Текст книги "State of Emergency"
Автор книги: Summer Lane
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
“Yeah, I know!” she kicks a rock down the road. “So where are we going again?”
“The mountains,” I repeat. “There won’t be any weirdos up there.”
“Cool. Do you have, like, a secret fortress or something?”
“Or something.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“When you need to know, I’ll explain it to you, okay?”
“Okay,” she sighs. “So are you like, in High School?”
“No. College.” I tilt my head. “Chris was a Navy Seal.”
“A Navy Seal?” she laughs. “What’s that?”
I raise my eyebrows at Chris. He shifts the rifles and the backpack before launching into a convincing explanation about the awesomeness of his former Seal team. Even I get into it, asking him if he’s ever pulled a James Bond and worn a tuxedo under his diving gear.
Unfortunately, he’s never tried that.
“You know,” Isabel says, “I had a foster mom once who was in the army.”
“Did you like her?” I ask.
“No. She yelled all the time.” Isabel sighs. “Do you have any parents?”
“Kind of.”
We walk to the freeway, going back to car counting and complaining about the weather. Only now we have a twelve year-old cutting into the conversation, talking almost non-stop about school and math and her less than attractive history teacher from Greece.
Mid-morning rolls around, leaving us all sleepy. Except for Isabel, who seems to have endless energy and a need to bring up talking points concerning why jellyfish are the most persecuted animals in the ocean. Apparently she’s a science geek.
“Hey,” I say, around ten o’clock. “What’s that?”
We slow down, spotting dark shapes in the distance.
“Probably just some more cars,” Isabel yawns.
“Maybe.”
Chris drops behind her and tosses me one of the rifles.
“I can’t shoot one of these!” I say.
“Just hold it to keep up appearances,” he replies. “Just in case.”
I don’t argue. Frankly, I’m too tired. Tromping along for miles and having to keep up a conversation with a tween is burning me out. As we get closer to the dark shapes all three of us just stop talking. Miracle of miracles, even Isabel stops yacking about the stupid endangered jellyfish.
There’s just something about the silence here that makes us all shut up. I keep a grip on the rifle, even though I have pretty much no idea how to use it. Chris does, though, so I let him walk out front. I’ll just be the moving target if something goes wrong.
Noble of me, I know.
“Guys,” Isabel hisses.
Startled by her voice, I jerk backwards a little bit, turning back to scowl at her. “Be quiet,” I say.
“Look!” she points.
I follow her finger, trying to see what she’s looking at in the fog. Only after a few seconds do I finally make out the shape of an upright vehicle. Then three, then four then five. All pointed South on a freeway where all the vehicles were headed North.
“Oh, my god,” I say. “It’s a roadblock.”
Half-visible figures get out of the vehicles. Car doors slam. Somebody yells something. I yell, “RUN!” to Isabel, and she doesn’t hesitate. She takes off into the fog and disappears before I can even remind her to stay close to me. Chris backs up a few steps and puts his hand on my arm.
“Catch up to her,” he breathes. “Go.”
We both break into a dead sprint as a bunch of footsteps become audible behind us. “STOP!” a man yells.
Yeah, sure. Like I’m going to do that.
Then, completely out of nowhere, somebody tackles Chris. He tumbles to the ground and rolls right back up to his feet, yelling at me not to stop. Just keep going! I hesitate and head back towards him, spotting the guy who tackled him. He’s wearing an Omega uniform. I stare at him and we lock eyes. I feel like a kitten that just got cornered by a Great Dane.
Somebody tackles me this time. I hit the road, hoping I don’t break something, and scramble to my feet. A guard with beady eyes and thick muscles hauls me backwards and locks his arms around my upper body. I kick against him, jamming my elbows into his stomach as hard as I can. He loosens just enough for me to wriggle away and kick him right into his mouth.
He falls backwards just as somebody else grabs me from behind. Mr. Beady Eyes climbs back up and wrestles me to the ground. Now I have two guys on top of me. I can’t even see or hear Chris because I’m so deep in my own troubles. I kick and scratch and bite and punch but it doesn’t do much good because I’m pinned. Totally, completely pinned.
“What’s this?” Beady Eyes says, ripping my backpack off. Probably dislocating my shoulder in the process. Thanks a lot. “Supplies? Where are you going?”
“Get off me,” I say, wishing I could spit in his eye. That always looks so cool in the movies. “Let me up!”
“Not so fast, little girl,” he replies, looking smug. “You know why we have this roadblock? To keep people from getting out of town so easily. So many people follow the freeways to get out. You can’t just leave, you know. It’s not legal.”
