State of Chaos (Collapse Series)

by Summer Lane

  I actually do end up taking a nap through the afternoon. I guess I’m more tired than I thought I was. By the time evening rolls around, I’m antsy, bored and in serious need of a television or computer.

  It’s boring to be a survivor of an EMP. There’s nothing to do.

  “This is riveting,” I mutter, flicking a crumb across the kitchen table.

  But when nighttime comes, I start to get worried. Tick, tock. My mental clock is ticking – loudly. Chris said he’d be back by nighttime. With dinner. I pace the living room a few times, playing with my knife, fiddling with the ends of my hair. Reading poetry again. Cleaning the living room window with a rag.

  At around eight o’clock, Chris still hasn’t returned. I’m not worried in the normal sense. More like concerned. Maybe he got hurt and it’s taking him a long time to limp back to the trailer. Maybe he ran into a gang. Maybe there was nothing to hunt so he decided to travel farther away from the trailer park to find food.

  All possible scenarios. All things I imagine to keep myself from panicking.

  Another hour drags by.

  I throw on my boots.

  Twenty minutes.

  I put on my jacket.

  Fifteen minutes.

  I grab my knife and strap it to my thigh.

  Five minutes.

  I open the front door.

  There’s no light coming from inside the trailer, other than the tea lights I lit on the kitchen counters. I take a cautious step into the cool night air, clicking the door shut behind me. The sky is shrouded with rainclouds, making it difficult to navigate the trailer park without moonlight. I swallow a nervous lump in my throat before walking. I’m not really looking for Chris. I’m not going to find him. I just feel cooped up...and yeah. I’m worried.

  I walk around the outer fence of the park, studying the ghostly appearance of the abandoned houses. Everything from children’s toys to spare tires are scattered around the front lawns. Grass is growing around one tricycle, twisting through the tires. It’s creepy on a number of levels.

  ‘You stay here and wait until I show up. Period,” Chris said.

  I wince, feeling guilty for leaving the trailer. I should go back. So I turn on my heel and head back to the trailer, making up my mind to sit and wait this one out. I’ve been through too much to run outside and get into trouble like this. I know better. I’ve seen the dark side of society on more than one occasion.

  When I reach our trailer, I open the door and slip inside. Chris hasn’t come back yet. Major bummer. I sink down on the sofa and sigh, trying to relax. Get in a yoga peace moment or something.

  Chris will come back. He always comes back.

  And barn. Just like that, everything changes. It happens so quickly that I don’t even have time to scream. The picture window at the front of the living room shatters into a million pieces. The glass simply explodes, coinciding with a shrieking, ripping sound right next to my head. I roll to the ground, instinctively covering my head with my hands. I feel shards of glass cutting through my jacket, stinging the skin of my fingers.

  What the...?

  The explosion – if that’s what it is – stops. I look up, head spinning, pushing off the floor with my hands. I wince as glass digs into my palms, drawing blood. Another ripping sound fills the air and the lamp on the coffee table shatters into a thousand pieces. I snap my gaze to the kitchen, instantly finding the source of the noise: a gun. And a man holding it. He’s got a dark blue uniform and a white O is clearly visible on his shoulder sleeve.

  Omega.

  I freeze. Terror momentarily roots me to the spot. This is exactly what I’ve been scared of for weeks. Being found. And now I’m staring straight into the face of an Omega soldier, his gun trained right at me. He’s apparently just as stunned as I am to make eye contact – and I’m even more stunned that he shot at me twice and missed.

  Strangely enough, my first thought is:

  Chris would never miss.

  The guy snaps out of it, raising his weapon again. No dice. I turn on my heel and sprint outside, running as fast as I can. I weave between trailers, shaking from head to toe. I could have been shot dead the instant I walked into the living room. God, what if the trooper was already in the house before I left the trailer? I could have been killed sitting at the kitchen table.

  Those kinds of thoughts only make me run faster. I skid around a corner and spot another guy in uniform, barely visible in the darkness, his head bobbing in my direction. He yells something along the lines of, “HALT!” but of course I ignore him. I turn around and run the other way, rounding another corner, finding two more guards.

