State of Emergency c-1

by Summer Lane

  I step back, hoping he didn’t see that as an invasion of personal space or anything. “I believe you,” he replies, taking my hand. “Be careful, both of you. And good luck.”

  Chris drops to his knees and slides under the metal plating of the gutter. He rolls over the side of the cement slope and disappears under the sidewalk. I freeze, waiting for him to hit the bottom.

  I hear a soft thud, then, “Your turn, Cassie.”

  I turn around and kiss Walter on the cheek.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  I get down on my hands and knees and crawl under the sidewalk. The cement slopes downward, covered with wet leaves. I swallow and whisper, “Here I come.”

  I roll off the slope, twisting to brace for the impact. I land on my feet, halfway on the ground, halfway on top of Chris. He catches me, making the hit pretty soft. “Good thing you don’t weight much,” he mutters.

  It’s absolutely impossible to see down here. A little stream of light is coming from the gutter opening above. It’s almost completely extinguished as Walter puts the gutter grill back on, propping it against the sidewalk.

  “I’ve never heard of a gutter this size,” I say. “This is against so many safety regulations.”

  “That’s the least of our problems.” Chris reaches for my hand and holds on tight. “Don’t let go. Just trust that I know where I’m going.”

  “I don’t,” I reply, “but I still won’t let go.”

  I reach out to touch the wall, grossed out when my fingers brush something wet and slimy. My shoes are apparently ankle deep in city sludge, too.

  “No talking unless absolutely necessary,” Chris says. “We don’t want anybody to hear us.”

  “What if somebody else is down here? Somebody bad?” I ask.

  “The chances of that are slim. Come on.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Because I didn’t want to.” A few beats of infuriating silence go by before he continues. “If there is someone down here, that would make it even more important to be quiet. Yes?”

  I nod.

  “Cassidy?”

  “I nodded! We’re not supposed to talk, remember?”

  Chris either chokes or laughs, tightening his grip on my hand. He starts walking forward, and I realize that I have to bend down a little bit to keep from hitting my head on what is now a cement ceiling. We’re in a tunnel, sloughing through sticky grossness that’s been washed right off the city streets.

  “I thought these tunnels were supposed to be empty,” I say, disgusted by the feel of dirty water around my ankles.

  “They’re abandoned,” Chris whispers, “not empty. Relax. Walking through sewage is better than being arrested.”

  Sewage?

  I try not to gag. Chris is hunched down more than I am on account of him being six foot four. After a few hours — okay, minutes — of feeling our way down the cold tunnel, I start to feel claustrophobic. Why?

  One: There is no light. Two: I feel like I’m trapped in a box. And three: It smells like a bunch of rats came and died down here.

  “How much farther?” I ask.

  “About a mile.”

  “A mile!?”

  “Shhh.” Chris slaps his hand over my mouth. “Quiet, remember?”

  I move his hand away from my face, noting just how stale and pungent the air is down here. I had expected a cold, freezing tunnel system. Instead it’s almost warm, like no air ever enters the tunnels.

  Every once in a while we hear weird dripping or scurrying noises, sending horrible images of Indiana Jonesand the Temple of Doom through my head. I curl my hands into fists and keep my lips pressed together, trying to avoid inhaling any unseen insects.

  If Chris is perturbed about being stuck in a hole in the ground, I don’t sense it. His whole body is totally relaxed, his breathing nice and even.

  “This is suffocating…” I begin, trailing off as the sound of an engine cuts through the tunnels. It begins as a soft sound, escalating into a full roar. I clap my hands over my ears. The entire tunnel feels like it’s shaking. Above us, a faint square of light is painted across the cement walls of the gutter. The tunnel opens up into a wide space under the sidewalk. Another entrance.

  “We must be close to the city center,” Chris says into my ear. “That’s another gutter opening.”

  “What’s that noise?”

  “Trucks.”

