State of Emergency c-1

by Summer Lane

She smiles — seriously reminding me of an evil pixie — and snaps the gold chain right off my neck. She holds it in front of her face, the tiny shield with Chris’s name in silver glimmering against the gold.

  “Pretty,” she says. “Thanks.”

  “Give that back,” I say, and this time, I’m not playing Mr. Nice Guy, er, Girl. My cheeks get hot as the blood rushes to my face — I’m angry. No, furious. Chris gave that to me. “Don’t make me remove that from your neck.”

  Blondie holds up the snapped chain and drops it in her pocket.

  “We can use this later.”

  Choker looks a little disturbed but the dark haired boy — I’m calling him Spot, now — doesn’t look like he cares.

  “Give. It. Back,” I say, trying to reign in my temper. I don’t want to explode.

  “Come. And. Get. It,” Blondie replies, grinning.

  I shift my position, but as soon as I move, Choker aims the rifle at my head again. “Don’t move,” he warns. Spot also places his hand on my forearm.

  Great. Blondie’s guard dogs are acting up.

  “This is going to be a long day,” I complain.

  “Totally.” Blondie pats her pocket and proceeds to pull all of her supplies out of their own packs. They’ve got a quite a bit of food — how they got it, I don’t know — and first aid stuff. Sleeping bags, even. Maybe they were camping out here when the pulse hit.

  I also notice a NYC keychain on one of the backpacks.

  “You’re from New York,” I say.

  Blondie looks up at me, startled.

  “How did you know that?” she demands.

  “I read a lot of Sherlock Holmes books when I was a kid,” I reply.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Forget it,” I sigh. “Look. Give me my chain and my stuff and I’ll get out of here.”

  “No.” Blondie sets to work making some kind of stew. “I don’t trust you.”

  “If this is how you treat all the people you meet, you’re never going to be very popular,” I comment.

  She makes a charming remark about my intelligence before returning to their lunch. I scoot down on the ground and lean against the log, tired. Blondie and her cohorts treat themselves to a meal when she’s done preparing it, but they never invite me to join in. After an hour or so, my lips are chapped and I’m dying for water, but when I bring it up, Blondie just tells me to, “suck it up and deal with it.”

  I am so going to stick her head in a hole.

  It doesn’t take me long to realize after hanging around these guys that they’re not big on being stealthy. They camp out in the middle of the day, light a fire, and make all kinds of noise. Choker decides to get in some target practice with his rifle, making two idiotic mistakes. One, he’s wasting precious ammunition. Two, he’s making an enormous amount of noise and practically setting up a giant neon arrow over our heads that says, “OMEGA: COME FIND US.”

  The afternoon passes without any incident. Nighttime comes and Blondie keeps the fire going at a pretty good size blaze. The size of the fire and the amount of smoke makes me uneasy. We’re too close to the road to be lighting up the night sky with flames.

  “Where are you guys headed?” I ask. The three of them are bent over their dinner — a dinner nobody shared with me yet again. My stomach can’t take much more of this.

  “We’re not headed anywhere,” Choker replies. “We’re just wandering.”

  “Shut up,” Blondie snaps, slapping his knee. “Don’t tell her anything.”

  “That’s too bad,” I shrug. “Because I’m familiar with these mountains, and you’re not…and we could probably help each other if you’d just get off your ego trip and admit that I’m not here to assassinate you.”

  Blondie doesn’t respond, but I can see the wheels turning in her head from here. Choker almost smiles. Spot…well, he just gazes into the fire, like he’s been doing all day.

  I wonder what these messed up kids have been through.

  “Look, you’re making some big mistakes here,” I say. “First of all, you shouldn’t have a fire this big, this close to the road, or in the same place for so long. Omega troopscould see it and find you. Who knows how widespread their forces are? You need to quit wasting ammo and firing shots when you don’t need to. Save the bullets for the bad guys.”

  Choker looks at me like I’m the most amazing thing since spilt milk.

  “You know a lot about survival?” he asks.

  “Enough.”