“I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” I shout. “This is a free country.”
Mr. Beady Eyes breaks into a creepy smile.
“You only think it is.”
And then everything goes black.
Major bummer.
When I was six years old, I got mad at my mom and threw a glass of water on her head. Granted, that was kind of stupid, but I was six years old and I had a bad temper. My dad came home the next morning and made me sit in the corner of the living room for two hours without moving. I just remember being really frustrated because no matter what I said, I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere until the two hours were up. It was embarrassing. I never threw water on anybody’s head again.
When I wake up, I’m facing a corner again. My cheek is pressed against scratchy carpet and my head is ringing, pounding. Yup. My old friend the Headache is back. Again.
I sit upright and look around, seeing nothing but a bright florescent light coming from the back of the room.
Wait. Room?
I refocus. I’m in a hotel room. But there is no furniture. No bed, no chairs, no TV or TV stand, no nothing. It’s totally empty. The bright light is coming from over the hotel room sink, right outside the bathroom.
I hobble to my feet, feeling unsteady, calling, “Chris? Isabel?”
Apparently I’m by myself. Creepy. Then it all comes back to me: the roadblock, Mr. Beady Eyes…crap. What did they do to me? I feel a line of dried mud along the top of my forehead. When I rub it between my fingers I realize that it’s not mud – it’s blood. I walk over to the mirror and stare at the tiny, redheaded girl staring back with blood crusted over her forehead.
I’m a regular fashion model.
I splash some cold water on my face and scrub the blood away, wondering where my backpack is. And my pain meds. I don’t think I can take much more of this stupid headache. What’s wrong with me?
I walk over to the door and try pulling it open. No dice. It’s locked. The windows are covered with a black tarp nailed to the wall. I try to tear through it but fingers aren’t going to cut it.
I bang on the door a few times. Then I kick it. Then I sit down in the middle of the empty room and pick at the gross carpet that’s probably been rolled on by a thousand dogs. This doesn’t exactly strike me as an upscale hotel.
Screech…
I look up as the door opens. A beam of light falls across the floor. AnAT trooper walks in. It’s my old enemy: Beady Eyes. He’s wearing the same blue uniform with a white O stitched on the sleeve. He’s also alone. I get a glimpse of an outdoor hallway and railing before he shuts the door.
“Sleep well?” he asks, flashing a calculating smile. He’s got a German accent.
“Yeah, I did,” I reply, folding my arms across my chest. “Where am I? Where are my friends?”
He just keeps smiling, squatting down so he’s at eye level at me. Not something I find appealing at all. “Why don’t I ask the questions, hmm? What is your name?”
“Anne of Green Gables,” I say.
“Where are you from?” he demands.
“Canada. Where the moose live.”
“Give me real answers,” he hisses, totally not smiling anymore.
“Those were real.”
“I mean the truth.”
“Oh, that,” I click my tongue against my teeth, hoping he won’t be able to tell how scared I am. “Why don’t you start? Like, why is Omega killing innocent civilians? And what do you know about the Electromagnetic Pulse?”
He slowly stands up, his eyes going from beady to steely.
“You are a stupid American,” he spits. “Like most of the people in this country. Nobody ever saw it coming. You didn’t. Or did you?” He raises a finger. “You have supplies. You were headed North on foot. You were avoiding the relief camps. Why?”
“Maybe because the relief camps are more like kill zones,” I deadpan. “My idea of relief isn’t being shot in the chest, shockingly.”
“Your traveling companion, the soldier,” he continues, ignoring my answer, “is well trained. The two of you together were planning something, weren’t you?”
“Planning what? An evil scheme to steal all the Big Macs left in the McDonald’s along I-99?” I roll my eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
Quicker than I can see, his hand lashes out and he hits me right across the face. I grab my head and grind my teeth together. Now my head really hurts. I swear and look up. “Dude, what is your problem?”
“I want to know where you and your companion were going,” he demands.
And that’s when I realize he used the word companion. Not plural, but single. Which means Isabel must have escaped. “We were trying to find food and water,” I say. “That’s it.”
“What about the supplies in your backpacks? And the weapons?”
“Never hurts to be prepared to run into a bunch of morons.”
He looks like he’s going to hit me again, but restrains himself.
Well, whoopee for you.
“We are functioning under a state of emergency,” he drawls. “Martial Law prevails, and if you are somehow involved in a conspiracy against the relief effort, I promise you, I will get it out of you sooner or later.”
“Conspiracy against the relief effort?” I echo. “You mean your executions?”