  He feels for my hand again. For a few seconds, I can see his face outlined in the shadows cast by the light of the streets above. I breathe in the current of cold air flowing through the opening, freezing in terror at the sound of an AT trooper’s voice:

  “Take that one to the camp. I’ll take care of things here.”

  A door slams. Another engine starts, shadows flit across the light pouring in from the street. Chris tenses up slightly and tugs on my hands. “Move.”

  I get to my feet. We hunker back down and slip into the continuation of the tunnel. The light disappears again, and this time the water is up to my calves. It’s also getting colder, the farther we progress, a weird change from the stale temperatures we ran into before.

  I take the opportunity to think about everything Walter told us in the apartment about Omega and wonder why nobody has ever heard of them before. How could we be invaded by an army that has no country, no king, and most importantly — how could nobody even know that these people existed? Why do the troops speak different languages? Are they all paid hit men, and if so, where did Omega find enough people to create an army big enough to invade an entire country? How long have they been planning this?

  These are the totally normal thoughts that run through my head as we sneak around in the dark tunnels beneath the city.

  Every once in a while we come to another gutter opening, tiptoe past the lights and voices, and slip into the next tunnel. It’s impossible to get lost because there is only one tunnel. We just keep following it until our necks ache from hunching over for so long and I’m pretty sure the smell of rotting leaves is permanently stamped into my brain.

  “Smell that?” Chris suddenly says.

  “What?”

  “Fresh air.”

  I sniff, catching a whiff of cold, clean air. It’s blowing through the tunnel pretty quickly, too. “We must be at the basin,” I say.

  “Yeah. That was faster than I thought.”

  Sure. Only two solid hours of tromping through the sewers.Piece of cake.

  We pick up the pace, following the clean scent of open air. Chris stops unexpectedly and we bump into a solid wall. I experience a flash of panic. Is it a dead end? Have we been sealed in here for all eternity? Am I destined to become a Mummy?

  The claustrophobia is doing weird things to my mind.

  “What…?” Chris murmurs, sliding his palm across the cement. “Ah.”

  “What is it?”

  “The tunnel’s curving.” He walks forward and sure enough, we both follow the wall into a neat left hand turn.

  I clap my hands together, natural light spilling into the tunnel. Even though it’s nighttime, it seems extraordinarily bright compared to the total blackness of being underground. “Freedom!” I exclaim.

  I jog forward, getting down and crawling on my hands and knees towards the exit. Chris crawls behind me, the two of us tired of twisting our necks for two hours. Flecks of rain blow on my face from outside. I come to the edge of the tunnel, cautious about sticking my head out into the open without making sure it’s safe. I’ve seen too many television shows to be that naïve.

  So I inch forward, peeking outside. The first thing I see is a wide-open expanse of darkness. It must be the empty basin. The second thing I see is the sky. The third thing I see is Chris crouching in the mouth of the tunnel, a frown on his face.

  Because then my other senses kick in and I hear it: Water lapping against the side of the basin. I squint at the basin again, my eyes adjusting to the light.

  The basin is full of water.

&nb
sp; “What?!” I exclaim, shocked. “He said this thing was empty! Where did all this water come from?”

  “Not from this tunnel, obviously.” Chris is rubbing his chin. “It’s about twenty feet from here to the top of the basin. It’s a slope. You can climb that.”

  “How deep do you think that water is?” I ask, sticking my hand out. I dip my finger into the water. It’s freezing cold, leaving traces of silt on my fingertips.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Chris shrugs. “The only thing that matters is that we’re out of the city, and we did it without getting arrested.”

  I take a deep breath and brush some stray strands of hair out of my face. I stand up and wrap my hands around the top of the tunnel, leaning over the water and looking up. Chris is right. The top of the basin is only about twenty feet away, and it’s sloped enough that we could climb it.

  “Go ahead,” I say, shivering.