  What is this? An ambush? How did they find us?

  WHERE IS CHRIS?

  I dart frantically across dead lawns, through backyards, underneath picnic tables and through flowerbeds. I can hear footsteps and voices now, sounds that are getting closer as they pursue me. I run to the edge of the trailer park, eyeing one of the breaks in the chain link fence. I need to lose these suckers in the woods, but I can’t bring myself to step away from the trailer park without Chris. He’s tactically brilliant, and I can’t see him stumbling into the lap of some Omega soldier. Maybe that’s why he’s not home yet. Maybe he ran into a patrol, too.

  “Chris!” I yell, not caring who hears me. I’m already being chased, it’s not like I’m giving myself away. “Christopher!”

  Yeah, that’s it. Go for the full name.

  A stray shot whizzes by my ear, nearly grazing my cheek. I jerk backwards and start heading towards the fence, Omega soldiers flooding out of the trailer park like roaches. I can’t believe how many there are. How could this happen? How long have they been tracking us?

  I stop trying to rationalize the situation and slip through the break in the fence, diving into the woods. An eerie sense of Deja vu overwhelms me, taking me back to a couple of months ago when I was running from Omega in the mountains...

  In the end, I’d escaped alive. Why not now?

  I know without looking over my shoulder that I’m being chased by at least four people. At least. My advantage over them is that I’m small and lightening quick where they’re burdened down with bulletproof vests and heavy weapons. So I press harder, sprinting through the undergrowth, putting more and more distance between the trailer park and me.

  Just as I’m looking for place to hide, a jolting, electrifying pain spikes up my right leg. I’m running full speed when it happens, making me go down fast and hard. I tumble head over heels to the bottom of a small embankment covered with gravel. I cry out, looking down at my ankle. I’ve been hit with...something. The dark material is wet with blood, hot and sticky against my skin.

  I hobble to my feet and try to stand, only to get another electric jolt up my leg, straight to my chest. I gasp and fall to my knees, pulling the pant leg up. Something’s been shot into my skin. A bullet? No. My leg would be broken. I crawl forward, trying to pull myself to my feet, but every time I put pressure on my leg, excruciating pain sends me straight back to the ground.

  Moaning, I realize absently that the Omega soldiers are closing in. I can hear their voices and make out their figures but it’s all background noise. This thing in my leg is killing me. It’s all I can focus on. But when an Omega man closes his hand around my arm, I get some sense of clarity and jam my elbow into his chest. He lets go and I hit the ground with an unattractive thud. Before I can even scramble to my feet I hear one thing and feel another.

  I hear: Put her down.

  And then I feel a tremendous blow to the side of my head, making all the pain go away. Everything goes black.

  Not the highlight of my day.

  Chapter Three

  Growing up, I always had very vivid dreams. I rarely had a dream that revolved around science fiction or fantasy – everything I dreamed about was related to real life. My mom, my dad, my latest explosion in the chemistry lab at school. Whatever was in my head before I fell asleep was the subject of my dreams.

 
Today is no different, except for the fact that I’m not asleep. I’m unconscious. How I became unconscious I have no idea, but I have a feeling it’s not good. I’m stuck in an in-between world of dreaming and reality, mixing real sights and sounds with my imagination. Bursts of light, deep voices, soreness in my leg...what happened to my leg, anyway?

  What happened to Chris? Where am I...and why can’t I wake up?

  I keep trying to shake myself awake but it’s not working. I’m stuck in total darkness, with no feeling, no nothing. I can only hope that I’m not dead and that this isn’t some kind of lame version of heaven.

  “Wake. Up.”

  I feel myself bobbing to the surface of reality as somebody with an accented voice repeats those two words over and over again. The voice gets more and more irritated, which kind of ticks me off.

  I’m trying to wake up! Don’t rush me.

  Light slips into the darkness, and with it, feeling. I feel cold. I feel thirsty. I feel seriously in need of a hot shower.