“You and I see things in different lights.”
“Yeah. You’re psychotic and I’m not. Big difference.”
“We will see how sarcastic you are after a week without food or water,” he says, giving me the evil eye. “That’s if you even live long enough.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I wave him off, but inside I’m shaking like a leaf. “Death, doom and destruction. Whatever.”
He walks away and opens the door, slamming it shut behind him. Sliding the lock into place. I lie on my back and wrap my hands around the roots of my hair, trying to take the pain away. I can feel part of my face swelling up from Beady Eyes’ little love tap, too.
Seriously.
First the world ends, then I’m taken captive by a bunch of maniacal relief workers turned murderers in the middle of an empty hotel room.
Nobody would believe this. Not even my dad.
It feels like three weeks go by before the door opens again. I’m pretty much starving and, because the water in the room doesn’t work, dying for water. Propped up against the wall, I open my eyes, watching a pair of black boots walk across the carpet towards me. I look up into the face of Mr. Beady Eyes. He looks like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
“Come with me,” he says simply.
I don’t move. One, because I don’t want to. And two, because I feel like if I move I’d just faint and faceplant into the carpet. Mr. Beady Eyes grabs me by the arm and yanks me to my feet. As I thought, the room swirls around me and my head throbs. I catch a glimpse of a nametag on Mr. Beady Eyes’ uniform: Keller.
He marches with me in tow out the door, into an outdoor hallway. There’s not much to see. It’s just a grimy little motel with an outside stairwell and a bunch of rooms. There are some military vehicles in the parking lot. Everything looks creepy because there’s no light except for a big bonfire in the middle of all the cars.
“Living the high life?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Keller doesn’t answer. He just grunts and drags me along. At any other time in my life, I would have kicked his butt, but I feel like a bowl of gelatin right now and kicking would probably result in embarrassment.
We climb down the stairwell, walk across the parking lot, and come to a glass door marked Main Office. I spot a few other Soldiers standing around the bonfire before we walk inside. It’s totally cold in here. It also smells like stale sardines, which is more than a little gross. Kind of like a Motel 6 my dad and I once stayed at on the way to Yosemite National Park.
Good times.
The main office has a shelf of travel brochures and a clock that’s ticking way too loudly. Keller shoves me ahead of him to make some kind of point about being in charge right before the door shuts again.
I have to try really hard to keep my face expressionless because the first person I see is Chris. He’s sitting in one of the office chairs. There are four AT troop guards standing around him, two of them have guns pointed right at his head. He’s a bruised, bloody mess. By the looks of it, his time here has been way worse than mine.
“What’s going on?” I ask, Chris and I locking eyes.
His jaw tightens as he takes in my appearance. I must look crappier than usual. He remains silent, but his eyes are telling me that he’s unhappy. Very unhappy.
“Your companion would not tell us anything about himself,” Keller says, leaning close enough to breathe on me. I make a mental not to stop inhaling. “His ID told us very little, only that he was in the military. Perhaps you can tell us more about the two of you and your plans?”
I glance at Chris. He nods slightly, only enough for me to catch.
“First of all,” I say, putting my hand on the counter for support, “you can stop talking like a formal European. Second of all, I don’t have a freaking idea what you’re talking about. The world ended, okay? Everything died. We had to get out of the city because the radio stations were broadcasting that people should evacuate. That’s what we did. We left.”
“This man is a highly trained ex-military operative,” Keller yells, almost knocking me over with his voice alone. “The driver’s license in your purse indicates that you’re the daughter of Frank Hart, also a highly trained private detective with the Department of Homeland Security.”
“How do you know any of this?” I demand, angry. “You can’t look it up on the computer!”
Keller smirks.
“Can’t we?”
“You have computers?” I say, openmouthed. “How?”
“You tell me. You seemed to have anticipated the EMP. You’re avoiding the relief camps while everybody else is flocking to them. You had a vehicle that was protected from EMPs. You were even armed.”
I stare at him, trying to figure out how he knows all of this. It’s impossible. Only my dad and I ever knew about the Mustang.
“You’re afraid we’re trying to sabotage your plans for world domination or something,” I say, trying to sound as sarcastic as possible. “Tell me, Keller, how long have you and the Feds been planning this takeover? Because if you’re worried that two people with backpacks full of cookies from McDonald’s are going to throw a wrench in your plans, maybe your strategy isn’t as brilliant as you thought.”
Keller reacts immediately, backhanding me across the face. I press my hand against my cheek, trying hard not let any tears escape. For a few seconds I can’t breathe, but then my lungs stop seizing up and I’m okay. I look up. Chris is almost red with fury.
