State of Emergency c-1

by Summer Lane

  I stare at him, trying to figure out how he knows all of this. It’s impossible. Only my dad and I ever knew about the Mustang.

  “You’re afraid we’re trying to sabotage your plans for world domination or something,” I say, trying to sound as sarcastic as possible. “Tell me, Keller, how long have you and the Feds been planning this takeover? Because if you’re worried that two people with backpacks full of cookies from McDonald’s are going to throw a wrench in your plans, maybe your strategy isn’t as brilliant as you thought.”

  Keller reacts immediately, backhanding me across the face. I press my hand against my cheek, trying hard not let any tears escape. For a few seconds I can’t breathe, but then my lungs stop seizing up and I’m okay. I look up. Chris is almost red with fury.

  “Let her go,” he says. “Keep me if you want to, but she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “We’ll keep who we want,” Keller snaps, backhanding Chris across the face.

  I can only think that if Chris weren’t surrounded by a bunch of guards and guns, he could take Keller down in two seconds flat. I’d love to see that.

  “I have no love for entrepreneurs,” Keller continues, stepping back to eye both of us. “I’m talking about the two of you, of course. And you have a choice. You can either comply with my wishes and tell me where you’re going and what you knew about the EMP, or you can die. Two more deaths mean nothing to me. It’s your choice. You can have a few moments to discuss.”

  He looks pleased with himself as he flicks a finger, motioning the other Omega pukes out of the room. “Don’t try to escape,” he warns. “You’ll just get shot.”

  They walk outside, leaving us totally visible to them because of the glass door. As soon as the door shuts and Keller’s smug mug makes an exit, I throw my arms around Chris’s neck and embrace him, holding back tears.

  “You look terrible,” I say, sniffling. “Does it hurt?”

  Chris sinks down to the ground and gathers me up in his arms, pressing me against his chest. “I’m fine,” he replies. “And thanks for the compliment.”

  I look up into his face, pressing my fingers against his cheek.

  “How long has it been since they took us?” I ask.

  “Four days,” he replies. “Where are they keeping you?”

  “Upstairs. The last door on the right. You?”

  “In the back of one of their trucks.” He offers a weak grin. “I guess they figured if they put me in a room I’d just break the windows out.”

  “You’re good at that,” I agree, resting my head against his shoulder. He smells sweaty and bloody, but honestly, I don’t care. I don’t think I’ve ever missed another human being so much as I have in the last few days. Solitary confinement does things to you.

  “They’re going to kill us no matter what we tell them,” Chris says at last, tilting my chin up. “You know that, right?”

  I nod, swallowing a thick lump in my throat.

  “I figured,” I answer, shaking. “So we might as well keep our mouths shut.”

  “No. We escape.”

  “Excuse me?” I sit up straight, his arms still around my waist. “How?”

  “Just trust me.”

  “But Chris –”

  “-No buts, Cassidy,” he says, placing one hand on each side of my face. “Just trust.”

  He runs his finger along my bruised eye and frowns, leaning forward.

  “I should kill him,” he mutters, something sparking in his eyes.

  “You? I’d like to kill him,” I correct. “He’s got a serious ego problem.”

  Chris chuckles, resting his forehead against mine. We just sit there for a minute, holding on to each other in the middle of a gross hotel office, closing our eyes. The uber-loud ticking clock eventually tells us that we’ve got sixty seconds left before Keller comes back in and demands information. Chris brushes my hair back right before he presses his lips against my forehead. It’s a short, lingering kiss that takes me by surprise, but I’m not complaining.

  “I’ll take care of you,” he says, thumbing my cheek one more time. “Okay?”

  I nod, loving the way his hands are warm against my face.

  Ding.

  The little bell on top of the office door jingles as Keller walks in on us. He’s got his AT trooper hacks with him, and they look like they just walked into a candy store. Which means they’re probably planning to kill us.

  Some people get a kick out of the weirdest things.

  “How sweet,” Keller says in mock sugariness.

