“General Stewart-Bennett wants to help.” Things were ugly down south, but in the States, they’d be different. The Army would protect people. It would rebuild. Camila believed that. This was home, after all. “That’s why she’s coming. To help.”

  Papa stuffed a chunk of potato in his mouth. “That’s great news, but I’m a bit concerned. How many of you are there in total?”

  “Almost ten thousand, last I heard.”

  He let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot.”

  “A lot?” she spat. “There were over a million American troops south of the border. All that’s left is us and the Washington unit. The rest are dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said patiently. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m thinking about Flagstaff and our food supply. It’s critical as is. Now, with the Army coming to town, we potentially have many more people to feed.”

  Camila had expected this kind of situation. Honestly, she’d expected worse: like half of Flagstaff dead. Idly, she wondered if her bullies were alive. A part of her hoped so. She wanted to see the looks on their faces when “Four Heads” showed up to save them.

  A smile tugged at her lips as she told her parents the good news: “General Stewart-Bennett sent me and Major Salinas up here so fast because she has a proposition for you.”

  6

  In the morning, first thing, Jenn brought the solar Dodge’s keys to the Ruiz house and introduced Sam to Camila. Gary briefed them on how his daughter survived and found her way home. The part about the AI censors outraged Sam, of course. It gave Jenn the creeps. She thought back to some of the messages from her brothers: the ones where Jason hadn’t asked about her softball and Andrew hadn’t asked about her grades. Had they been fakes? Had they received any fake messages from her in return? She’d never know.

  Next, they were headed to Militia HQ for her 7:00 a.m. shift.

  “She seemed fine to me,” Sam said, about Camila, as they walked along University toward Milton. “She’s definitely no Allison, but she’s no Sophie, either. She kind of reminds me of Charlie. They’re both very serious.”

  Except Charlie hadn’t given Jenn bad vibes. “Something just feels off about her. You know what I mean?”

  “No, actually.” Sam whacked the branch of a ponderosa pine. “What do you mean?”

  “She rubs me the wrong way, I guess. We didn’t exactly click yesterday, and I saw how she looked at the Militia at the roadblock, like we were a bunch of clowns.”

  “You’re jealous,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Her cheeks went instantly hot. “I’m not—” She didn’t let herself finish; Sam could see straight through her lies. “Okay, maybe I’m a little bit jealous. Gary and Maria did basically forget about me on their driveway yesterday.”

  “I get it.” He bumped her shoulder with his. “It’s a weird situation, for sure, so cut them some slack, especially Camila. She’s had an intense year. If you were in her shoes, you’d be grumpy, too.”

  Not that grumpy, she said to herself. Then, out loud, “Point taken. I’ll try not to judge, but her and Gary could’ve at least told us why the envoy rushed forward.”

  “They probably don’t want word getting out before they talk to Liam and Morrison, and we all know how good you are at keeping your mouth shut.”

  By good, he meant terrible. She didn’t disagree. In her defense, Quinn was worse. “It’s still driving me nuts.” She clapped her hands to shoo away a murder of crows pecking at a torn bag of trash on the sidewalk. “What do you think this is all about? It’s obviously important.”

  “Not sure,” Sam said. “It could be to update us on why the Army’s not here yet. Or maybe they want to know if we have enough food to feed all of them.”

  “Which we don’t.”

  “No, we don’t.” He picked up his pace. “Come on. If we get there a bit early, we can ask around, see if anyone knows anything.”

  Militia HQ buzzed with activity. On the grassy area in front of the main entrance, dozens of Militia troops mingled with a handful of camo-clad soldiers showing off their rifles and gear. Above, a robin-sized drone flew in circles while a soldier controlled it via a screen on his wrist. Grunts and even a few fire team leaders hooted and clapped like kids at a magic show.

  Quinn noticed Sam and Jenn coming, broke away from the crowd, and jogged over, lime-green hair flowing behind her. “Hey! About time you showed up.”

  “It’s 6:45,” Jenn said. “I’m fifteen minutes early.”

