Текст книги "State of Emergency"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

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 have 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.

I toss the rifle into his arms.

He holds it awkwardly, frozen. I turn away from the fire and make my way back into the woods, stopping only when Spot says, “Thank you.” I cast him a final glance. He looks confused. “And my name’s Jack. This is Peter.”

I almost smile, but I’m too shell shocked.

“Cassidy,” I whisper.

And then I run.

At dawn, I literally skid to a halt and land on my butt under a tall redwood. I kind of lost all sense of direction running through the darkness, because my only priority all night was to run away from the trucks and the shots.

Where am I now? I could be at the North Pole for all I know.

I lay my head against the tree, pulling a water canteen out of my backpack with shaky hands. I’m not cold, I’m just exhausted. Probably slightly traumatized, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to check into group therapy when this all over, so I just swallow my anxiety and close my eyes.

When I open them again, it’s late morning. I must have slept for about three or four hours. Chilled, I force myself to eat some jerky and crackers. I have absolutely no appetite, but starvation isn’t going to earn me bonus points in the “staying alive” category, so I choke it down anyway.

When I get too cold, I get up and start walking. North? South? Which way am I going? I look at the sun, but that doesn’t help much. I can barely see the sky through the trees. On top of that, an icy wind starts cutting down the side of the mountain, just about freezing me to death.

And all I can think about is Peter and Jack. Are they still alive? How many people are like them? How many kids have been orphaned and hunted down for committing the simple crime of existing?  And what about Bree? I look down at my left hand. Under the glove, I wasn’t able to get all the blood off my hand. It makes me sick to look at it.

So I don’t.

Instead I just continue to wander the forest, going nowhere. Completely lost. No matter which way I go, I can’t seem to find the main highway again. Every stick and patch of weeds looks exactly the same. I actually get dizzy from walking in so many circles.

Okay, so what is somebody supposed to do if they get lost?

1.      Hug a tree.

2.      Blow a whistle, if you have it.

3.      Stay in the same place until somebody finds you.

4.      Try to avoid angry bears and wasp nests.

The only problem is, nobody is going to be looking for me except for some rabid Omega soldiers, and I don’t want them to find me.

I’m so screwed.

When my dad and I drove up to the cabin every summer, we followed the main highway, veering off onto a lesser known mountain road until we blew it off altogether, hitting a dirt trail that climbed up the side of the mountain. It was virtually invisible to the outside world, but I knew the route by heart.

Now? Not so much. If only I had a compass with me. I’ve always been good with hiking and basic survival techniques, thanks to my dad, but I never really took the time to figure out which direction our cabin was.

Calm down, I tell myself. Just find the road and you’ll be okay.

Pumping fake confidence into my nervous system does me some good. At least it keeps me moving, anyway. I walk in a straight line for two hours, heading uphill. The side of the mountain is so steep that I have to dig my feet into the mountain at a parallel angle, literally climbing up on hands and knees. By the time I reach the top my muscles feel like they’re on fire.

Making matters even more fantastic, I’m left to look at yet another huge hill, more woods, more rocks, more fern. But no highway. I take a breather and skirt the bottom of the next incline, following a battered animal trail probably used by deer. I end up looking at a small boulder that looks suspiciously like one I just passed a couple of hours ago.

I bend to inspect the dirt, looking at the indents in the soft mud around the rock. There are footprints. Boot prints if we’re going to be technical about it. I study them closely, wondering for a split second if those are my footprints. Because if they are, I’m even more lost than I thought.

I compare the bottom of my shoe to the print in the mud, but it’s so faint that I can’t really tell. I hold my boot right over the print to compare sizes, hovering in place like a scared butterfly.

The shoe is a lot bigger than mine.

I pull my leg backward, spooked. The footprint is considerably fresh. It hasn’t even dried around the edges yet.

I look around the woods, every shadow seeming bigger and darker than it did five second ago. Am I being followed? Did some Omega creep track me through the night? Impossible. I would have heard them.

Wouldn’t I?

I cinch up my backpack and decide to solve this navigational issue once and for all. If someone is following me, I don’t want to find out who it is. I don’t have any weapons besides the knife Jeff gave me to defend myself.

What I know:

I’m lost. But I also know that the highway was running south to north when I was forced to make an unexpected pit stop by Bree and her brothers. If I travel that same direction again, I’ll eventually run into the highway, right? I can’t be more than ten miles away from the place I left Jack and Peter. The road has to be nearby.

I walk in a quick circle, looking over the trees. I find a cedar tree with some low-hanging branches and pull myself up. I keep climbing, scraping my palms against the sharp bark. I eventually drop my backpack to the ground because it’s a little too hard to maneuver the tree with a pack hanging off my shoulders.

I climb higher and higher, until my vertigo kicks in and glues my arms to the tree trunk. I’m up reallyhigh. So high that I can actually feel the tree moving with every gust of wind.

I hang onto the tree like a scared chipmunk, moving my gaze across the horizon. I can see over the bulk of the canopy of trees. The sky is darkened with clouds around the edges, and I’m pretty sure the high winds will move them over here faster than I want.

I can’t see the highway, of course, but I can see the sun. It’s about noon, which makes it easy for me to really tell which way East is. Once I figure that out, I’m able to find West, South and North. Awesome.

I start shimmying down, slipping a few times and catching myself on another branch. When I get to the bottom, I jump from the low branch and land on the ground in a crouch to keep from spraining my ankle.