  Yeah. That’s my first thought when my eyes open and I find myself staring at a gray ceiling. “Finally. Geez, it took you long enough.”

  As I focus on the scenery around me, I realize for the first time that my head is crammed against a wall. And I’m moving. Well, bouncing would be a more accurate term. A figure is crouched at my feet. She’s got dark skin, short brown hair and glittering hazel eyes.

  “You’re not very polite,” she states.

  I sit up, feeling dizzy, and look around. Somebody’s ankle is pressing against the back of my head.

  Wait.

  What?

  I jerk straight up, overwhelmed by the smell of human sweat. It’s beyond gross. I’m crushed against the back wall of some sort of truck, and everywhere around me, people are standing next to each other, packed tightly like sardines in a can.

  “What? I don’t...who...?” I start rambling. I’m disoriented, terrified and sick. All of those lovely emotions rolled into one. “What’s going on?”

  Nobody pays any attention to me and I can’t move, because I’m stuck between too many people. The air is humid and difficult to inhale. It reeks like vomit and urine, too. I gag and roll to my side, crawling on my hands and knees.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the girl asks.

  I turn back to face her. I’d forgotten she was here.

  “Who are you?” I pant, shaking.

  It’s hot. The only cool air is coming from above the heads of the standing crowd, so I try to stand. When I do, I fall over and hit the ground. Real graceful. The back of the truck is open, and everybody is fenced in with some kind of metal mesh gate. It looks almost like chicken wire. It’s keeping everybody locked in. It’s dark outside, and I can’t make out anything more than dark flashes of trees whizzing by.

  “Sophia,” she says. The girl is crouched in a feral position, studying my face. “My name is Sophia. What’s yours?”

  “My...name?” I’m clutching the floor like an old woman on a rollercoaster. “Um...right. My name.” I meet Sophia’s gaze. She’s surprisingly calm. Considering the fact that we’re crammed into the back of a giant semi truck, I’m impressed. “I’m Cassidy.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She crawls over to me and takes my hand. “Don’t worry. It’s okay to be scared, sometimes.”

  “What’s going on?’ I whisper.

  “Omega is taking us to prison,” she shrugs. “Or something like that.”

  “I don’t remember how I got here,” I say. “I was running...I think. I got shot.”

  “No, not shot,” Sophia replies. “Just shocked, plus you got hit on the head. You’re okay. But you were kind of delirious when they shoved you back here. I made sure you didn’t get squished when they crammed everybody inside.”

  I stare at her, rubbing the sore spot on my temple.

  “Why?”

  She looks down. “You looked like you needed somebody to help you.”

  For some reason, that makes me want to bawl my eyes out. Somebody besides Chris actually cared enough to make sure that I didn’t suffocate in the back of a truck. A red-letter day for Cassidy Hart.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She flashes an embarrassed smile.

  “No problem.” She huddles closer. “Where did they pick you up?”

  “I was in a trailer park,” I reply, biting my lip. “They must have had a patrol in the area. They probably saw me walking around outside. Stupid me. I should have stayed inside like he said!”

  “Like who said?”

  “My...” I trail off. “Chris. He’s going to be mad when he finds out I’m missing.”

  That’s an understatement. It takes a few minutes for the harsh reality of my situation to sink in, but once it does, it hits me like a bowling ball in the chest. I’ve been caught by Omega. I’m crammed in the back of a semi-truck with a thousand other people. We’re being taken to prison – or something along those lines – and the chances of me living to see the light of day are slim.

  Maybe this isn’t such a red-letter day after all.

  I fold my arms around my chest and try to take some deep, slow breaths. It doesn’t really help. There isn’t a Zen zone on this side of the planet that could calm me down. I’m being shipped off to my death.

  And everybody in this truck knows it.

  “I’m from New York,” Sophia whispers, scooting close to me. “I was on vacation in California when the EMP hit. My family is still in New York somewhere.”

  Her eyes shine with tears. Tears I sympathize with.

  “I heard our military is fighting somewhere on the East Coast,” I reply.

