Текст книги "State of Emergency"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter Ten

Around dawn, I see it. The foothills. I whoop for joy and Isabel joins in. Chris just smiles and laughs. “We seriously should get some kind of blue ribbon for getting this far,” I say. “Who’s with me?”

“Totally with you,” Isabel agrees, giving me a high-five.

“Chris?” I ask, grinning.

“Fine. A blue ribbon for everyone.” He shifts in the driver’s seat. He’s probably stiff from the hours of driving he had to do. It took a long time to get here, to find our way out of the five million twists and turns of the country roads. We even had to avoid a cow pasture with a missing fence. Dude, cows are not just stinky. They also have an attitude.

But now we’re coasting down the road that leads straight into the foothills, right into Squaw Valley. Epic win. We have enough gas in the tank to get us to Chris’s parent’s home, which he says isn’t too far away. That’s assuming we make it through the foothills without running into a stupid roadblock again.

I’ll never walk in the fog without a flashlight again, I think.

After that, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Continue to the cabin by myself, I guess. Dad will be expecting me. I have to be there…

I dump the thought out the window, trying to focus on the positive – a new thing for me, since I’ve always been a self-avowed “realist.” I guess desperate times call for desperate measures.

“So what are you parents like?” I ask, turning to Chris.

He shrugs.

“They’re farmers,” he replies.

“That’s it? Give me more to work with, here. I’ve got time to listen.”

“They’ll like you,” he says, smiling. “My dad’s a little rough around the edges… My brother will love you.” He visible cringes when he says the last sentence, which, of course, piques my radar-like curiosity.

“Oh, so he is single,” I answer, wiggling my eyebrows. “Did you hear that, Isabel? Chris’s brother is single.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” she drawls, closing her eyes.

“What’s his name?” I ask.

“Jeff,” Chris replies, annoyed. “And he’s seventeen. He’s too young for you.”

“I’m nineteen,” I snort. “That’s like, a two year age difference. Who cares?”

“Yeah, well…he’s not your type.”

“Not my type?” I start laughing, holding my head in my hands. “You have no idea what my type is.”

“Neither do you,” he mutters.

I just keep on laughing softly, realizing that I can’t seem to stop. At the same time, my headache comes roaring back with all the force of a steam engine. The chills, nausea and all around gross feeling I’ve been fighting off for days hits me in the face like a brick wall. I inhale sharply.

And then I start crying.

 Just like that. I literally burst into irrational tears. My hands are shaking and I’m acting like an emotional train wreck. All of this happens in about ten minutes, enough time for the pressure to build and for me to make a fool out of myself.

I think I’m losing my sanity.

“Cassidy, what’s wrong?” Chris asks, looking slightly worried.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Isabel echoes, poking her head up front.

“I don’t know,” I gasp, unable to stop sniffling.

I comb my hair back from my face while Isabel and Chris try to calm me down. “Relax, Cassie,” Chris keeps saying. “Relax. It’s okay. Take a deep breath. This isn’t the end of the world. Ah, okay, it is, but we’re alive, right?”

“Chris,” I say.

He casts an anxious glance at me.

“I’m going to puke,” I state matter-of-factly, feeling nauseas. “Like, right now!”

I slap my hand over my mouth. Chris slams on the breaks like a racing pro and eases to the side of the road. I throw the door open and jump outside, the cold air stinging my cheeks. I kneel down and vomit all over the gravel, heaving up a bunch of food that I don’t have in my stomach.

How is that even possible?

Chris runs around the front of the car and kneels beside me, holding my hair away from my face. He rubs my back as I upchuck some more just for fun, keeping my eyes closed. I just can’t handle gore, even when I’m the one responsible for it.

“Cassidy, look at me,” Chris says, turning my face towards him. “You’re sick. Okay? That’s all. You’re going to be fine.”

The lines of his face are tight. I dry heave and look down at the gravel I just plastered with my insides, horrified. It’s bloody. I’m vomiting blood.

“What’s wrong with me?” I ask, shaking.

He adjusts his stance and tightens his grip on my arms.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But my mom will.”

“Your…mom?” I murmur, getting drowsy all of the sudden.

“Yeah. She used to be a nurse. Did I mention that?”

“Mmm…no.”

“Huh.” Chris scoops me up into his arms like I don’t weight anything. A totally swoonworthy moment that I ruin by coughing up blood all over my shirt. “Hang in there, kid.”

