State of Emergency

At around nine o’clock, I plug the earphones into the crank radio and tune into all the stations available. There’s not a single signal from any of them, and since I know what I know aboutOmega now, I’m wondering if the stations are really dead. Maybe they’ve just been commandeered. In that case, maybe somebody will rebroadcast one of Hitler’s speeches to make us feel at home under the new order. It would only be fitting.

I hate you, I think bitterly, thinking about whatever sick mind is behind all this crap. I hope somebody finds you and takes you down.

I try to relax after that. I don’t want to think about my dad because then I might start believing that he never made it out of LA and won’t be meeting me at the cabin. I don’t want to think about my mom working at the hotel in Culver City. I’d heard that she was on vacation out of state this week, so maybe she’s okay if she was out of the big cities. I didn’t have any friends back home, so besides my estranged mom and maybe-alive father, I don’t have many people to worry about.

Story of my life.

At ten, I drop off to sleep. I don’t dream about anything, but at midnight I wake up gasping for breath, freaked out. My heart is racing like I just ran a marathon and I feel my headache again, back in full force. I’m also covered in a cold sweat. Disturbed, I try to prop myself up along the inside of the car and get comfortable, but that just makes me dizzy.

I realize that I’ve probably caught some kind of cold after traveling for five days in the pouring rain with hardly any food, so I search around in my backpack for emergency protein supplements.

And that’s when I hear the voices. Real human voices that sound like they’re not too far away. I freeze like a deer in headlights, forgetting about my headache for a minute.

Male voices…I think. Several. A yellow beam of light flashes through the air and I drop to my stomach, terrified. Somebody is walking down the Interstate. Granted, they could be survivors, just like Chris and me, but they could also be thugs. Like crowbar boy back in Santa Clarita.

“Chris,” I whisper, tugging on his sleeve. “People. Hello. There are possible enemies outside with big flashlights!”

He snaps awake. I grab his arm to keep him from sitting up in front of the windows. “There are people outside,” I hiss.

Chris knits his brow, making a move to grab his gun and whatever other weapon he’s been keeping hidden in his pant leg pocket. I realize that my fingernails are digging into his skin because I’m gripping his arm so hard. “Sorry,” I whisper.

He pats my cheek. Under normal circumstances I would have blushed, but another flashlight beam slides across the road. Then two more. I peek my head over the bottom of the window, spotting three figures in the darkness. They’re tall, definitely masculine and they’ve got rifles slung across their backs.

“Big. Strong. Armed,” I breathe, sufficiently spooked. “If they find us, we’re toast.”

“We don’t know they’re our enemies yet,” Chris whispers, but he still makes sure his gun is loaded. He hands me a heavy Bowie knife. It’s sharp enough to split a hair. “Use this if you have to.”

I nod.

“But you can feel free to go ahead and shoot them first,” I advise. “I kind of suck with knives. I almost cut off my thumb once when I was slicing a tomato.”

Chris blinks.

“Really, Cassie?” He says, a tremor of laughter in his voice. “Focus here.”

 I flush.

“Sorry.”

Just then all the strangers’ flashlights go out. I will myself to remain motionless, to stop breathing.

Be a statue, I tell myself.

It’s totally dark, and their voices vanish altogether. Chris tenses beside me, his hand on my shoulder. Neither of us is willing to speak and give ourselves away.

Drip drop.

Rain?

I scream, taken completely by surprise as the trunk of the SUV pops open and three powerful flashlights are shined right in our faces. Chris throws his arm out in front of me, pushing me backwards, and holds his gun up defensively.

At first the light is so glaring that I can’t begin to see the faces of the people who are holding them. But I can hear their voices.

“Well,” someone says. Young male voice. “What have we got here?”

His face comes into view. He’s tall, short black hair cut to the scalp. Pinched face. The guy next to him is around the same age, same haircut. The last guy is younger than the rest, but stocky. Probably powerful.

The second two are also pointing their rifles at us.

Chris doesn’t lower his weapon, and for a few really long seconds everybody just kind of stares at everybody else like we’re all on the pause mode of a DVD player. “Put down the weapon, man,” the main guy says. The one with the black hair. “We’ll blow your head off if you try to shoot us.”

Chris, realizing that we’re literally backed into a hole (aka as an SUV), slowly lowers his gun and sets it on the floor. Guy Number Two grabs the gun and stuffs it into his belt, gri

“Pretty girl,” he says, looking right at me. “Real pretty. Remember me?”

If there were such a thing as a literal death stare, Chris would have killed all three of them with the intense glare he’s shooting their way. But I only stare, horrified. Because the guy I’m looking at is the same jerk that pushed me into the basin in Bakersfield. I can even see the bruises on his face where Chris beat the crap out of him.

Has he been tracking us?

“What do you want?” Chris asks, his voice a lot calmer than his body language.

“Just sniffing out rats, man,” the main dude replies. “We found a couple. Climb on outta there. You too, baby.” He holds his hand out to me. I ignore the gesture and step onto the pavement, Chris right beside me. “That’s right. Nice and easy.”

Main Dude looks me over, a creepy grin crawling across his face.

“Not bad. Not bad at all.” He motions to the backpack. “Got anything this time?”

“No,” I lie.

Guy Number Two shoves the cold barrel of his rifle into my back.

“Don’t lie to us,” he warns.

“I’m not. There’s nothing in there but…feminine products.” I bite my lip, fighting the urge to smirk. “Seriously. You can have them if you want, but I can’t see why a couple of macho guys like you would be interested. I mean, that’s just wrong.”

Main Dude’s mouth twitches. He flicks his finger underneath my chin, inspecting my face like I’m some kind of exhibit. “She always like this?” he asks, looking at Chris.

He shrugs.

“You have no idea.”

Main Dude smiles. It’s probably the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen, because he leans just a little closer and says, “I think we can use you.” He turns to Chris. “You, on the other hand, I can’t think of a reason to keep alive.”

“Whoa!” I say, almost shouting. “Excuse me. Exactly what is your purpose for holding us at gunpoint in the middle of the remains of a freeway? I’d give you some change, but I seriously doubt if coins are worth anything anymore.”

“Just staying off the radar,” Main Dude says. “And enjoying it while we do.”

“Staying off the radar?” I repeat. “MeaningOmega’s radar, right?”

He nods.

“They’re everywhere, man.” He shakes his head. “Like roaches.”

“So let us go,” I say. “We’re just trying to do the same thing.”

“Yeah, but you’re a pretty girl, and I know a lot of guys back at camp that wouldn’t mind your company,” he replies like it’s no big deal. “Come on.”

He grabs me by the waist and pulls me forward. Scared, I don’t think about what I do. But I do it. I whack him across the face with my fist as hard as I can. He stumbles backwards, bewildered, just as Chris literally rips the rifle out of Guy Number Two’s hands and smashes the butt against his head.

Guy Number Two hits the ground, out cold — maybe dead — when I spin around, face to face with Guy Number Three. He grabs me by the hair and jams the heavy side of his gun into my stomach, knocking the air out of my lungs.