“Let her go,” he says. “Keep me if you want to, but she hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“We’ll keep who we want,” Keller snaps, backhanding Chris across the face.
I can only think that if Chris weren’t surrounded by a bunch of guards and guns, he could take Keller down in two seconds flat. I’d love to see that.
“I have no love for entrepreneurs,” Keller continues, stepping back to eye both of us. “I’m talking about the two of you, of course. And you have a choice. You can either comply with my wishes and tell me where you’re going and what you knew about the EMP, or you can die. Two more deaths mean nothing to me. It’s your choice. You can have a few moments to discuss.”
He looks pleased with himself as he flicks a finger, motioning the other Omega pukes out of the room. “Don’t try to escape,” he warns. “You’ll just get shot.”
They walk outside, leaving us totally visible to them because of the glass door. As soon as the door shuts and Keller’s smug mug makes an exit, I throw my arms around Chris’s neck and embrace him, holding back tears.
“You look terrible,” I say, sniffling. “Does it hurt?”
Chris sinks down to the ground and gathers me up in his arms, pressing me against his chest. “I’m fine,” he replies. “And thanks for the compliment.”
I look up into his face, pressing my fingers against his cheek.
“How long has it been since they took us?” I ask.
“Four days,” he replies. “Where are they keeping you?”
“Upstairs. The last door on the right. You?”
“In the back of one of their trucks.” He offers a weak grin. “I guess they figured if they put me in a room I’d just break the windows out.”
“You’re good at that,” I agree, resting my head against his shoulder. He smells sweaty and bloody, but honestly, I don’t care. I don’t think I’ve ever missed another human being so much as I have in the last few days. Solitary confinement does things to you.
“They’re going to kill us no matter what we tell them,” Chris says at last, tilting my chin up. “You know that, right?”
I nod, swallowing a thick lump in my throat.
“I figured,” I answer, shaking. “So we might as well keep our mouths shut.”
“No. We escape.”
“Excuse me?” I sit up straight, his arms still around my waist. “How?”
“Just trust me.”
“But Chris –”
“-No buts, Cassidy,” he says, placing one hand on each side of my face. “Just trust.”
He runs his finger along my bruised eye and frowns, leaning forward.
“I should kill him,” he mutters, something sparking in his eyes.
“You? I’d like to kill him,” I correct. “He’s got a serious ego problem.”
Chris chuckles, resting his forehead against mine. We just sit there for a minute, holding on to each other in the middle of a gross hotel office, closing our eyes. The uber-loud ticking clock eventually tells us that we’ve got sixty seconds left before Keller comes back in and demands information. Chris brushes my hair back right before he presses his lips against my forehead. It’s a short, lingering kiss that takes me by surprise, but I’m not complaining.
“I’ll take care of you,” he says, thumbing my cheek one more time. “Okay?”
I nod, loving the way his hands are warm against my face.
Ding.
The little bell on top of the office door jingles as Keller walks in on us. He’s got his AT trooper hacks with him, and they look like they just walked into a candy store. Which means they’re probably planning to kill us.
Some people get a kick out of the weirdest things.
“How sweet,” Keller says in mock sugariness.
Chris stands up, pulling me to my feet. I’m still suffering from malnutrition and a possible concussion, so I lean against him for support.
“Aw, thank you,” I purr. “Almost as adorable as you and your cronies?”
His face turns ashen gray, like I’ve just made the ultimate insult.
“You’re going to wish you hadn’t said that,” he replies, irritated, “before the night is over.”
“I don’t think so,” I muse. “Seeing the expression on your face just now was pretty priceless. Like a Kodak moment. Does somebody have a camera I could borrow?”
Chris smirks, hiding his grin in my hair as he tightens his grip around my waist. “If you touch a hair on her head,” he says, calm, “I will make your death long and painful.”
Keller rolls his eyes.
“You’re both so theatric,” he complains. “I take that as a sign that you’re not going to tell me what I want to know?”
“Nope,” I reply. “All of our secret information is going to go with us to the grave.”
“It’s your coffin, not mine,” Keller spits. “Fine.”
“Cassidy,” Chris says, looking at me. “Duck.”
“Hmm?”
What happens next happens so fast that I don’t have time to do anything other than what he says. Chris pulls me to the ground and all of the sudden the two of us are lying on our stomachs with our hands over our heads. Something – it sounds like it’s only two feet away – explodes big time. I can feel heat on my skin as orange flames blast the office. Keller and his hacks are thrown forward, totally losing their footing and crashing into each other. I raise my head and look around, everything moving in slow motion.