Isabel opens the back door and Chris lays me flat against the floor in the backseat. The world is spinning around me anyway, so I don’t care. Everything is quickly getting loud and blurry. Painful to listen to. I squeeze my eyes shut, not even noticing when we get back on the road. When I open my eyes again I can see streams sunlight coming through the windshield as Isabel peers at my face like a curious cat.

“Are you still alive?” she asks.

I blink, shaking my head.

“She says she’s not alive,” Isabel says, looking over the front seat.

I fade out before I can hear Chris’s reply. If it’s possible to feel any weirder than I do now, the pit of my stomach cramps up in pain. I slide my hand under my shirt and pull it up, glimpsing my bruise from crowbar boy back in Santa Clarita. It’s totally black and blue, veins of red running through it. It’s also painful to the touch.

“Guys…” I mutter, but don’t finish my sentence. I feel way too exhausted to open my mouth. The only thing I can remember before I pass out is how loud my heart sounds in my ears, like it’s trying to escape my chest. Totally not how my heart is supposed to sound.

Then again, this hasn’t exactly been the best week of good luck.

All I can think about is my dad stuck in an Omega concentration camp, lined up against a railing before he gets shot a bunch of blue-uniformed guards. Who would have believed that just a couple of weeks ago, my biggest problem was getting an employment rejection from an airline company. Now everything’s gone. Stuff like that doesn’t matter anymore. Money doesn’t matter. College degrees don’t matter. Whether or not you saw the latest Oscar winning film doesn’t matter.

All that matters is one thing: are you still alive?

These are the totally morbid thoughts that run through my mind before I wake up. I feel numb all over my body, like a bunch of needles are pricking my skin. I’ve only felt that once, when I broke my arm and I had to go to the hospital to set it. But there are no more hospitals. So where am I?

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 flannel pajama pants and a white tank top. Creepy. Who dressed me? I hope it was Isabel.

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 dinner, even though I’m sure the Department of Health would be all over me for thinking that.

“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.”

He slides his hand on top of mine and brings it back down to my side.

“I need to talk to you.” He glances at Jeff. “Privately.”

“You and your private chats,” Jeff huffs. “Why do I have to go?”

“Just get out of here,” Chris replies, cocking an eyebrow.

Jeff ignores his brother and squeezes my shoulder.

“Glad to see you up, Cassidy,” he says, smiling shyly.

“Thanks.”

He walks out of the room, mouthing something to Chris that I don’t catch. Chris looks annoyed, but the hard lines of his face relax once his little brother leaves the room.

“Okay,” I say. “So what’s the scoop?”

“Have you been outside?” he asks.

“No. I just got up.”

He folds his arms.

“We’re almost thirty miles out of town,” he says. “Everybody’s gone. I think we’re safe here for a long time.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point? My point is that I think you should reconsider heading up to your cabin in the middle of nowhere. Stay here, you’ll be taken care of.”

“I can take care of myself.”

That’s always been my first instinct. Denial. I always deny things. Especially embarrassing accusations that are true.

“You need help,” Chris replies, looking unmoved. “Obviously. You were hemorrhaging internally, did Jeff tell you that? You’ve been bleeding every day since you got hit with that crowbar in Santa Clarita.”

“That would explain the headaches,” I shrug.

“If you hadn’t had pain meds, you wouldn’t have lasted as long as you did,” he says. “My mom was able to help you, but you’ll be weak for a few days. Maybe even a couple of weeks. You need to rest and by the time you’re even ready to head up the hill it’ll be snowing.”

“So? I’ll take a sled and a couple of huskies,” I quip.

“You know what I mean.” Chris narrows his eyes. “You’re not hiking forty miles to a cabin by yourself, Cassidy.”

“I’m not?” I smirk. “I don’t have a choice. My dad’s waiting for me.”

“You don’t know that. And there’s no reason you should die trying to get there. Wait it out. Go up in the spring.” He grabs my arm right when I make a move to walk away. “Your dad would want you to be safe.”

“You don’t know my dad,” I reply, shaking him off. “This is the master plan, Chris! This was what we were supposed to do if an emergency happened and we got separated! The only reason I left LA was because we agreed on it. Otherwise I would have stayed.”

“If you would have stayed you would have died, just like a million other people,” Chris states.