  “How much?’ Spot says suddenly, his brown eyes searching my face.

  “Come on, guys,” Blondie whines. “Are you seriously going to believe this chick?”

  “Don’t get jealous, city girl,” I reply, my tone sharp. “I don’t think growing up in New York taught you very much about survival.”

  She frowns, looking away.

  Yeah, that’s what I thought.

  “Bree, maybe we should listen to her,” Spot says, using Blondie’s real name for the first time. “Look at her. She looks like she knows what she’s doing.”

  “No freaking way,” Blondie snarls, and when she turns back to us, I can see tears shining in her eyes. “I know what I’m doing. We don’t need anybody’s help. Especially some random girl’s.”

  “You lost your parents, didn’t you?” I say, realization dawning. “I’m sorry.”

  Choker looks down. Blondie glares at me, her lower lip trembling.

  “None of your business,” she replies, standing up. “I’m getting some more firewood.”

  As she crashes through the undergrowth, Spot looks at me from his spot beside me. “Yes,” he whispers. “We lost them.”

  “When did this happen?” I ask, the sadness in his expression so deep I can’t even imagine it.

  “The day everything died,” he said. “They were driving the car in front of us. Went off a cliff.”

  A lead weight settles in the bottom of my stomach. Horrified, I say the only thing I can say. “I’m sorry.”

  And I am. I really am.

  The next day is exactly the same. Blondie — aka Bree — is an absolute witch to me while Choker guards me like a faithful St. Bernard. Spot hangs out around the fire, doing nothing. Apparently his depression runs a lot deeper than his siblings.

  The three of them make me sit near the eternal campfire all day, never offering to cut the tight plastic cord around my wrists. Choker gives me a little food and water when Blondie’s not around, but that’s about it. I can’t really run off without my stuff, so I have to wait for an opportunity to get my gear and Chris’s graduation chain.

  “Aren’t you guys ever going to move?” I say.

  While my sympathy for their loss is real, I can’t believe that anybody would be so stupid as to camp out next to the road with a campfire for days at a time. Sheer dumb luck is the only reason they haven’t been found by unsavory characters.

  “We’re fine right here,” Blondie replies.

  “It’s winter. You can’t go very long without running into a huge storm.”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “I will when you tell me what you plan on doing with me,” I say. “Because I can’t just sit here forever, and since you won’t take my advice, I’m thinking that I want to get out of here beforeOmega swoops in and kills us all.”

  Blondie rolls her eyes.

  “Seriously?” she laughs. “Omega? What the hell isOmega? You’re insane.”

  I blink a few times before the truth hits me: Of course. Who would know about the whole OMEGA thing except for Chris and me? I mean, we had a teacher sit down and explain it to us…and even he could have been wrong. So I try to explain the basics of it to her. Blondie, however, just thinks I’m making it all up as an excuse to escape and disregards everything I say.

  Genius.

  I really do need to get out of here. But I have to patient. My best bet is during the night. At least two of them are asleep at once, while one of the boys stays up to keep guard. I’ll just h
ave to come up with something.

  Until then, it’s boredom central. I take advantage of the opportunity to nap and rest. I anxiously scan the skies when I’m awake, noting the approach of heavy, dark clouds over the higher mountains. A storm is coming. And these dingbats are probably foolish enough to stay in the open and ignore a search for shelter.

  When I make mention of the storm, Blondie just shrugs and pretends I never said anything. I eventually figure out that all three of them are in a state of denial over their situation, and they don’t intend to break a sweat over staying alive.

  Screw that approach. I want to live.

  When it gets dark at last, Blondie and Spot go to sleep around the fire while Choker stays up to watch me. I lean against the backpack, puzzling out how I’m going to escape. I could ask to go to the bathroom and sneak off into the night…but I don’t want to leave without Chris’s chain and my backpack.

  So what’s my game plan?

  The distant roll of thunder over Kings Canyon startles me. Great. There’s probably a flood washing down the hill at this moment. But will they care? No. I sit upright, listening to the thunder roll again. And again.