  “Ladies always go first,” Chris replies, standing up beside me. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  I scowl, swinging my feet out of the tunnel and into the hard surface of the basin. The sound of the water lapping against the dirt is seriously freaking me out, because if there’s one thing I hate even more than small, dark spaces, it’s dark, deep water.

  I dig my hands into the dirt and lie on my stomach against the ground. The angle’s not too bad. I climb up on my hands and knees, hearing a soft pat as Chris swings onto the ground below me.

  “Race you to the top,” I say.

  “Get ready to lose, kid.”

  I pick up the speed, trying to go fast enough to beat him, but slow enough to avoid skidding downhill. I start laughing, actually enjoying myself for the first time since…well, since the apocalypse.

  “Eat my dust,” I tease, turning my head up towards the top of the basin. I inhale sharply, a tall man short hair staring straight at me.

  I lose my footing on the dirt and begin sliding backwards. The guy is standing motionless, just watching us, making no move to do anything violent. Chris grabs my legs as I slide down, pushing me back up. “Careful…” he whispers, his eyes trained on the guy. “What do you want?”

  The guy cocks his head to the side and brushes his coat behind his hips. Even against the night sky I can see the flash of his teeth from his creepy smile.

  “Chris…” I mutter.

  “You popped up on the wrong side of town,” he says.

  “What’s it to you?” Chris asks, and in my opinion he looks and sounds way more intimidating than this random dude.

  “Nothing. Just making a comment, man.”

  Chris urges me to keep climbing. I hesitate. Every inch puts me closer to the stranger. “What you got in those packs?” the guy asks. “Any food? Water?”

  “Nothing that belongs to you,” I say before I can stop myself.

  The guy laughs.

  “Maybe it does.”

  I climb to the right, coming up on the other side of the guy. He still doesn’t move, even as I climb to my feet and stand at the top of the basin. Chris draws himself up to his full height and steps in front of me. “Move on,” he warns. “Now.”

  The guy has wide, bloodshot eyes. Now that I’m standing a few feet away from him, I can see the obvious tears and smatterings of blood throughout his shirt. He’s hurt, and by the looks of it, starving.

  “Maybe we should…” I start to say.

  Chris cuts me off, indicating that I should start walking away. I look around the basin. There is a chain link fence surrounding the property, but thanks to a stroke of luck, there’s no barbed wire.

  “Just give me the packs, man,” the guy says, and this time his voice has a note of warning. “Come on. Help a guy out.”

  Chris holds his hands up and takes a few steps backwards, pushing me with him. “Not today. Sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as you’re going to be.”

  The man moves lightening quick. For somebody who looks like he’s halfway bleeding to death, he sure doesn’t act like it. He strikes out at Chris’s face with nothing but his fist. Chris blocks the blow with hardly any effort, snapping the guy’s arm back and kicking him into the ground.

  I just blink a few times, all of it happening it less than three seconds.

  The guy isn’t done yet, though. He springs back to his feet and flings off his jacket, revealing toned, muscular arms. “You wanna fight? I can do that,” he growls, wiping his nose. “Come on.”

  “Your funeral,” Chris says under his breath.

  I roll my eyes, watching the testosterone-fueled gladiator match play out before my eyes. “We could just give him some food,” I suggest.

  They both ignore me. Chris ducks his head to the left, avoiding a right hook from the guy. They both circle each other for a few seconds. Chris prowls around him like some kind of cat, twice as tall and definitely more knowledgeable in self- defense than this street fighter.

  Maybe the guy realizes that Chris is going to pound him into a pulp, or maybe he really is just as wounded as he looks — because he turns around, looks right at me, and rips the pack right off my back. He grabs my arms and whips around the other side of me, literally flinging me to the ground. I hit the ground on my side, tumbling tail over teakettle down the edge of the basin. I just roll all the way to the bottom, scraping my face up in the process.