  Chris stands up, pulling me to my feet. I’m still suffering from malnutrition and a possible concussion, so I lean against him for support.

  “Aw, thank you,” I purr. “Almost as adorable as you and your cronies?”

  His face turns ashen gray, like I’ve just made the ultimate insult.

  “You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that,” he replies, irritated, “before the night is over.”

  “I don’t think so,” I muse. “Seeing the expression on your face just now was pretty priceless. Like a Kodak moment. Does somebody have a camera I could borrow?”

  Chris smirks, hiding his grin in my hair as he tightens his grip around my waist. “If you touch a hair on her head,” he says, calm, “I will make your death long and painful.”

  Keller rolls his eyes.

  “You’re both so theatric,” he complains. “I take that as a sign that you’re not going to tell me what I want to know?”

  “Nope,” I reply. “All of our secret information is going to go with us to the grave.”

  “It’s your coffin, not mine,” Keller spits. “Fine.”

  “Cassidy,” Chris says, looking at me. “Duck.”

  “Hmm?”

  What happens next happens so fast that I don’t have time to do anything other than what he says. Chris pulls me to the ground and all of the sudden the two of us are lying on our stomachs with our hands over our heads. Something — it sounds like it’s only two feet away — explodes big time. I can feel heat on my skin as orange flames blast the office. Keller and his hacks are thrown forward, totally losing their footing and crashing into each other. I raise my head and look around, everything moving in slow motion.

  I can see a giant fire outside — way bigger than the bonfire that the soldierswere hanging around earlier. It looks like some of the vehicles have been turned upside down from whatever detonated.

  “Come on!” Chris yells, wrapping his hand around mine. “We have to move!”

  Well, obviously.

  I get up, forgetting about my health issues thanks to a rush of good old-fashioned adrenaline. Chris throws open the door and I’m hit in the face with a wave of heat. Man, it’s hot. I cover my face from the flames that are shooting up from the bonfire, which is now big enough to cook a jumbo jet.

  “What happened?” I shout, following Chris’s lead through the wreckage. Two Humvees are completely flipped over, and as far as I can see, some officials seem to be stuck underneath, pounding on the windows from the inside. I feel guilty for not stopping to do something, then I remember that these people are trying to kill us, so that pretty much destroys my instinct to help them. AT trooper guards that are still upright are hobbling around like they’re drunk, still shocked from the explosion.

  You and me both, pals.

  Chris and I run to the other side of the motel. There aren’t any bad guys over here, because there’s no light or cars. Except for one. It’s a Humvee with anOmega insignia on the side: The O that doubles as a white globe.

  And leaning against the Humvee with a pair of keys in her hands is Isabel.

  “Took you long enough,” she complains, looking cocky.

  “What did you do?” I demand, crossing my arms. Shocked. “How are you here?”

  “I just put a little gasoline on the fire,” she shrugs. “Right, Chris?”

  Chris nods.

  “You did a good job, kid,” he says, slapping her on the back. Then he
takes the keys and opens the door. “Get inside. Now.”

  “I’m totally in the dark here,” I say, climbing across the console in the front seat. Isabel jumps into the back, which is nothing but a storage area of guns, ammo and emergency supplies. “Holy crap! We hit the jackpot!”

  “It’s Keller’s car,” Isabel grins.

  “No way?” I laugh hysterically. “That idiot.”

  Chris turns the key in the ignition. For one scary second I think it’s not going to start, but the engine turns over and we’re home free. “Yes!” Isabel whoops. “It works!”

  Chris looks pretty stoked. I can tell because he stomps on the gas and we charge out of the motel parking lot at illegal speeds.

  “How did you know to come into camp?” I ask Isabel, turning in my seat.

  “I saw where they took you,” she replies. “I found Chris, and the truck had a window. I snuck over and talked to him and he told me that they were going to question both of you in the main office.” She smiles devilishly. Pretty frightening, considering the fact that she’s only twelve. “He told me to throw one of the gas canisters in the fire and run. It worked. That was the best explosion ever!”