  “Yeah, but today’s no normal day.” Quinn punched Sam in the shoulder. “Howdy, Samuel. What brings you to the barracks this fine morning?”

  “I’m headed up to the farm later, but I thought I’d stop by and find out what’s up. You got any details for us?”

  “The soldiers stayed in a shelter downtown last night. You should see the stuff they have.” Quinn dipped her head toward the M4 hanging from Jenn’s shoulder. “They have third-generation M7 assault rifles. They’re 6.8×51 millimeters and can pierce all but heavy-duty body armor.” She mimicked an explosion with her hands. “And their helmets, they have these crazy visors with heads-up displays and comms systems. Not to mention the drones. Man, the drones. They’re so cool. Most of them are dead and need charging, but they have these tiny ones—bug drones, they call them—that are the size of flies. They can zip around and map rooms for you in seconds.”

  “Bug drones, huh?” Jenn could’ve used those when Vincent Grierson had Mayor Andrews tied up at Peak Party in June. “Any of the soldiers say why the envoy rushed up?”

  “Nope. And believe me, we’ve been asking. I did hear that Mayor Ruiz’s daughter came with them. When she showed up at the roadblock, he was so shocked he threw up.” Quinn clamped her mouth shut. “That’s what I heard, anyway. I don’t know if it’s true.”

  “He didn’t puke,” Jenn said. “He fainted. And I don’t blame him. If my parents popped up out of nowhere, I’d faint, too.”

  “Yeah, same.” Quinn’s gaze grew distant. Her family, in San Diego, was probably dead, killed by the bombs, but like Jenn, she hadn’t found any real closure. A part of her might still wonder if they’d somehow survived.

  “How many of them are there?” Jenn had asked Gary this at the house, but he’d said, A lot. Then, I’ll tell you more later.

  A sense of awe buzzed in Quinn’s voice: “About ten thousand.”

  “Ten thousand?” The number hit Jenn like a bat to the nose. “Holy crap. That’s a third of Flagstaff’s population!”

  Sam shot her a worried look. “Do they have any food?”

  “Like, enough for the whole town?” Quinn scratched her ear. “Doesn’t sound like it.”

  Jenn felt the heat of the pyre, smelled the burning flesh. With ten thousand extra people eating Flagstaff’s rations, she’d find herself in the flames even sooner. About 33.33 percent sooner.

  A bolt of fear struck her then. Would the Army share what little food was left?

  Or would they just take it for themselves?

  The Militia had stopped the White Horde, but only barely. It wouldn’t stand a chance against ten thousand battle-hardened soldiers armed with the most advanced weapons in the history of warfare.

  “When will they be here?” Sam asked.

  Quinn leaned against a Tesla pickup with a Colorado license plate and bullet holes in the door panel—a gift from the Great Khan. “The march is going slower than they expected. They were still like four hundred miles from the border when the envoy left a few days ago. They think it’ll be six or eight weeks before they get to Phoenix.”

  “Six or eight weeks,” Jenn echoed in relief. Flagstaff had two months to solve the food problem on its own.

  “Most of them are on foot,” Quinn added. “They have some vehicles, but they’re being used for equipment and supplies. They’re also marching through the desert right now, so they need to stop and find water all the time.”

  Sam hummed thoughtfully. “Ten thousand people would drink a lot every day.”

  “I heard it’s been pretty brutal. Apparently, the troops who came up with the envoy consider themselves lucky. They don’t wanna go back.” Quinn pushed herself off the truck. “You want me to introduce you? I made friends with one of the corporals.” She flicked her hair and puckered her lips.

  “You do love a man in uniform,” Jenn said. “But maybe later. I should get ready for my shift.”

  As they turned toward the barracks, Liam came out the front door, shadowed by a pair of Bravo Company troopers armed with M4s. Ignoring the stares from the men and women outside, they beelined it to a pickup parked nearby.

  “He must be heading out to meet with Gary and . . .” Jenn twisted her mouth to the side. “What did Camila say the envoy’s name was?”

  “Salinas,” Sam said. “Major Salinas.”

  “Any idea what they’re meeting about?” Quinn asked.