  I hear some yelling and scuffling in the background, but all that disappears when I plunge sideways into the cold water of the basin. The shock of the freezing water is like sticking your finger in a light socket and getting electrocuted. For a second I can’t even move, completely submerged in black water. I can’t see anything. I can’t even feel the walls of the basin. Then my common sense kicks in and I start kicking upward, breaking the surface, sputtering for air. I’m only about eight feet away from the bank, so I start swimming towards it, hating how I have no idea how deep the water is — or what’s in it.

  Above me, the guy is laid out on the ground and starts tumbling down the bank, too.

  What is this? Public swimming appreciation day?

  Chris slides down after him, upright, keeping his balance perfectly. The guy skids to a halt right before the water, about two feet away from me. He reaches out and dunks my head under the water — just to spite me, I guess. The next thing I know, his hand is gone, I’m breaking the surface again, and the guy is about ten feet away in the water, having been put there by Chris.

  Chris grabs me by the belt of my pants and pulls me onto the dirt. He’s got a bloody lip, but other than that, he looks great. As always.

  I shiver, hating how gross my wet clothing feels against the soil.

  “Now what?” I ask, Chris linking his arms under my shoulders to get me on my feet. “Are you just going to leave him there?”

  “Maybe it’ll teach him a lesson,” he says, combing my hair back from my face. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I nod. “Just wet.”

  Chris helps me climb up the side of the basin again while the guy kicks and flails around in the water, not bothering to chase us up. I guess he finally got tired of getting his butt handed to him by a Navy Seal.

  Chris picks up my backpack from the ground and swings it around his shoulder. “I can carry that,” I say, my teeth chattering.

  “I got it,” he replies. “Take your coat off and try to get it dry.”

  I nod and peel off the fabric, feeling my skin tighten as the cold wind hits me. Chris casts a final glance at the guy, who’s pulling himself out of the water and crawling to the other side of the basin.

  “Punk,” he mutters.

  “All he wanted was a little help.”

  Chris places his hand on the small of my back, motioning for us to move.

  “He didn’t ask politely.”

  “You’re such a boy,” I mutter.

  We come to the chain link fence. Chris climbs it without any trouble. I manage to scramble over without landing on my butt, which means I have something going for me, at least. The two of us continue wa
lking back towards the highway, which is clearly visible from here. It’s littered with abandoned cars, making it kind of hard to miss.

  “Do you think Walter will be okay?” I ask quietly.

  “Yes.” Chris steps over a broken scooter. How the heck did a scooter get out in the middle of a grassy field? “Don’t worry about him, Cassidy. We have our own problems.”

  “There’s really no place left that’s safe, is there? They’ve probably taken over every city.” I pause. “And who is they anyway? What do these Omega freaks really want? How is possible that somebody we’ve never heard of has started setting up death camps all over the freaking state?”

  “Good question.” Chris thinks it over for a second. “It would make sense that they’re a U.N. based group. Where else would they come from? How else would they be ready for this? But it’s amazing to me why nobody’s doing anything to stop it.”

  “Maybe they can’t,” I reply, frowning. “The EMP disabled all our technology, right? Maybe our military is suffering just as much as we are. Hey, you don’t think…?” I trail off.

  Chris casts a sideways glance at me.

  “What?” he asks.

  “You don’t think this whole EMP thing was a plan?” I say. “Maybe whoever is behindOmega planned it and then they were just waiting to roll in and take over. Does that make any sense?”

  “It makes perfect sense,” Chris replies. “The question is, who is orchestrating all this?”

  “And why?” I add. “Man, this sucks.”

  Understatement of the century.

  Chris claps me on the shoulder, making me stumble.

  “No, it could be worse,” he assures me. “And we’re going to be fine.”

  “Considering it’s the end of the world, I don’t know if fine is the word I would use to describe our situation.”

  “We’re better off than most people,” Chris smiles. I mean, really smiles. It’s kind of gorgeous, even though I can barely see in the dark. Because he’s not wearing a jacket, his shirt is pretty much soaking wet from the constant drizzle, sticking to his muscles in all the right places.

  Whoa…