Chris replies.

Her, of course, means me.

“It’s all we have right now,” Chris offers, as if reading my mind.

I sigh. “Where should I sit?”

“In the corner.” Chris cracks a wry grin. There is a large table in the corner of the car, away from the windows. “Try to stay seated the whole time, if you can. The less movement there is, the less chance of anyone being able to see where you’re sitting.” He’s right.

I sit in the far seat in the corner, surrounded by more sandbags. There are papers and documents here, notebooks and pencils. Maps, outlines and mission rosters. I pick up a pencil and scan the items. I need to assemble my strategy for the negotiations, and the long train ride to Monterey is as good of a time as any.

“I want to get familiar with the layout of the train,” Andrew announces.

“You can do a recon,” Chris concedes. “Take the others with you.”

Andrew, Vera and Uriah slip out of the car, checking the other parts of the train. I stare at the emergency map on the wall, getting familiar without moving from my seat.

“I know what’s bothering you,” Chris begins as soon as we are alone. “And you need to understand that what happened in my past has nothing to do with you.”

I don’t remove my gaze from the wall. Hearing Chris talk about his past like it’s a secret, inaccessible thing makes me sick to my stomach. I’ve told him everything about me… he’s told me almost nothing about himself. I only know what I have seen.

“It has everything to do with me,” I say softly, “because I’m a part of you now.”

At this, Chris’s expression changes. He’s always so good at maintaining a poker face — never letting his true emotions shine through. But for a brief, surprising moment, he looks taken aback.

Completely surprised.

“Hey boss,” Uriah says, popping back into the car. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Chris composes himself immediately, and the flash of emotion is gone.

“Sure,” he replies. “Coming.”

I fold my hands in my lap, clenching my jaw. After a good half an hour of getting ready, the doors on the train car slide shut and the core members of my security detail return to the train car that I am sitting in.

I wonder, briefly, what the outcome of this mission will be.

Will we fail? Will we survive?

Will I do my job correctly?

Go with your gut, common sense tells me. Plan your goals and objectives just like you’re planning a mission. Just like Operation Angel Pursuit. Know the game, and you can win. Be strategic. Be tactical. Use that pure instinct that you have on the battlefield.

Pure instinct, eh? I’d be way more comfortable staked out on a roof with a rifle. It’s what I have become used to. It’s what has become routine. But this? This is a whole new ballgame.

A lot rides on me. I know that.

I just hope I can live up to California’s expectations.

Chapter Five

“How do you think the world will end, Dad?” I ask, sitting on the stool next to the kitchen counter. Dad is opening a jar of chili, halfway listening to my chatter. “Daaaaad. Did you hear me?”

“Yes, Cassie, I heard you.” Dad opens the can and smiles. “I don’t know.”

“I know.”

“Really? Care to share?”

I push back my curly red hair and lean over the counter. All ten years of my wisdom have accumulated to come up with this theory. “Aliens,” I say.

Dad busts up laughing.

“What?” I demand. “It could happen!”

Dad shakes his head.

“It could,” he replies. “But probably not. The end of the world will likely be significantly less dramatic than an alien invasion.”

“Then how do you think it will end?”

Dad musses my hair.

“I hope it never does, kiddo.”

The first hour of the train ride is slow. In order to leave the station, we have to cross a trestle that stretches across the Sacramento River. It’s huge, old and rusty. I don’t like the looks of it. We roll along. The train sways right and left, enough to make you sick — if you’re sensitive to that sort of thing.

“Cassidy?”

The connecting doors between the cars opens. Uriah steps inside. He immediately gauges the sitting positions of Chris and myself, then raises an eyebrow. I give him a look.

“Um… I thought you might want to meet someone,” Uriah says, turning his attention completely to me. “This is Elle Costas. She has the bomb dog.”

This is a real asset for the security detail — or any military team — to have a dog that can detect explosives or poison. Dogs in warzones overseas and with local law enforcement agencies in the states have saved the lives of countless people by locating lethal explosives and caches of weapons buried in roadways and ambush points.

I sit up straight. A sleek, beautiful German Shepherd walks into the car. He is calm, trained to maintain control even in a closed, moving train car. His eyes are dark and I immediately take a liking to him. He’s wearing a black vest.

His handler is holding him by a thick leash and harness. It’s a girl. She’s young, probably in her teens. It’s hard to tell her age, exactly. Glistening black hair is cut short. Her eyes are clear and blue. There is a scar on her left cheek. A black shirt is tucked into black combat pants and boots.

“Senator Hart,” she says softly, nodding.

“Hello,” I reply. “You’re Elle?”

“Yes.”

“I like that name.” I gesture toward the dog. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Bravo,” she says.

“How did you get into dog handling? You seem… young.”

Elle glances at Chris, who is studying her closely.

“I am young,” she replies. “I found this dog. Actually, he found me. Didn’t know he was a bomb dog at first, but the militias in the Central Valley did. They taught me how to work with him. He’s a rarity, anymore, Senator.”

I watch the dog closely. He’s a beautiful creature, really.

“This is Commander Chris Young,” I say, nodding toward Chris. “You’ve already met Uriah and the rest of the Lieutenants?”

Elle replies, “Yes.” She tilts her head toward Chris. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Chris crosses his arms.

“How old is your dog?” he asks.

Elle shrugs. “I’m guessing three or four,” she answers.

“Interesting that he’s taken a liking to you.” Chris stands up. At six feet, four inches, he is a giant compared to the tiny Elle. She stares at him. “Take care of your dog, and he’ll take care of you.”

Chris nods at Uriah. “I’ll be back. Stay with the senator.”

He exits the train car.

“Sit down, Elle,” I say, pointing to the seat across from my table. “Tell me about yourself.”

I briefly remove my gaze from the myriad of plans and rosters on the table in front of me, focusing on the young, dark haired girl. Elle slowly takes a seat, her dog alert and calm beside her.

“Where are you from, Elle?”

A girl this young should not be alone, working with the militia and the National Guard. But here she is. I don’t ask the obvious: Where is your family? She, like me, has probably lost hers.

“Hollywood,” she replies.

“Really? I’m from Culver City,” I answer. “I was just there a couple of weeks ago,” I reply.

“In Hollywood?”

“Well, downtown Los Angeles. Toluca Lake.” I look at Uriah. “We were both there. On a mission.”

“Is there anything left?” Elle leans forward. She looks desperate. “Is the Klan still in control?”

“The Klan?”

“When I was living in Hollywood, after the EMP and the chemical weapons, most of Los Angeles was overrun by a gang called the Klan. They’re pretty brutal.” She pauses. “I was at a ranch in the Tehachapi Mountains. My Uncle’s place, after the EMP. I went back afterwards… it was empty. He was gone. Everything I thought I knew was changed. That fast.” Elle bites her lip, the ghost of bad memories dancing in her eyes.