State of Emergency (Book)

by Lane, Summer

  No answer.

  I peel the sheets back, noting what I’m wearing. A pair of flannel pajama pants and a white tank top. Creepy. Who dressed me? I hope it was Isabel.

  It better have been Isabel.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed, touching cold hardwood flooring. The whole room is like a little cabin, with pictures and books and an old lamp covered with dust. I touch an old dresser and spot a picture frame. Fueled by my insane curious nature, I grab it and look it over. It’s a picture of a rugged, handsome young man in a suit and tie. He bears a striking resemblance to Chris.

  Hmm.

  I turn it over. Someone has written Chris, Senior Year, on the back in permanent ink. I stare it then turn the picture over, smitten with the young man in the picture. Chris. Ten years ago. And now he’s got a goatee, long hair and a tattoo of a cobra on his left bicep.

  Nice.

  I put the picture back and creep to the door. I know where I am now. We must have made it to Chris’s family home. I open it and peek into a long dark hallway. Everything looks like it was built in the 1940s. The architecture is on the smaller side. I’m guessing there was no obesity epidemic back then, because my great aunt could never squeeze through the doorframe…

  I follow the hall. Every door is closed except for mine, which means I can’t snoop. Bummer. I come to a stairway, where a bunch of black and white photos are tacked onto the wall. Family heirlooms, I guess.

  I go downstairs. There’s a big door and a bunch of windows covered with curtains. On the left is a living room – a huge one with beat up couches and an old television set – and on the right is a dining room with a big table. I can’t hear any noises from anywhere in the house, so I turn and go back upstairs. Frankly, I may be feeling better, but I still feel tired. I yawn, walk back into the bedroom I was in, and crawl onto the bed. I hug a pillow, dub him my best friend, and pull the quilt over me. Obviously Chris and Isabel are here somewhere, I just have to wait for them to come back here.

  “Knock, knock.”

  I squeeze my BFF Mr. Pillow and look up. A tall, lean young man with blonde hair is standing in the doorway. He’s wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, taking off a pair of dirty gloves.

  “Jeff?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

  He grins. It’s cute.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” he replies “I know who you are. My brother told me about you.”

  “Interesting,” I say, stifling another yawn. “Where is he? Chris, I mean. And Isabel.”

  “They’re outside, helping the folks,” he answers. “I’ll tell them you’re awake.”

  “Hey, wait!” I say, stumbling out of bed. “Listen, how long have I been here? What happened?”

  “You’ve been out for about two days,” Jeff replies, and I can’t help but notice how his eyes keep checking me out from head to toe. I must look really bad. “My mom’s a nurse, so she helped you. She’s got medicine and stuff she keeps for emergencies.” He sticks his gloves in his back pocket, crossing his arms. Totally ripped arms, I might add. Not as strong looking as his older brother’s, but still. “You were really sick.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say, tugging on the ends of my hair. “What was wrong with me?”

  “I think you were bleeding internally,” he shrugs. “I mean, that’s what my mom said. It must have been fixable, though.” He grins. “Obviously.”

  I smile, flushing.

  “Thanks for taking me in,” I say, feeling the need to let me him know how much appreciate sleeping indoors for the first time in over a week. “I just…thank you.”

  “No problem,” he answers. “Chris has never brought home any friends before, let alone any girls. Or pretty ones.”

  I totally blush, so I try to hide the color in my cheeks by walking to the window and throwing back the curtains. “I’d like to meet your parents,” I say. “I need to thank your mom.”

  “Sure,” he agrees, smiling brightly. “Why don’t you come down to the kitchen? You gotta be hungry. Chris and Isabel ate, like, two tons when they got here.”

  “Sounds like them,” I remark.

  “Come on,” he waves for me to follow him. “So you’re like nineteen, right?”

  “Yeah.” We walk down the hall, to the stairs. “And you’re seventeen. A senior.”

  “Like that matters anymore,” he sighs. “I think the school year kind of froze when the pulse hit.”