  And…

  I stop moving, a chill crawling up my spine. The thunder is steady, getting louder. Getting…closer. Oh, my god. I stand up, more noise joining the first chorus of what I thought was thunder.

  Because it’s not.

  It’s the engine of a truck.

  Choker stands up across the campfire, watching my movements.

  “Don’t try to make a run for,” he says, yawning.

  “Wake up, Bree!” I ignore Choker and kick her foot.

  “What the –“ she begins, anger flashing across her face when she sees me. “What are you doing, Ginger?”

  “Trucks. Coming this way,” I warn. “Quick. Put out the fire. Get your gun loaded. We need to move now.”

  “Are you kidding?” Blondie rolls out of her sleeping bag, excitement written across her features. “Trucks mean people and people mean help. We can go home!”

  “You’re insane!” I hiss. “They’ll kill us. No civilian’s cars are working right now.Omega vehicles are are, but that’s it. Listen to me. You stay here and you’re dead.”

  “Shut her up,” Blondie commands, looking absolutely livid. “We’re going home, boys.”

  “You’re going home alright!” I yell. “Don’t be stupid! You’re going to get everyone killed!”

  Blondie pulls her hood across her face.

  “Like I care what you say.”

  And just like that, she trots off into the darkness, following the sound of the trucks. Dear Lord, she’s lost her ever-loving mind.

  “Stop her!” I tell the boys.

  They just look at me with blank expressions.

  “We do need help,” Choker shrugs.

  I narrow my eyes.

  “Yeah. And it’s not going be to from me.”

  I slam my boot right between his legs, putting all my force into it. Choker cries out, dropping the rifle to the ground. Spot jumps out of his sleeping bag, looking momentarily terrified before he rushes toward me, trying to bring me down.

  No. I’m not in the mood.

  My wrists are still tied together, so I slam both my fists across his face in what’s possibly the most unorthodox punch in the history of self-defense. Spot stumbles backwards as I deliver a beautiful roundhouse kick to make my point. He crashes down, clutching his head and moaning.

  I guess I did learn something from those self-teaching DVDs about martial arts from the library.

  I reach down, grab the rifle, and aim it at Choker.

  “Open my backpack and get my knife out,” I say. “And do it quickly.”

  Choker slowly crawls across the dirt, dragging my backpack out from behind the log. He fumbles around for a little while before pulling out the knife.

  “Give it to Spot,” I command.

  Choker looks at me, confused, and I realize that I just called him by my nickname for him out loud. Whatever.

  Choker tosses the knife to Spot, who stares at is as it lies on the ground. In the not-so-far-off distance, the sounds of multiple trucks seems extra loud against the night sky. Do I hear voices, too?

  “Pick up the knife,” I say, “and cut these plastic ties off my wrist.”

  I walk over to Spot, kneel, and keep my rifle trained on Choker’s head for the maximum effect. Spot, dizzy and terrified from the two smacks I gave him, obeys without thinking. He picks up Jeff’s knife and cuts through the binds.

  I exhale, loving the freedom of movement I have, now.

  “Stay where you are, big guy,” I tell Choker.

  I grab my backpack, strap the knife to my belt, and keep the rifle within easy reach. “I would suggest that you run,” I advise, “because trust me when I say that what’s coming isn’t…” I trail off as Blondie’s piercing scream rips through the air.

  Without a second glance at Choker and Spot, and sprint forward into the darkness, wishing to god those boys would kill the light from the fire. On second thought, I hope they just run.

  Blondie screams again. There are voices. It sounds like some of the trucks’ engines have been cut, which means whoever’s coming is getting out of their vehicles. “Bree!” I shout, desperate.

  Why do I care what happens to her?

  “Bree, answer me!”

  A gunshot breaks the monotone of the truck engines. Dread hits me like a brick in the chest as run in the direction where the gun fired. I can’t see, but I can hear. “Bree? Bree!”

  I stop and listen, leaning against a tree.

  And then,

  “Ginger?”