“Now we’re in business,” I say out loud, grabbing my pack.

Crunch.

I roll my eyes, seriously tired of being ambushed. Suspicious sounds are starting to get annoying. I look around, seeing nobody, and start walking north. All I have to do is keep this course and I’ll eventually run into the highway – some highway – again. From there I can find the cabin.

Snap.

Okay. That was definitely something with a little weight behind it. More than a squirrel, anyway. I whirl around, taking a step backwards like I just got smacked in the chest. Someone’s out there.

Down the hill, a dark figure is creeping up the trail behind me. I stand there, motionless, just staring at the person. Whoever it is, he’s wearing black.

He could be anybody…mercenary orAT soldier.

I don’t stop to wave hello or throw a rock at his head. I just run – only this time I make sure I run North. Which, of course, means, I’ve got to climb the next hill I’ve been avoiding. It cuts up at an insane angle, making it almost a sheer cliff.

I get to work, digging my feet into the dirt and using trees, roots, rocks and the occasional sprout to pull myself up. And then I do something I regret: I look behind me. The black shirted maybe-AT-trooper is gaining. He’s not keeping his presence a secret, and it makes me wonder if he’s alone. Are there more of them back there? Did they figure out that it was me who fired those rounds at the guys trying to kill Peter and Jack?

Don’t think, climb!

 I climb so fast that every muscle in my body simply refuses to move anymore. I guess running all night in sheer terror exhausts your physical strength, because this would usually be no problem.

I slip on a bed of pine needles and slide on my hip down the hill about twenty feet. I push myself back up, panic starting to claw its way into my head.

“Cassidy!”

I turn around, shocked to hear somebody speak my name.

Peter?

Jack?

I slip again and slide back down like an idiot, catching my breath. The guy has a black bandana tied around his hooded head, decked out in black combat pants and boots. He’s got a heavy coat on, a rifle slung over his back.

“Chris?” I stutter.

He pulls his hood off, revealing a face I recognize – but it’s smeared with black paint and dirt. It is Chris, right?

“Who the hell else would it be?” He climbs the last few feet separating us and yanks me to my feet, throwing me against his chest. I grab his shoulders to keep from taking a sled ride to the bottom of the hill just as he presses a fierce kiss to my lips. I wrap my arms around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair. He pulls away suddenly and glares, hands gripping my hips so hard I think he’s leaving bruises.

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you?” he demands.

I touch my mouth, feeling some of his black camo paint rub off on my skin. I stare up at him, his beautiful green eyes flashing with totally not subtle anger.

“I had to go, Chris,” I say. “You know that.”

“I thought you were dead,” he says, holding me around the waist with one arm, his other hand cupping my cheek. His hands are wrapped up with strips of cloth. He looks like he’s been fighting some kind of war.

“Why would even think that?” I ask. “I can take care of myself.”

But while I’m talking, all I can think is:

Chris is here. With me.

Complete, utter relief floods me like a drug.

“I found a dead body a few miles back,” Chris says. “Omega was out in full force in the lower part of the mountains. They’re searching for campers in the hills. I thought maybe you were caught in the crossfire.”

I pale, realizing he must have found Bree.

“Did you find anybody else?” I whisper.

“No. Why?”

I shake my head.

“I was there,” I say.

Chris squeezes me tighter.

“I’ve been tracking you since you left,” he tells me, his thumb trailing down the side of my neck. “Why would you do that to me?”

“Do what?”

“Leave without saying goodbye.”

I sigh.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I didn’t want to make you choose between me and your family.” There. I said it. Finally.

He looks shocked and then kisses me slowly, sending a shiver down my spine. Everything around us dissolves – the cold weather, the trees, the dirt. It’s just the two of us, and the only thing that matters is that he’s holding me, and I feel safe.

Completely safe.

“I think we already had this discussion,” he says, his voice soft. “You are apart of the family, now. So you should start acting like it.”

I lower my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I answer. “I just had to go before I lost my nerve.”

My lower lip wobbles a little, tears threatening to spill onto my cheeks. “Chris, the body you found,” I say. “I was with that girl when she died.”

His gaze narrows and a muscle ticks in his jaw.

“And you’re lost,” he states. “Tell me what happened.”

I nod, sinking down to the ground. Chris keeps his arms around me as we lean against the base of a tree. I snuggle into his warmth, so glad that I’m not alone anymore. Because believe me, when you’re completely alone in the woods, companionship is the most wonderful thing you can have.

I give him the whole story, leaving out no detail, and by the time I end my sad tale, I’m crying into his shirt over Bree’s death all over again.

“I didn’t even know her,” I choke. “But nobody deserves to die like that.”

“No, they don’t,” Chris agrees, weaving his fingers through my hair. Soothing me. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I tried to tell them,” I say, guilty. “But they wouldn’t listen.”

“Hey, look at me,” Chris says, tilting my chin up. “You went back and saved those kids’ lives when you could have kept running. You didn’t do anything wrong. Forget about this, okay?”

I nod slightly, Chris kissing the tip of my nose.

“You feel like moving?” he asks.

“Where are we going?”

“To your cabin. Or has there been a change of plans?”

I blink a few times. It honestly hadn’t crossed my mind that Chris was going to help me find my dad. I thought he would come here to try to drag me back to the Young farm.

“You’re coming with me?” I exclaim, a smile creeping across my face.

“Cassidy,” he whispers, taking my hands in his, “where else would I be?”