  Somebody shifts and kicks me in the ribs. I pull away and huddle back towards the wall, Sophia right beside me. I keep my eyes closed to avoid looking at the sickening rocking motion of the truck.

  “Yes,” Sophia answers. “I’ve heard that. I’ve also heard that it’s a lot worse on the East Coast than it is over here.”

  “Why?”

  “They say it’s an active battle zone right now.”

  What’s left of the color in my face drains away.

  “What kind of battle zone?” I ask.

  “Don’t know. By the time news gets here, it’s all nothing but rumors.” She sighs. “Could be nuclear war. Maybe. But I’ve heard that Omega’s actually got a huge front of troops moving in over there.”

  Yeah. The sick feeling I just had?

  It’s back.

  I cover my mouth to keep from throwing up again.

  “You can’t be serious,” I mutter. But I know she is. And deep down, I knew something big was going down on the East Coast. I just didn’t know what.

  We still don’t, but that gives me a little bit more of an idea.

  “Where do these people come from?” I say.

  “I heard-” Sophia begins, but closes her mouth. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Several of the prisoners in the truck are listening to our conversation a little too closely. And by the way everybody here is dressed – not to mention the way they smell – I’m guessing they’ve had a way worse day than me.

  “Where are they taking us?” I ask instead.

  “Don’t know. Did they pick you up in Squaw Valley?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Same. I was with the community, though. What’s left of the city was living in a neighborhood just off the road. Omega came, rounded us up, threw us in a truck and now we’re here.” She clenches her fists. “They’re not looking for people to kill anymore.”

  “Then what are we here for?”

  Sophia’s eyes narrow.

  “To work.”

  I don’t exactly get a warm and fuzzy feeling from that statement either. All of this is way too much to take in, so I focus on putting myself into a mental box and locking everybody out. I think about Chris and only Chris.

  What is he doing right now? He’ll discover that I’m gone when he comes back from his hunting expedition into the great unk
nown. He’ll be mad at me at first. He’ll think I went looking for him. (Well, technically I did, but that’s not how I got caught.) And then he’ll flip to battle mode and start searching for me. But how will he be able to track a truck? How will be ever find me?

  He won’t, a little voice says. Its name is common sense. You’re on your own.

  No way. I’m not alone. Chris will find me.

  Even if he does find you, you’ll be dead by the time he does.

  I shudder. Common sense really needs to take a hike.

  All through the night, the truck keeps moving. When the soft glow of morning hits the opening at the end of the trailer, I strain to see where we are. I can’t see outside, though. Not with the enormous amount of arms and legs blocking my view. Sophia falls asleep on my shoulder. I’m too exhausted to shake her off, and besides. The girl did take care of me when I was unconscious. The least I can do is be a human pillow.

  And then we stop.

  I freeze. Doors slam. Men’s voices echo outside the trailer. The rumble of nearby engines. Sophia snaps awake beside me. She grabs my arm, looking scared.

  “We must be here.”

  There’s movement at the end of the trailer. I wobble to my feet, wincing with the pressure. My ankle is still sore from being hit with a stun gun, I guess. Unsurprising. There’s a hushed murmur right before the crowd surges forward. It’s so sudden that Sophia and I get smashed together. I can’t breathe. Somebody at the entrance of the trailer yells, “EVERYBODY OUT!”

  I’m guessing that means us.

  We’re halfway dragged out of the truck along with the other prisoners. When we reach the mouth of the exit, I’m blinded by the sun. It seems unnaturally bright compared to the darkness of the truck. Everything moves in slow motion. Somebody grabs my arm and throws me to the ground. I land in an unattractive heap just as Sophia slams into my back. She gets to her feet, grimacing.

  “Sorry,” she breathes.

  I look around, trying to get my bearings. We’re on a dirt road, and all around us are rows of perfectly aligned fruit trees. Oranges, by the looks of it. An irrigation canal is running alongside the road. I get a good look at the truck: A semi with a fruit packing-shed insignia on the side.