  It’s faint, but it’s her voice. I scramble towards it, dropping to my hands and knees. I rake through the mud and leaves until I touch warm flesh, Blondie’s hand.

  “Bree,” I say, leaning over her. I can’t see. “Are you…?”

  I run my hands up her stomach, trying to find her face, but I stop. There’s hot, sticky blood on her abdomen. “Oh, my god, Bree…” I breathe, choking on a gag. “I’m so sorry…”

  Her breathing is heavy as her hand gropes for my face. When she finally finds it, she pulls my head forward and whispers, “I’m sorry, Ginger.”

  She drops something into my lap. Her hand falls away from my face, hitting the ground with a soft thud. I push my fist against my mouth to keep from screaming, checking her wrist, her chest, and her neck for any sign of a pulse.

  But there’s nothing.

  She’s dead.

  Trembling from head to toe, I reach into my lap. My fingers brush cool metal.

  Chris’s gold chain.

  I bite my lip, stuffing it into my pocket. I need to run. I need to move. Now. But I can’t leave her here like this. What kind of a person would I be?

  “Hey, stop!”

  It’s a man’s voice, and it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at me. There are flashlights about fifty feet away from me, combing through the woods. From here I can see dark shadows moving around the orange light of the campfire.

  “Run, boys,” I murmur, leaning forward.

  I compulsively press a kiss to Blondie’s — Bree’s — forehead and climb to my feet, feeling like I’m moving through a slow dream. I just held a girl’s hand as she died. Am I really doing this?

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper again.

  Another gunshot. A scream.

  Choker? Spot?

  I have to go. I turn and break into a run, streaking through the dark forest, occasionally stumbling over roots and stones. Another scream. I slow to a halt. What am I doing? I can’t just leave those dumb kids to fend for themselves.

  Against my better judgment, I take the rifle in my hand and feel for the safety switch. It’s off. I make sure the thing’s loaded and start running again…in the opposite direction. As I near the campfire, I hear the pleading, pathetic voices of Spot and Choker. I creep closer, staying out of the way of flashlight beams.

  I
inhale.

  There are only two Omega soldiers. One’s got a gun, while the other holds a flashlight. Spot and Choker are on their knees with their hands behind their heads. I can hear more voices in the distance, which means this party’s about to be crashed by more animals.

  I drop to my stomach, holding the gun close to my cheek, the butt steady against my shoulder. I look through the sight, taking a deep breath. I used to play Airsoft with my cousin when I was younger, and it wasn’t much different than this.

  AT trooper Number One has his gun cocked and aimed at Choker’s head. Anger tears through my body, making me hot. I’ve still got Bree’s blood on my left hand, reminding me just how capable these guys are of taking a human life.

  I aim my rifle, check the sight one more time, and pray.

  Then I squeeze the trigger.

  The AT guard with the gun screams, and both of the guys drop to the ground for cover. I fire a few rounds into the dirt, scaring the crap out of both of them. They start dragging themselves away from the fire, and in the process, Choker and Spot hunker down with their hands behind their necks.

  As the troopers run, I realize something:

  I have the perfect opportunity to kill both of them.

  And why shouldn’t I? Stupid, pathetic bullies who enjoy killing innocent men, women and children don’t deserve any mercy from me.

  But I’m not like them, am I? I don’t kill people. It’s not my job to decide who lives or dies. I guess that’s what sets me apart from the enemy in this game of survival. This state of emergency.

  So I just fire another shot, the two Omega soldiers checking out and making a mad dash through the darkness, calling for backup. I stand up and run through the bushes, completely wired with adrenaline in its most dangerous form.

  “Get up!”

  I break into camp. Choker and Spot are staring at me with wide eyes, both covered with tears. “Listen to me,” I say, grabbing Spot by the collar. “Run. Run as fast as you can, as far as you can. Get your gear and go. Do you understand me?”

  He nods weakly, moaning something about Bree.

  I don’t want to tell him that his sister’s dead, so I don’t. He’s probably figured it out already, judging by the blood I just smeared all over his shirt with my hands. “Just run,” I say again.