  “Nope.” Jenn watched the truck pull away. “I would love to be a fly on the wall in that room, though.”

  7

  The conference room at city hall was chilly and dark. Dead, black LED screens hung from the walls, and the air reeked of smoke from the barrel stove downstairs.

  Camila sat on one side of a long table with Major Salinas, while Liam Kipling of the Flagstaff Militia, Chief Craig Morrison of the Flagstaff Police Department, and a severe-looking woman named Sophie Beaumont sat opposite them. Papa sat at the head.

  Papa, the mayor. It still sounded so weird. He’d made a name for himself in Flagstaff by volunteering at food banks and consulting with the police, sure, but he hated being the center of attention. Hated it more than Camila. He became mayor for the right reasons, then, and she was proud of him. Relieved, too. It’d be easier to coordinate with him than a stranger.

  She also had a feeling that her blood relationship with the mayor was the only reason Salinas had invited her to city hall this morning.

  The major’s voice echoed in the empty space. “Thank you again for meeting with us, Mayor Ruiz. And my apologies for the . . . incident yesterday. General Stewart-Bennett wanted to take every necessary precaution to ensure your safety.”

  “I understand,” Papa said, sheepishly, and his cheeks turned a shade redder.

  Camila seethed in silence. Salinas had insisted that she step out of that Humvee without any warning. We need your father’s cooperation, he’d said on the drive up from Prescott. The surprise of seeing you again could make him more amenable to our offer. Then he’d flashed his perfectly straight teeth, like Rebeka Aknin’s in high school, and she buried the urge to knock them out of his mouth. She’d get the last laugh either way: when General Stewart-Bennett found out, she would be pissed. Hopefully the major liked pointless paperwork, because soon enough, he’d be drowning in it.

  He stroked his freshly shaved chin. “Staff Sergeant Ruiz has told me she’s filled you in on our situation. She’s also briefed me on what you and Prescott went through to survive. It’s quite a feat, coming this far with so much of your population intact.”

  Sophie Beaumont made a noise with the back of her throat. “‘Quite a feat,’ he says. It doesn’t sound all that rosy if you think of it the other way around. Would you like to know how many of us have died, Major? I keep a running tally in my head in case someone such as yourself needs to have his perspective corrected.”

  Papa shifted in his chair, Liam rubbed his forehead, and Chief Morrison coughed awkwardly into his fist. Camila bit back a grin. She hadn’t heard anyone speak to Salinas so bluntly. Even better, he was irked: she could tell by the way his nostrils were flaring.

  He maintained his composure, though, and wore an apologetic expression. “I meant no offense, Mrs. Beaumont, I assure you.”

  “Of course not,” Sophie said with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

  Salinas leaned forward in his chair. “Now, how much do you all know about the state of the country? About the world outside Flagstaff and Prescott?”

  “Very little,” Papa said. “Aside from taking in some refugees, we’ve traded with the Navajo Nation and sent scouts to Nevada and New Mexico. Only the scouts from New Mexico returned. Occasionally, we pick up something on shortwave, but the airways are fairly quiet. Either not many people know how to use ham radios or they’re choosing not to.”

  “A mix of the two, likely.” Liam wore all black—black jacket, black pants, black boots—and his hair was cut short, almost buzzed. He looked nothing like the friendly neighbor who came to Papa’s barbeques. He looked like a soldier. A leader. Too bad he led a posse of poorly armed college kids who didn’t have enough guts to enlist and fight the real war. “We’ve been cautious about what we put out there. Even with Prescott, we communicate infrequently and in code.”

  Salinas nodded along. “Smart. I assume you’ve heard of the coup against President Duncan, at least?”

  “Yes,” Papa said. “But then nothing afterward.”

  “I see.” Salinas rudely reached across the table and helped himself to a pitcher of water. “According to our sources, General Rodriguez himself was murdered only two weeks later. We’re not sure what happened next. For all intents and purposes, the federal government ceases to exist.” He poured himself a glass from the pitcher, spilling a few drops and not cleaning them up. “From what we can tell, the country has in large part been reduced to a patchwork of survivor communities like yours.”