  “Tell me about it.” We reach the bottom of the stairs and walk into the kitchen. It’s a cute room with big counters and lots of cupboards. “Where were you when it happened?”

  “Home. The power went out,” he answers. “Besides that, we didn’t know anything was wrong. Until they started evacuating Squaw Valley. They tried to get us to leave, but we just kept stalling. They left us behind. Good thing, too. Chris told us about theOmega relief camp thing.”

  Jeff rummages around in the cupboards and pulls out a bowl of apples and a bag of potato chips. “Might as well eat them before they go bad,” he shrugs.

  “Thanks!”

  I pop open the bag and start eating. It tastes so good. Like a turkey dinner, even though I’m sure the Department of Health would be all over me for thinking that.

  “Chris told us that you’re meeting your dad at a cabin higher up,” Jeff says, watching me eat.

  “Yeah, that’s the general plan,” I nod, meeting his gaze. His eyes aren’t quite as green as his brother’s, but there’s a certain amount of intensity that’s the same. “But honestly, I don’t know if he’ll even be there.”

  “Never break an emergency plan,” Jeff advises, leaning against the counter. “You should go.”

  I find myself smiling.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I agree. “I guess I’m just worried that he never made it out of LA.”

  That maybe he’s stuck in some concentration camp somewhere.

  I shudder and stuff another potato chip in my mouth, which I’m sure Jeff finds charming. “You have no idea how good this greasy crap tastes,” I say, laughing. “I’ve been living on energy bars for a week.”

  Jeff chuckles.

  “I understand that.”

  “So do I.”

  Both of us turn at the same time. Chris walks into the room. He’s wearing dark wash jeans, boots and a tight black tee under an open tan shirt. His hair is hanging loose, and he looks like he’s been sweating it out doing something physical. It’s a really good look for him.

  “Hey,” I say. “We’re still alive.”

  “You’re still alive,” he corrects, wrapping his arms around me. He pulls me into a warm, fantastic hug. I lay my head against his chest – or, because I’m way shorter than him, his stomach – and sigh. He rests his chin on top of my head, swaying back and forth. I don’t even remember that Jeff is in the room until he says, “Where’s mom and dad?”

  “In the barn,” Chris replies, gently easing away from me. He doesn’t remove his arm from around my waist, though. Score. “My mother’s going to want to check up on you, Cassie.”

  “Good, I want to meet her.”

  He studies my face for a long minute, probably making sure that my sanity is intact after the tears/puking incident on the way up here. “How do you feel?”

  “Better. Did you run into any trouble while I was out in the car?”

  “No, we were lucky,” he says. “They cleared out the whole town and didn’t leave anybody behind. I guess there’s not enough of a population here to warrant their time.”

  He slides his hand on top of mine and brings it back down to my side.

  “I need to talk to you.” He glances at Jeff. “Privately.”

  “You and your private chats,” Jeff huffs. “Why do I have to go?”

  “Just get out of here,” Chris replies, cocking an eyebrow.

  Jeff ignores his brother and squeezes my shoulder.

  “Glad to see you up, Cassidy,” he says, smiling shyly.

  “Thanks.”

  He walks out of th
e room, mouthing something to Chris that I don’t catch. Chris looks annoyed, but the hard lines of his face relax once his little brother leaves the room.

  “Okay,” I say. “So what’s the scoop?”

  “Have you been outside?” he asks.

  “No. I just got up.”

  He folds his arms.

  “We’re almost thirty miles out of town,” he says. “Everybody’s gone. I think we’re safe here for a long time.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point? My point is that I think you should reconsider heading up to your cabin in the middle of nowhere. Stay here, you’ll be taken care of.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  That’s always been my first instinct. Denial. I always deny things. Especially embarrassing accusations that are true.

  “You need help,” Chris replies, looking unmoved. “Obviously. You were hemorrhaging internally, did Jeff tell you that? You’ve been bleeding every day since you got hit with that crowbar in Santa Clarita.”

