State of Emergency

I blink, all of this sinking in slowly.

“Why? Where did they come from? What country do they represent?” I say slowly.

“No country,” Walter shrugs. “You look around town and you’ll see posters advertising their presence.” I take the poster I peeled off the wall out of my pocket and smooth it out over my knee. He’s right. “They represent not one country, but all,” he goes on. “They seem to be some sort of emergency response force at first glance, but then again, their soldiers range in nationality from American to Russian. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“So who do they answer to?” I ask. “The US? The U.N.? South America? Who?”

“I couldn’t say,” Walter replies. “It’s possible that they’re some kind of branch of the United Nations...but that would come as a surprise to me. I’ve never seen an insignia like theirs before.” He reaches out and studies the poster that’s sitting in my lap. The O in Omega is four times as big as the rest of the letters, and once again, I’m left to look at all the continents of the earth that are crammed inside the O.

“So we don’t know where they’re from,” I say. “What’s they’re purpose?”

“Who gives a damn?” Chris spits. “They’re killing i

“I heard rumors that some of our men were engaged in combat on the East Coast,” Walter admits. “It’s possible that this is an invasion of some sort. Then again, all I know is what I see.”

“How big is Omega? Do we know?”

“Does it matter?” Walter answers, taking his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt. “They are here, and that’s all that’s important. They are killing us. I do not need to why they’re doing it — just that they are.”

“Why aren’t we fighting them? Is anybody even trying?” Chris says, every muscle in his body tense. He looks ready to kill somebody.

“I’m sure someone is trying, boy. But at the moment our country is very weak, isn’t it? We just got hit with an EMP. Everybody’s panicking. Our own government is completely dissolved without a way to communicate with its branches. It has little to no power right now. What can they do to protect us? I’m sure there are military forces on the front lines — wherever that is - right now, but they can’t be everywhere at once. We were taken by surprise.”

Chris leans forward.

“Sounds like these Omega pukes were ready to roll in before this thing even hit,” he states. “They were pretty well prepared for this. We saw more executions about forty miles from here. You think Omega’s responsible for the EMP?”

“We may never know who was behind the EMP,” Walter replies. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t dedicate your time to figuring out why or how. I would worry about staying alive now.”

“But shouldn’t we know why some random army we’ve never heard of before is trying to kill all of us?” I point out.

“No.” Walter narrows his gaze. “Your life has one purpose, now. And that is to stay alive.”

“You were in the military,” Chris says suddenly, leaning forward.

“Yes,” Walter sighs, setting the book down abruptly. “I was a Pilot…a long time ago.”

“During World War Two,” I add, putting the pieces together.

“I was a history teacher for thirty years,” he sighs. “I thought I’d seen it all, too. But this…this is a takeover. They’re killing off anyone they think might get in their way. I saw this once, more than sixty years ago. Never thought I’d see it here. And who knows how far it’s spread?”

I stare at my coffee, suddenly feeling sick.

“You saw this before inGermany,” I say, bringing my eyes up to his.

He says nothing.

“I’m only alive right now because I wasn’t stupid enough to run into the streets when everything went to hell,” he replies, standing up again. “But I’ll run out of food eventually. Not that I’m upset about that. I’m old enough to die, don’t you think?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Self pity much?” I say before I can stop myself.

Walter rubs his hands on his pants again — a nervous habit, I’m guessing.

“Do you live here alone?” Chris asks, his voice low.

“Now I do.” Walter paces to the window, the one nailed over with curtains. “They took my wife. First day. She went downstairs…haven’t seen her since.”

My throat seizes up.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

He waves me off.

“It was her decision, not mine,” he answers, but his voice is shaky.

“Thank you for letting us stay here,” I tell him.

“You’re not staying here,” he corrects, turning around. His eyes are bright with tears from speaking about his wife. My heart breaks just looking at him. “I brought you here so you wouldn’t be shot on the streets. If you try to get out by just walking through the town, you’re dead. They’ve got guards posted on every block that leads out of the city.”

“We got into the city fine,” I point out.

“They’re not trying to stop people from coming in,” Walter says, picking up the coffeepot. Pouring a cup. “They’re keeping people from coming out.”

Chris rests his arm against the back of the sofa.

“What are you saying, old man?”

Walter breaks into a wide smile.

“I know a safe way out of the city,” he grins.

“And?”

“And to be honest, I just wanted to see if somebody could really pull it off.”

Chris stands up, drinking the entire contents of the coffee cup in one gulp.

“Details?” he asks.

“There are tu

“Are you serious?” I exclaim. “Tu

“All cities have secrets,” Walter shrugs.

“How do we get to these tu

“I’ll show you,” Walter says, “but we can’t do it until it gets dark. It’s too easy to be caught otherwise.”

“Why haven’t you gotten out of the city through the tu

“Sweetheart, I’m over eighty-seven years old,” he replies, the corners of his mouth curling upward. “I’m not in any condition to be making a daring escape.”

I blush, embarrassed that he even had to point that out.

“Ah, right,” I cough.

“Are you hungry?” Walter asks.

“Starved,” I reply.

“I’ll get some food for you.”

“We can’t take your food,” Chris says, being uncharacteristically kind to our host.

“Boy, I’m dying either way,” he laughs. “No use worrying about me.”

I sigh. Cheery.

Chapter Eight

So if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the United States of America has generally been a pretty cool place to live. I mean, sure, it’s not perfect by any stretch, but at least I have the freedom to snag a caramel macchiato every once in a while. Or watch a soap opera instead of doing homework.

Yeah, my idea of the land of the free and home of the brave is pretty basic. Until now.Because my caramel macchiato and soap operas seem to be in permanent jeopardy.

Chris and I take turns sleeping on the sofa in Walter’s apartment, neither of us really feeling comfortable enough to be asleep at the same time. Before we know it, the rest of the day has passed, and Walter is walking up and down the length of the living room, excited.

“What’s eating you, old man?” Chris asks, stretching his tall, lean frame over the couch. “You’re not the one who’s going to escape.”

“But you’re more than welcome to come with us,” I add, shooting Chris a look.

Walter shakes his head.

“No, no,” he says. “There’s nothing in it for me. This better work, though.”