I can see a giant fire outside – way bigger than the bonfire that the soldierswere hanging around earlier. It looks like some of the vehicles have been turned upside down from whatever detonated.
“Come on!” Chris yells, wrapping his hand around mine. “We have to move!”
Well, obviously.
I get up, forgetting about my health issues thanks to a rush of good old-fashioned adrenaline. Chris throws open the door and I’m hit in the face with a wave of heat. Man, it’s hot. I cover my face from the flames that are shooting up from the bonfire, which is now big enough to cook a jumbo jet.
“What happened?” I shout, following Chris’s lead through the wreckage. Two Humvees are completely flipped over, and as far as I can see, some officials seem to be stuck underneath, pounding on the windows from the inside. I feel guilty for not stopping to do something, then I remember that these people are trying to kill us, so that pretty much destroys my instinct to help them. AT trooper guards that are still upright are hobbling around like they’re drunk, still shocked from the explosion.
You and me both, pals.
Chris and I run to the other side of the motel. There aren’t any bad guys over here, because there’s no light or cars. Except for one. It’s a Humvee with anOmega insignia on the side: The O that doubles as a white globe.
And leaning against the Humvee with a pair of keys in her hands is Isabel.
“Took you long enough,” she complains, looking cocky.
“What did you do?” I demand, crossing my arms. Shocked. “How are you here?”
“I just put a little gasoline on the fire,” she shrugs. “Right, Chris?”
Chris nods.
“You did a good job, kid,” he says, slapping her on the back. Then he takes the keys and opens the door. “Get inside. Now.”
“I’m totally in the dark here,” I say, climbing across the console in the front seat. Isabel jumps into the back, which is nothing but a storage area of guns, ammo and emergency supplies. “Holy crap! We hit the jackpot!”
“It’s Keller’s car,” Isabel grins.
“No way?” I laugh hysterically. “That idiot.”
Chris turns the key in the ignition. For one scary second I think it’s not going to start, but the engine turns over and we’re home free. “Yes!” Isabel whoops. “It works!”
Chris looks pretty stoked. I can tell because he stomps on the gas and we charge out of the motel parking lot at illegal speeds.
“How did you know to come into camp?” I ask Isabel, turning in my seat.
“I saw where they took you,” she replies. “I found Chris, and the truck had a window. I snuck over and talked to him and he told me that they were going to question both of you in the main office.” She smiles devilishly. Pretty frightening, considering the fact that she’s only twelve. “He told me to throw one of the gas canisters in the fire and run. It worked. That was the best explosion ever!”
“Unbelievable,” I say, reaching around to hug her. “I am so glad we found you! I knew you’d come in handy. I told you, Chris.”
He rolls his eyes.
“I believe the gas canister was my idea.”
“Yeah, but she pulled it off.”
“Thanks to me.”
“People, the road!” Isabel screams.
Chris swerves to miss a car that’s sitting long ways across an intersection. We’re racing full speed through the dark streets of whatever county this is, one orchard after another flashing by. It’s dark, but not as foggy as it was the other night. I’m glad. Foggy enough to hide us, but not too foggy that we can’t drive.
“They’re going to hunt for us,” Chris says. “They have our stuff. They’ll try to figure out where we were going.”
“Why?” I say, kicking the door. “We never did anything to them!”
“We’re anomalies,” Chris shrugs. “They think we’re trying to fight against the new regime.”
“Maybe we are,” I say bitterly, the adrenaline starting to wear off. The uncertainties – and the headache – are all coming back to me now. “How did Keller know we had the Mustang? How did he know who my dad was?”
“Apparently there’s still some Internet access that the government’s got going for their boys,” Chris replies, knitting his brow. “Which means we were right, Cassie. Our side did plan the EMP. They planned out everything.”
I lay my head against the seat, exhausted all of the sudden. Anytime you find out that your own government is trying to kill you, you’re bound to feel a little depressed. I’ll probably need therapy when all this is over.
“So what do we do?” I say. “We have their car. Will they be able to track us somehow?”
“I don’t think so,” Chris muses. “Wherever their computer is, it’s in a truck somewhere and it’s probably got limited connection to a satellite.”
“So we’re safe?” Isabel asks, leaning between our two seats.
“Yeah,” I say, not wanting to scare the poor kid, even though she’s probably got more courage than me. “We’re okay right now.”
She sighs and leans her head against my shoulder.
“Awesomesauce.”