  “Unbelievable,” I say, reaching around to hug her. “I am so glad we found you! I knew you’d come in handy. I told you, Chris.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “I believe the gas canister was my idea.”

  “Yeah, but she pulled it off.”

  “Thanks to me.”

  “People, the road!” Isabel screams.

  Chris swerves to miss a car that’s sitting long ways across an intersection. We’re racing full speed through the dark streets of whatever county this is, one orchard after another flashing by. It’s dark, but not as foggy as it was the other night. I’m glad. Foggy enough to hide us, but not too foggy that we can’t drive.

  “They’re going to hunt for us,” Chris says. “They have our stuff. They’ll try to figure out where we were going.”

  “Why?” I say, kicking the door. “We never did anything to them!”

  “We’re anomalies,” Chris shrugs. “They think we’re trying to fight against the new regime.”

  “Maybe we are,” I say bitterly, the adrenaline starting to wear off. The uncertainties — and the headache — are all coming back to me now. “How did Keller know we had the Mustang? How did he know who my dad was?”

  “Apparently there’s still some Internet access that the government’s got going for their boys,” Chris replies, knitting his brow. “Which means we were right, Cassie. Our side did plan the EMP. They planned out everything.”

  I lay my head against the seat, exhausted all of the sudden. Anytime you find out that your own government is trying to kill you, you’re bound to feel a little depressed. I’ll probably need therapy when all this is over.

  “So what do we do?” I say. “We have their car. Will they be able to track us somehow?”

  “I don’t think so,” Chris muses. “Wherever their computer is, it’s in a truck somewhere and it’s probably got limited connection to a satellite.”

  “So we’re safe?” Isabel asks, leaning between our two seats.

  “Yeah,” I say, not wanting to scare the poor kid, even though she’s probably got more courage than me. “We’re okay right now.”

  She sighs and leans her head against my shoulder.

  “Awesomesauce.”

  Chapter Ten

  Around dawn, I see it. The foothills. I whoop for joy and Isabel joins in. Chris just smiles and laughs. “We seriously should get some kind of blue ribbon for getting this far,” I say. “Who’s with me?”

  “Totally with you,” Isabel agrees, giving me a high-five.

  “Chris?” I ask, grinning.

  “Fine. A blue ribbon for everyone.” He shifts in the driver’s seat. He’s probably stiff from the hours of driving he had to do. It took a long time to get here, to find our way out of the five million twists and turns of the country roads. We even had to avoid a cow pasture with a missing fence. Dude, cows are not just stinky. They also have an attitude.

  But now we’re coasting down the road that leads straight into the foothills, right into Squaw Valley. Epic win. We have enough gas in the tank to get us to Chris’s parent’s home, which he says isn’t too far away. That’s assuming we make it through the foothills without running into a stupid roadblock again.

  I’ll never walk in the fog without a flashlight again, I think.

  After that, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Continue to the cabin by myself, I guess. Dad will be expecting me. I have to be there…

  I dump the thought out the window, trying to focus on the positive — a new thing for me, since I’ve always been a self-avowed “realist.” I guess desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “So what are you parents like?” I ask, turning to Chris.

  He shrugs.

  “They’re farmers,” he replies.

  “That’s it? Give me more to work with, here. I’ve got time to listen.”

  “They’ll like you,” he says, smiling. “My dad’s a little rough around the edges… My brother will love you.” He visible cringes when he says the last sentence, which, of course, piques my radar-like curiosity.

  “Oh, so he is single,” I answer, wiggling my eyebrows. “Did you hear that, Isabel? Chris’s brother is single.”

  “Oh, how wonderful,” she drawls, closing her eyes.

  “What’s his name?” I ask.

  “Jeff,” Chris replies, annoyed. “And he’s seventeen. He’s too young for you.”

  “I’m nineteen,” I snort. “That’s like, a two year age difference. Who cares?”

  “Yeah, well…he’s not your type.”

  “Not my type?” I start laughing, holding my head in my hands. “You have no idea what my type is.”

