feel is the right thing to do. This is what I’ve decided.”
He gives me a long, sad look.
“Please, Cassie,” he says at last, softly. “Don’t go.”
I blink hard and fight the urge to cry, walking across the porch. I need to be strong. I wrap my arms around my father, giving him a hug. His embrace is tight and final.
“I love you, Dad,” I say. “You know that.”
A pause.
“I know.”
I pull away. His expression is one of utter defeat – something I’ve never seen in him before. It frightens me. I bite my lip and take a few steps backward, turning on my heel and climbing down the front porch steps.
“Cassidy,” Dad says.
I turn.
“I love you, too.” He folds his hands together, leaning against the railing. “Be careful.”
I nod.
And then I’m gone.
There’s no turning back now.
Chapter Eight
Retrofitted jeeps and pickup trucks don’t make the most efficient convoy lineup in the world, but hey. If it works, it works. At this point, I’m becoming less and less critical of just about everything under the sun. Case in point, I’m heading into the back of an older military transport jeep. A line of transport trucks is waiting near the front entrance of Camp Freedom, ready to leave. It’s midnight.
I’m outfitted in my militia uniform – military pants, jacket and blue armband tied around my bicep. I’ve got my rifle, my bulletproof vest, my backpack full of gear.
I sling my rifle over my shoulder and climb the metal stairs of the last massive truck in the lineup, sitting down on a bench. They faceeach other, covered in nylon netting. Metal rods parallel the benches above me. The walls and ceiling are made of a heavy tarpaulin-like sheet printed in camouflage colors. It’s hot inside, and getting more crowded by the minute. Men and women. Former teachers and bank clerks. Brothers and sisters. Cashiers and baristas in another life. I set my backpack down and hold my rifle barrel up, drawing my knees closer to my chest. Sophia squeezes in next to me, and right behind her is Vera. She sits down on the bench across from mine.
Great.
She says nothing. I say nothing. Obviously this is going to be awkward.
The truck fills up with more people. We simply can’t fit any more passengers. The back gate in the truck goes up, sealing with a loudmetallic boom. My heart accelerates and Sophia jumps, grabbing my arm. I’ve never been big on being trapped in confined spaces. Especially with a ton of people in a truck, moving down a mountain in an active warzone.
There’s a first time for everything.
It’s getting stuffy fast back here, and as the doors continue to slam and militiamen and women keep piling into the trucks, I suddenly wish Chris were here. As our commander, he’s in the lead Humvee with Angela. I chose to stay with the
Freedom Fighters
in the transport trucks. I didn’t want to leave Sophia alone.
But I’d rather be with Chris.
The convoy roars to life. The trucks roll forward, diesel engines roaring to life, spitting strong fumes, the hard suspension of the vehicles hitting every pothole in the road with a bang. Itjars my teeth. With nothing but dark walls and human faces to stare at, the jerking, rocking motion of the truck is enough to make me seriously carsick.
I am aware of the exact second we cross Camp Freedom’s boundary line. The convoy speeds up, reaching the amazing speed of 15 miles per hour. Sophia and I share a sad, meaningful glance.
“Goodbye, Camp Freedom,” I whisper.
She nods, tears glistening in her eyes. But she doesn’t cry.
If Vera overhears me she doesn’t say anything. She just sits silently, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Maybe leaving the camp is just as hard for her as it is for me. I don’t know. At least she didn’t have to leave her mother behind.
Goodbye, Dad…
Goodbye everything.
The central valley is something I haven’t seen in a long time. After being a guerilla war fighter in the high mountains and foothills
He gives me a long, sad look.
“Please, Cassie,” he says at last, softly. “Don’t go.”
I blink hard and fight the urge to cry, walking across the porch. I need to be strong. I wrap my arms around my father, giving him a hug. His embrace is tight and final.
“I love you, Dad,” I say. “You know that.”
A pause.
“I know.”
I pull away. His expression is one of utter defeat – something I’ve never seen in him before. It frightens me. I bite my lip and take a few steps backward, turning on my heel and climbing down the front porch steps.
“Cassidy,” Dad says.
I turn.
“I love you, too.” He folds his hands together, leaning against the railing. “Be careful.”
I nod.
And then I’m gone.
There’s no turning back now.
Chapter Eight
Retrofitted jeeps and pickup trucks don’t make the most efficient convoy lineup in the world, but hey. If it works, it works. At this point, I’m becoming less and less critical of just about everything under the sun. Case in point, I’m heading into the back of an older military transport jeep. A line of transport trucks is waiting near the front entrance of Camp Freedom, ready to leave. It’s midnight.
I’m outfitted in my militia uniform – military pants, jacket and blue armband tied around my bicep. I’ve got my rifle, my bulletproof vest, my backpack full of gear.
I sling my rifle over my shoulder and climb the metal stairs of the last massive truck in the lineup, sitting down on a bench. They faceeach other, covered in nylon netting. Metal rods parallel the benches above me. The walls and ceiling are made of a heavy tarpaulin-like sheet printed in camouflage colors. It’s hot inside, and getting more crowded by the minute. Men and women. Former teachers and bank clerks. Brothers and sisters. Cashiers and baristas in another life. I set my backpack down and hold my rifle barrel up, drawing my knees closer to my chest. Sophia squeezes in next to me, and right behind her is Vera. She sits down on the bench across from mine.
Great.
She says nothing. I say nothing. Obviously this is going to be awkward.
The truck fills up with more people. We simply can’t fit any more passengers. The back gate in the truck goes up, sealing with a loudmetallic boom. My heart accelerates and Sophia jumps, grabbing my arm. I’ve never been big on being trapped in confined spaces. Especially with a ton of people in a truck, moving down a mountain in an active warzone.
There’s a first time for everything.
It’s getting stuffy fast back here, and as the doors continue to slam and militiamen and women keep piling into the trucks, I suddenly wish Chris were here. As our commander, he’s in the lead Humvee with Angela. I chose to stay with the
Freedom Fighters
in the transport trucks. I didn’t want to leave Sophia alone.
But I’d rather be with Chris.
The convoy roars to life. The trucks roll forward, diesel engines roaring to life, spitting strong fumes, the hard suspension of the vehicles hitting every pothole in the road with a bang. Itjars my teeth. With nothing but dark walls and human faces to stare at, the jerking, rocking motion of the truck is enough to make me seriously carsick.
I am aware of the exact second we cross Camp Freedom’s boundary line. The convoy speeds up, reaching the amazing speed of 15 miles per hour. Sophia and I share a sad, meaningful glance.
“Goodbye, Camp Freedom,” I whisper.
She nods, tears glistening in her eyes. But she doesn’t cry.
If Vera overhears me she doesn’t say anything. She just sits silently, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Maybe leaving the camp is just as hard for her as it is for me. I don’t know. At least she didn’t have to leave her mother behind.
Goodbye, Dad…
Goodbye everything.
The central valley is something I haven’t seen in a long time. After being a guerilla war fighter in the high mountains and foothills
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