State of Emergency

I force my eyes open. The first thing I see is a dark wood ceiling and a couple of closed curtains with sunlight poking through the openings. I’m lying like a mummy with my hands to my sides underneath a heavy quilt.

How did I get into a bed? It’s way more comfy than the back of a camper shell. I chalk that up to score one for me.

I push myself up, surprised to notice that my headache is gone. Finally. I feel a little spacey, like I’m floating above everything in the room, but besides that…I feel good. “Hello?” I say, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I clear my throat. “Hello?”

No answer.

I peel the sheets back, noting what I’m wearing. A pair of fla

It better have been Isabel.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, touching cold hardwood flooring. The whole room is like a little cabin, with pictures and books and an old lamp covered with dust. I touch an old dresser and spot a picture frame. Fueled by my insane curious nature, I grab it and look it over. It’s a picture of a rugged, handsome young man in a suit and tie. He bears a striking resemblance to Chris.

Hmm.

I turn it over. Someone has written Chris, Senior Year, on the back in permanent ink. I stare it then turn the picture over, smitten with the young man in the picture. Chris. Ten years ago. And now he’s got a goatee, long hair and a tattoo of a cobra on his left bicep.

Nice.

I put the picture back and creep to the door. I know where I am now. We must have made it to Chris’s family home. I open it and peek into a long dark hallway. Everything looks like it was built in the 1940s. The architecture is on the smaller side. I’m guessing there was no obesity epidemic back then, because my great aunt could never squeeze through the doorframe…

I follow the hall. Every door is closed except for mine, which means I can’t snoop. Bummer. I come to a stairway, where a bunch of black and white photos are tacked onto the wall. Family heirlooms, I guess.

I go downstairs. There’s a big door and a bunch of windows covered with curtains. On the left is a living room — a huge one with beat up couches and an old television set — and on the right is a dining room with a big table. I can’t hear any noises from anywhere in the house, so I turn and go back upstairs. Frankly, I may be feeling better, but I still feel tired. I yawn, walk back into the bedroom I was in, and crawl onto the bed. I hug a pillow, dub him my best friend, and pull the quilt over me. Obviously Chris and Isabel are here somewhere, I just have to wait for them to come back here.

“Knock, knock.”

I squeeze my BFF Mr. Pillow and look up. A tall, lean young man with blonde hair is standing in the doorway. He’s wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, taking off a pair of dirty gloves.

“Jeff?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

He grins. It’s cute.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replies “I know who you are. My brother told me about you.”

“Interesting,” I say, stifling another yawn. “Where is he? Chris, I mean. And Isabel.”

“They’re outside, helping the folks,” he answers. “I’ll tell them you’re awake.”

“Hey, wait!” I say, stumbling out of bed. “Listen, how long have I been here? What happened?”

“You’ve been out for about two days,” Jeff replies, and I can’t help but notice how his eyes keep checking me out from head to toe. I must look really bad. “My mom’s a nurse, so she helped you. She’s got medicine and stuff she keeps for emergencies.” He sticks his gloves in his back pocket, crossing his arms. Totally ripped arms, I might add. Not as strong looking as his older brother’s, but still. “You were really sick.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, tugging on the ends of my hair. “What was wrong with me?”

“I think you were bleeding internally,” he shrugs. “I mean, that’s what my mom said. It must have been fixable, though.” He grins. “Obviously.”

I smile, flushing.

“Thanks for taking me in,” I say, feeling the need to let me him know how much appreciate sleeping indoors for the first time in over a week. “I just…thank you.”

“No problem,” he answers. “Chris has never brought home any friends before, let alone any girls. Or pretty ones.”

I totally blush, so I try to hide the color in my cheeks by walking to the window and throwing back the curtains. “I’d like to meet your parents,” I say. “I need to thank your mom.”

“Sure,” he agrees, smiling brightly. “Why don’t you come down to the kitchen? You gotta be hungry. Chris and Isabel ate, like, two tons when they got here.”

“Sounds like them,” I remark.

“Come on,” he waves for me to follow him. “So you’re like nineteen, right?”

“Yeah.” We walk down the hall, to the stairs. “And you’re seventeen. A senior.”

“Like that matters anymore,” he sighs. “I think the school year kind of froze when the pulse hit.”

“Tell me about it.” We reach the bottom of the stairs and walk into the kitchen. It’s a cute room with big counters and lots of cupboards. “Where were you when it happened?”

“Home. The power went out,” he answers. “Besides that, we didn’t know anything was wrong. Until they started evacuating Squaw Valley. They tried to get us to leave, but we just kept stalling. They left us behind. Good thing, too. Chris told us about theOmega relief camp thing.”

Jeff rummages around in the cupboards and pulls out a bowl of apples and a bag of potato chips. “Might as well eat them before they go bad,” he shrugs.

“Thanks!”

I pop open the bag and start eating. It tastes so good. Like a turkey di

“Chris told us that you’re meeting your dad at a cabin higher up,” Jeff says, watching me eat.

“Yeah, that’s the general plan,” I nod, meeting his gaze. His eyes aren’t quite as green as his brother’s, but there’s a certain amount of intensity that’s the same. “But honestly, I don’t know if he’ll even be there.”

“Never break an emergency plan,” Jeff advises, leaning against the counter. “You should go.”

I find myself smiling.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agree. “I guess I’m just worried that he never made it out of LA.”

That maybe he’s stuck in some concentration camp somewhere.

I shudder and stuff another potato chip in my mouth, which I’m sure Jeff finds charming. “You have no idea how good this greasy crap tastes,” I say, laughing. “I’ve been living on energy bars for a week.”

Jeff chuckles.

“I understand that.”

“So do I.”

Both of us turn at the same time. Chris walks into the room. He’s wearing dark wash jeans, boots and a tight black tee under an open tan shirt. His hair is hanging loose, and he looks like he’s been sweating it out doing something physical. It’s a really good look for him.

“Hey,” I say. “We’re still alive.”

“You’re still alive,” he corrects, wrapping his arms around me. He pulls me into a warm, fantastic hug. I lay my head against his chest — or, because I’m way shorter than him, his stomach — and sigh. He rests his chin on top of my head, swaying back and forth. I don’t even remember that Jeff is in the room until he says, “Where’s mom and dad?”

“In the barn,” Chris replies, gently easing away from me. He doesn’t remove his arm from around my waist, though. Score. “My mother’s going to want to check up on you, Cassie.”

“Good, I want to meet her.”

He studies my face for a long minute, probably making sure that my sanity is intact after the tears/puking incident on the way up here. “How do you feel?”

“Better. Did you run into any trouble while I was out in the car?”

“No, we were lucky,” he says. “They cleared out the whole town and didn’t leave anybody behind. I guess there’s not enough of a population here to warrant their time.”