  “That would explain the headaches,” I shrug.

  “If you hadn’t had pain meds, you wouldn’t have lasted as long as you did,” he says. “My mom was able to help you, but you’ll be weak for a few days. Maybe even a couple of weeks. You need to rest and by the time you’re even ready to head up the hill it’ll be snowing.”

  “So? I’ll take a sled and a couple of huskies,” I quip.

  “You know what I mean.” Chris narrows his eyes. “You’re not hiking forty miles to a cabin by yourself, Cassidy.”

  “I’m not?” I smirk. “I don’t have a choice. My dad’s waiting for me.”

  “You don’t know that. And there’s no reason you should die trying to get there. Wait it out. Go up in the spring.” He grabs my arm right when I make a move to walk away. “Your dad would want you to be safe.”

  “You don’t know my dad,” I reply, shaking him off. “This is the master plan, Chris! This was what we were supposed to do if an emergency happened and we got separated! The only reason I left LA was because we agreed on it. Otherwise I would have stayed.”

  “If you would have stayed you would have died, just like a million other people,” Chris states.

  I run a hand through my hair, realizing that it’s been more than a week since I’ve washed it. Totally gross. “Can we discuss this later? I’m tired.”

  “Discussing it later won’t change anything.”

  “You’re right. I’m not going to change my mind on this.”

  “Cassidy, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I laugh beside myself.

  “I survived this far,” I say. “I can make it to the cabin. That was always the plan, and I’m going to carry it out. And by the way, I’m not going to die doing it.”

  Chris cringes when I use the word die.

  Man, he has no faith in me at all. Even after all this time. I turn away and stomp up the stairs, upset that he thinks he can boss me around like his little sister or something. Chris doesn’t bother trying to follow me. He knows I’m in a bad mood.

  But it doesn’t last long.

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s weird how it’s taken the collapse of society as we know it for me to make friends. Growing up I always had an acquaintance or two, but nobody I could call my “best friend forever.” My mom was too busy to take me on play dates and my dad slept during the day. I was shy, so I didn’t make friends like normal people. I was my own best friend, and if I needed somebody to talk to, I had a stuffed rabbit named Charlie who was a really great listener.

  Unfortunately, Charlie wasn’t a great conversationalist.

  So, yeah, it’s interesting that all of the sudden I’ve got Isabel, Jeff, Chris and their parents as my buddies. The Young property is nestled on the backside of a big foothill, hidden behind lots of trees and fields of grass. There’s a creek that runs through a miniature canyon at the bottom of the property, where the whole place is fenced in with tall barbed wire. There’s not a ton of history floating around about the Squaw Valley area, but from what Jeff has told me, the name “Squaw” obviously came from a bunch of Indians who used to live in the area. Funny. How they were living back then isn’t much different than how we’re living right now: day-to-day.

  The Young house is two-story. It gives off an old-fashioned farmer vibe. There’s a barn with a couple of cows and horses, a bunch of chickens, some pigs and Mrs. Young has a big garden behind the house big enough to feed a small army.

  In other words, we’re living in a survival junkie’s paradise.

  Mrs. Young is a short, slender woman with gray hair. She wears high top jeans and plaid button-ups along with rubber boots because she’s in the dirt all the time. She’s a sweet woman, if not a little tough. I guess living with three macho men would make you that way.

  Mr. Young looks a lot like his sons. He’s got overgrown blondish hair, he’s strong and he doesn’t waste time making small talk. He just gets right to the point. For example, when I first met him I had some hay stuck in my hair from checking out the barn and he just said, “Kid, you got straw in your hair.”

  And that was it. We were introduced.

  It’s been one day since I’ve woken up and Jeff has been showing me around the property. I’m wearing my jeans and boots with one of Mrs. Young’s button-ups. I feel a little shaky, but overall a lot better.

  “Hey…” I say, grinning. “That is one macho rooster.”

  Jeff laughs. I watch a colorful rooster strut across the dirt in front of the barn.

