The base is tense. It wouldn't take a fully sober man to feel it. Air is thick and heavy, as if an electric storm is on its way. There's a strange silence too, no birds or nothing like that, and it's odd 'cause we're less than a mile outside of thick woodland. Whole area used to be a national park and it should be brimming with life.

"Come on," says Elena. "This way."

I don't resist. Don't see the point now. I ain't getting out of here unless they let me. I'm led down a path made from fresh wood-chippings. US marines are stationed outside two of the bubble-like tents, Cali-Corps soldiers are outside the others. This should be solely a California matter, but they don't have the resources to manage something this big -- so, as usual, they've invited the good old US of A along for the ride. A forest fire? Well maybe Cali could cover that, if it wasn't too big. If the flames weren't too hot for them. Maybe. But an airborne contagion of unknown origin rapidly spreading through their country? A little beyond their abilities.

Everyone had known this kind of shit -- Cali not being able to sort out their own problems -- would be an issue, back when they had seceded. Or at least, we'd all guessed it would be an issue. California had wealth, no doubt about it. Its president as rich and decadent as any middle-eastern sultan.

And they had land, too. But what they were missing out on were balls. They'd traded them in to have a country of their own. They had been born on the motto of peace: no A-bombs, no H-bombs, a standing army that could fit in a warehouse -- how was a country like that going to deal with a real threat?

They weren't.

They'd just hoped the uneasy global peace that the Storm Guards had helped to force into place was going to last. And if it didn't: Ring ring; hello, is that America?

Their motto was peace, but like any rich country, their wealth was covered in blood.

The plastic make-shift building I'm being led to is the biggest of the tents. Reminds me of a tacky looking observatory, the way its roof is high and domed. It's the only tent with one american solider and one cali solider posted outside of it. A show of unity, of equal power. Strangely magnanimous of America.

"Inside," Elena says from over my shoulder.

I turn back to look at her. Carlos is gone. "Where's your boyfriend?"

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Colleague."

Do I sense an edge of bitterness in her answer?

"He's got his own work to get on with. Inside."

The light is white; even though the sun is pouring in through the clear plastic ceiling, it's getting filtered and turned into what you'd expect in a hospital. We're in a corridor and the ground is little more than a dirty canvas covered in boot prints.

"Last door on the left," says Elena. "Good luck."

"Will I need it?"

She shrugs. "I think we all need it. Nothing we've been able to do has stopped this... this death zone from expanding."

"Maybe your boss doesn't want it stopped."

"What's that meant to mean?" she snaps.

I raise my arms. "I don't know. Just seems a bit strange that America and the Storm Guards have been defeated by a fog."

Her face is red. Not fury, not remorse, but something in between. Embarrassment, "It's not like we haven't tried! We've lost dozens of soldiers! -- not to mention four of our most valuable assets. We even..." Her voice trails off as she realises what she's about to say.

"Kidnapped me," I finish for her. "Is that why you joined the bureau? Kidnap. Murder. To just feel powerful? I know that's what makes a lot of cocks hard around here -- like your boyfriend's. I saw that grin when he froze my legs. Does he smile like that when he freezes your wrists together in the bedroom?"

I almost regret saying it. It wasn't Ellena that tricked me, after all, not really. That was Carlos. She just came to pick us up, following orders. Paid for the beers, too. Although for that, maybe I shouldn't thank her.

Still, she was in on it all. There are none alive without some guilt to carry.

"It's not like that," she says. "Not with him. Not with me. Look, I don't have gifts like your kind, but I knew from very early on that I was special; that I could make a difference to the world, even if my contribution was small. I was a smart kid. High IQ. Didn't take me long to realize that the best thing to do with my brain was to use it to save lives."

She should have become a doctor, I think. "Well I hope you start saving some soon. Cause right now, looks like you guys are doing jack-shit."

I begin to walk on, alone, when Elena says, "I am sorry."

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"We wanted to get you here without... Without any force, you understand. We wanted you to want to come -- and you for a while you did want to. What I mean is: I'm sorry about the lying and the ice and the handcuffs."

"Oh, you don't need to apologize about the handcuffs, Elle," I say, with a wink, using the name I'd heard Carlos give.

She flinches. "I just wanted to say sorry. And that we're on the same team."

"What team's that, exactly?"

"We're both trying to stop people dying."

I smother a laugh -- if they put me in that gas cloud, they've no idea what'll happen to me. "You mean, people other than me, right?"

Her eyebrows furrow and I can almost see the guilt spill out of her. Good.

I turn and march down the corridor.