  “Anything bigger?” Morrison asked as he ran his fingers through his thick white beard. “State governments, maybe?”

  “State governments, no. Not officially, anyway. As for larger territorial units, there are some. About a dozen entities claim to be the Republic of Texas. In California, there’s the Republic of the Bear and the California Free State. Something called the Kingdom claims hegemony over portions of eastern Washington state. We know almost nothing about them, aside from their names. They could be entirely fictional.”

  “And you folks are here to, what, bring back the light of civilization?” Sophie asked.

  “In a word, yes. General Stewart-Bennett isn’t naive enough to think she can restore the federal government or its territorial integrity, but she does intend to build something resembling what we once had. Democracy, safety, stability. A future for our children.” Salinas paused and folded his arms on the table. “We hope to have Flagstaff and Prescott play a central role in all this.”

  Sophie grunted, incredulously, and now Camila was irked. Salinas might be a salesman, but General Stewart-Bennett always kept her word. Like when she vowed to break the Dom Pedro defensive line in Nicaragua or take—and then later hold—the Panama Canal. Like when she promised that Camila would see her parents again.

  “We’d be honored,” Papa said seriously as he gave Camila a sly wink.

  “Excellent.” Salinas’s excitement seemed almost genuine. “The Phoenix area should make an ideal base of operations for us. It was already one of the hottest places in the country, so the effects of the smoke cover should be less than in cooler climates. It was also spared some of the devastation of other major cities.”

  “Spared?” Papa, Liam, and Morrison all asked at once.

  Sophie said, “Five bombs landed on Phoenix, Major. Care to clarify how our Phoenician friends were spared?”

  “Our missile-defense system. It was wholly inadequate for what the Chinese and Russians threw at us, but it did shoot down some incoming warheads, including a number destined for targets in the Southwest.” Salinas tapped his fingernails against his glass. The tink-tink-tink made Camila’s teeth ache. “Hence why Albuquerque was only hit once and Santa Fe, the state capital of New Mexico, wasn’t hit at all. It would explain why Hoover Dam survived as well. Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego, New York, Boston—they were all hit with twenty-plus bombs, many of them ground bursts that saturated the surrounding area in radioactive fallout.”

  Morrison whistled while Liam and Papa exchanged glances. Even Sophie Beaumont was quiet. Camila had a callous thought: Flagstaff might’ve been safer if the missile-defense system had failed completely. More people almost always meant more danger.

  “It helps that General Stewart-Bennett is an Arizona native,” Salinas added. “Glendale, born and raised. Unfortunately, it seems that Glendale was hit.”

  “It was, as far as we can tell.” Papa steepled his fingers. “I’m told she has a proposition for us and Prescott. Can I ask what she has in mind?”

  Salinas took a moment to drink from his glass. “I’ll be blunt with you, Mayor Ruiz. We’re low on supplies, particularly food. We’ve foraged what we can, and we have enough to make it to Phoenix, but beyond that . . . Well, we need your help.”

  Foraged. What a creative way of saying “plundered.”

  Under the table, Camila’s hands balled themselves into fists. The truth clawed at the inside of her mouth, desperate to come out. Eventually, she’d tell Papa, tell Mom. But not today. This deal needed to happen. Things would be different in the States, anyway. General Stewart-Bennett had promised.

  “You want us to help you?” Sophie laughed and brushed some dirt off her filthy plaid shirt. “I did not have that on my bingo card.”

  “I expect not,” Salinas said. “Simply, what we propose is that Flagstaff and Prescott supply the manpower to begin farming on a large scale in Phoenix. Without electricity to power irrigation and without equipment to plow fields, the work will be extremely labor-intensive, like farming in the eighteenth century, but worse because we don’t have any draft animals. In return, our forces will handle all of your defensive needs, both here and at the farming colonies further south.”

  Papa shot Sophie a knowing look. “That’s interesting.” A hint of amusement colored his words. “Do you know where we could do this much farming? Finding enough seed has been an issue for us.”

  “We were hoping you would.”

 

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