  “Neither do you,” he mutters.

  I just keep on laughing softly, realizing that I can’t seem to stop. At the same time, my headache comes roaring back with all the force of a steam engine. The chills, nausea and all around gross feeling I’ve been fighting off for days hits me in the face like a brick wall. I inhale sharply.

  And then I start crying.

  Just like that. I literally burst into irrational tears. My hands are shaking and I’m acting like an emotional train wreck. All of this happens in about ten minutes, enough time for the pressure to build and for me to make a fool out of myself.

  I think I’m losing my sanity.

  “Cassidy, what’s wrong?” Chris asks, looking slightly worried.

  “Yeah, what’s wrong?” Isabel echoes, poking her head up front.

  “I don’t know,” I gasp, unable to stop sniffling.

  I comb my hair back from my face while Isabel and Chris try to calm me down. “Relax, Cassie,” Chris keeps saying. “Relax. It’s okay. Take a deep breath. This isn’t the end of the world. Ah, okay, it is, but we’re alive, right?”

  “Chris,” I say.

  He casts an anxious glance at me.

  “I’m going to puke,” I state matter-of-factly, feeling nauseas. “Like, right now!”

  I slap my hand over my mouth. Chris slams on the breaks like a racing pro and eases to the side of the road. I throw the door open and jump outside, the cold air stinging my cheeks. I kneel down and vomit all over the gravel, heaving up a bunch of food that I don’t have in my stomach.

  How is that even possible?

  Chris runs around the front of the car and kneels beside me, holding my hair away from my face. He rubs my back as I upchuck some more just for fun, keeping my eyes closed. I just can’t handle gore, even when I’m the one responsible for it.

  “Cassidy, look at me,” Chris says, turning my face towards him. “You’re sick. Okay? That’s all. You’re going to be fine.”

  The lines of his face are tight. I dry heave and look down at the gravel I just plastered with my insides, horrified. It’s bloody. I’m vomiting blood.

  “What�
��s wrong with me?” I ask, shaking.

  He adjusts his stance and tightens his grip on my arms.

  “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But my mom will.”

  “Your…mom?” I murmur, getting drowsy all of the sudden.

  “Yeah. She used to be a nurse. Did I mention that?”

  “Mmm…no.”

  “Huh.” Chris scoops me up into his arms like I don’t weight anything. A totally swoonworthy moment that I ruin by coughing up blood all over my shirt. “Hang in there, kid.”

  Isabel opens the back door and Chris lays me flat against the floor in the backseat. The world is spinning around me anyway, so I don’t care. Everything is quickly getting loud and blurry. Painful to listen to. I squeeze my eyes shut, not even noticing when we get back on the road. When I open my eyes again I can see streams sunlight coming through the windshield as Isabel peers at my face like a curious cat.

  “Are you still alive?” she asks.

  I blink, shaking my head.

  “She says she’s not alive,” Isabel says, looking over the front seat.

  I fade out before I can hear Chris’s reply. If it’s possible to feel any weirder than I do now, the pit of my stomach cramps up in pain. I slide my hand under my shirt and pull it up, glimpsing my bruise from crowbar boy back in Santa Clarita. It’s totally black and blue, veins of red running through it. It’s also painful to the touch.

  “Guys…” I mutter, but don’t finish my sentence. I feel way too exhausted to open my mouth. The only thing I can remember before I pass out is how loud my heart sounds in my ears, like it’s trying to escape my chest. Totally not how my heart is supposed to sound.

  Then again, this hasn’t exactly been the best week of good luck.

  All I can think about is my dad stuck in an Omega concentration camp, lined up against a railing before he gets shot a bunch of blue-uniformed guards. Who would have believed that just a couple of weeks ago, my biggest problem was getting an employment rejection from an airline company. Now everything’s gone. Stuff like that doesn’t matter anymore. Money doesn’t matter. College degrees don’t matter. Whether or not you saw the latest Oscar winning film doesn’t matter.