  “He reminds me of someone,” I say. “Oh, yeah. My ex.”

  “Was he really that bad?” Jeff asks, surprised.

  “I was just saying that for comic value.” I stroll along, plucking a leaf off an oak tree that’s hanging low.

  “What? You don’t date much or something?” Jeff trails behind me like a puppy. He’s been doing that ever since Chris and I had our argument about me going to the cabin. I’m guessing Jeff doesn’t get much interaction with people living in the middle of the sticks. I must be a novelty, especially since I come from the “big city.”

  “You’re a legal adult, though,” Jeff says. “You could date, right?”

  “I could,” I agree, kind of weirded out by his question. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t,” Jeff replies, a little too quickly. “I was just curious. You know. My mom never let Chris date when he was growing up, and he had girls all over…” he trails off, noticing my glare. The last thing I want to hear about right now is Chris’s history of womanizing. Or whatever.

  “Anyway, they don’t let me date either,” he says. “They’re all about working hard until I turn eighteen, then I get to do what I want. Chris joined the military when he turned eighteen.” He sighs. “Doesn’t look like that’s what I’ll be doing anymore.”

  “Hey,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “Cheer up. You know what you got?”

  He shakes his head.

  “You’re alive,” I exclaim. “You know how many people are dead or starving right now? We’ve got it made. We’re living in the lap of luxury compared to some of them. Cheer up, will you?”

  Jeff starts laughing again. It’s not hard to get him to do it, unlike his brother, who seems like he’s made of stone half the time. “You have a point,” he admits. “I can see why my brother likes you.”

  I shift uncomfortably.

  “Yeah? You think he likes me?”

  “I know he does.” Jeff looks a little depressed. “I mean, he wouldn’t have stuck with you for a week if he didn’t. Believe me. I know.”

  “Huh.”

  There is a dirt road that curves up the side of the foothill, right up to the house. It’s extremely well hidden from the main highway. Mr. Young told me that when he saw the Omegatroops rolling through, he knocked down his mailbox and camouflaged the entrance to the turnoff with bushes and trees. It’s like this place was made for a situation like this.

  “Chris told me you we
re doing a charter school,” I say as we walk into the barn. It’s a big wooden building with straw and a couple of animals that stink worse than a litter box.

  “Yeah,” Jeff answers. “It was okay. At least I got to get off the property for a few hours every week.”

  I don’t respond. If I lived here, with parents like his and a property like this, I don’t think I’d care if I “got” to go to school. Then again, the grass is always greener on the other side. All I wanted growing up was a happy family. I only got half of one. Anyway, I’m sure Jeff has his own reasons for what he wants.

  “Cassidy?”

  I turn around, watching Chris walk into the barn with a box of tools in his right hand. He’s hauling a couple of pieces of wood over his shoulder. “I’m fixing the leak in the roof,” he announces. “Want to help?”

  I think that’s code for “Want to talk?”

  I nod.

  “Sure.”

  Jeff sighs, seeing that he’s been dismissed from the conversation yet again. I smile apologetically but he waves it off. “See you later.”

  Chris is already halfway up the ladder.

  “How do you do that?” I ask.

  “What?” He climbs onto the loft and sets the tools down.

  “Climb without using your hands. It’s awesome.”

  “Years of practice.” I reach the top and step onto the creaky boards. There’s a bunch of straw up here, and I can see the gaping hole in the corner that Chris is going to fix.

  “What happened?” I say. “Did a meteor hit?”

  “Nah. Just a couple of weak boards.”

  He starts working on patching it up, removing his over-shirt in favor of the black tee. I lean back on the wall and watch him move, not realizing that I’ve been staring until he turns to me. “You’re staring again, Cassie,” he says, a wry grin spreading across this face.

  “No, I’m watching you patch a hole,” I reply, embarrassed. “There’s not much else to do around here.”

  “Then don’t watch,” he says. “Do.”

  “Excuse me?”