Free State of Rebellion (Collapse Series) by Summer Lane Page A

militia will remain behind to protect the camp in case something happens while we’re gone. Desmond is waiting with the
Rangers,
his odd hair, weapons and medical kit all contradictions of each other. Manny is standing between the two groups.
    “You’re not a scout,” Dad grumbles, adjusting his hat.
    Manny squints at him. “I’m a born scout. Done recon all my life. Who was the one whoalerted you to the convoy in the first place? It sure wasn’t any of your Pony Express boys in the Underground.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his duster. Jaw set. “I’m coming with you.”
    Dad doesn’t argue the point. Manny
is
a scout. An air scout.
    “Very well. You’re with my unit, squad one.”
    Desmond nods to me, pulling what I
think
is a pine needle out of his unruly beard. I don’t think I want to know. “Feeling okay, Hart?” he asks. “No abnormal pain or discomfort?”
    “Nope,” I grin. “I’m sore but I’m fine.”
    “Good. Hey, I’ve got some killer herbal tea for you.”
    “Uh, thanks…”
    “What happened to you?” Manny asks.
    “I got shot.”
    “Ah.” He looks me up and down. “You going to be okay?”
    “Yeah. I’m a born scout, too.”
    Manny smirks, his sunburned face crinkling into a thousand lines and wrinkles.
    “You know, Doc,” he says to Desmond, “you medic boys have your hands full around here.”
    “Yeah,” Desmond shrugs.
    Manny jerks his thumb at Desmond’s long, wild hair threaded with beads and feathers. “Looks like a bird made its nest on your head.”
    Desmond blinks.
    “Respect the hair, man.”
    I pull my hair back from my forehead, torn between being annoyed or amused. Weretrieve our weapons and leave the compound on foot. Chris forms up the detail.
    “Open formation patrol from here on,” he says, “Derek, you’re on point. Everybody buddy-check your gear.” Derek draws himself up to his full height, taking the forward position, his white-blonde hair like a homing beacon to follow. As we quickly check each other’s gear and set-ups, a bubble of anxiety swells in my chest. Whenever I leave on a mission, I realize anything could go wrong. I could die. My friends could die. It’s this knowledge – this
fear
– that sharpens my senses and gives me an adrenaline boost every time.
    Chris says, “Okay, boys. Everybody go weapons hot.”
    We lock and load our rifles. The sharp sound of metal against metal, of bullets beingloaded into an empty chamber is an ominous sound in a quiet forest. I hang behind Chris with Vera, Manny and Desmond. Dad is out front. Alexander is with Chris, and Jeff is sticking close to Sophia as we work our way down the main road with Derek and Max. No sounds. No unnecessary noise. The realization that we may or may not be meeting Omega on the road puts everyone in a cautious mood.
    We move along the trail, checking our sectors of fire, keeping our weapons ready. We reach the blockaded road. A platoon of rough militiamen is guarding the area. They know we’re coming. “Any activity?” Chris asks the head of the platoon – the same guard we met on the way in, Uriah.
    “No, sir,” he replies. “Not yet.”
    “Good. Carry on.”
    We stake out in the thick foliage. I settle in next to Chris while the rest of our detail disperses. “What if they don’t come down the main road?” I ask.
    “They will.”
    “But what if they don’t? What if they just go
around
the road and hit the camp?”
    “They won’t.” Chris gives my arm a quick, reassuring squeeze. “From what Manny described, this is a military convoy. They
will
send out scouts ahead of them.”
    “What if they’re Omega scouts?”
    He doesn’t answer. Because we both know the answer to that question.
    They can’t be allowed to return.
    “They’re not Omega,” Chris says.
    “The convoy?” I ask.
    “Right.” He leans against a tree. “According to the latest scouting reports, this is a United States military convoy.”
    “Do we know that for