I run a hand through my hair, realizing that it’s been more than a week since I’ve washed it. Totally gross. “Can we discuss this later? I’m tired.”

“Discussing it later won’t change anything.”

“You’re right. I’m not going to change my mind on this.”

“Cassidy, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I laugh beside myself.

“I survived this far,” I say. “I can make it to the cabin. That was always the plan, and I’m going to carry it out. And by the way, I’m not going to die doing it.”

Chris cringes when I use the word die.

Man, he has no faith in me at all. Even after all this time. I turn away and stomp up the stairs, upset that he thinks he can boss me around like his little sister or something. Chris doesn’t bother trying to follow me. He knows I’m in a bad mood.

But it doesn’t last long.

Chapter Eleven

It’s weird how it’s taken the collapse of society as we know it for me to make friends. Growing up I always had an acquaintance or two, but nobody I could call my “best friend forever.” My mom was too busy to take me on play dates and my dad slept during the day. I was shy, so I didn’t make friends like normal people. I was my own best friend, and if I needed somebody to talk to, I had a stuffed rabbit named Charlie who was a really great listener.

Unfortunately, Charlie wasn’t a great conversationalist.

So, yeah, it’s interesting that all of the sudden I’ve got Isabel, Jeff, Chris and their parents as my buddies. The Young property is nestled on the backside of a big foothill, hidden behind lots of trees and fields of grass. There’s a creek that runs through a miniature canyon at the bottom of the property, where the whole place is fenced in with tall barbed wire. There’s not a ton of history floating around about the Squaw Valley area, but from what Jeff has told me, the name “Squaw” obviously came from a bunch of Indians who used to live in the area. Funny. How they were living back then isn’t much different than how we’re living right now: day-to-day.

The Young house is two-story. It gives off an old-fashioned farmer vibe. There’s a barn with a couple of cows and horses, a bunch of chickens, some pigs and Mrs. Young has a big garden behind the house big enough to feed a small army.

In other words, we’re living in a survival junkie’s paradise.

Mrs. Young is a short, slender woman with gray hair. She wears high top jeans and plaid button-ups along with rubber boots because she’s in the dirt all the time. She’s a sweet woman, if not a little tough. I guess living with three macho men would make you that way.

Mr. Young looks a lot like his sons. He’s got overgrown blondish hair, he’s strong and he doesn’t waste time making small talk. He just gets right to the point. For example, when I first met him I had some hay stuck in my hair from checking out the barn and he just said, “Kid, you got straw in your hair.”

And that was it. We were introduced.

It’s been one day since I’ve woken up and Jeff has been showing me around the property. I’m wearing my jeans and boots with one of Mrs. Young’s button-ups. I feel a little shaky, but overall a lot better.

“Hey…” I say, grinning. “That is one macho rooster.”

Jeff laughs. I watch a colorful rooster strut across the dirt in front of the barn.

“He reminds me of someone,” I say. “Oh, yeah. My ex.”

“Was he really that bad?” Jeff asks, surprised.

“I was just saying that for comic value.” I stroll along, plucking a leaf off an oak tree that’s hanging low.

“What? You don’t date much or something?” Jeff trails behind me like a puppy. He’s been doing that ever since Chris and I had our argument about me going to the cabin. I’m guessing Jeff doesn’t get much interaction with people living in the middle of the sticks. I must be a novelty, especially since I come from the “big city.”

“You’re a legal adult, though,” Jeff says. “You could date, right?”

“I could,” I agree, kind of weirded out by his question.  “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Jeff replies, a little too quickly. “I was just curious. You know. My mom never let Chris date when he was growing up, and he had girls all over…” he trails off, noticing my glare. The last thing I want to hear about right now is Chris’s history of womanizing. Or whatever.

“Anyway, they don’t let me date either,” he says. “They’re all about working hard until I turn eighteen, then I get to do what I want. Chris joined the military when he turned eighteen.” He sighs. “Doesn’t look like that’s what I’ll be doing anymore.”

“Hey,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “Cheer up. You know what you got?”

He shakes his head.

“You’re alive,” I exclaim. “You know how many people are dead or starving right now? We’ve got it made. We’re living in the lap of luxury compared to some of them. Cheer up, will you?”

Jeff starts laughing again. It’s not hard to get him to do it, unlike his brother, who seems like he’s made of stone half the time. “You have a point,” he admits. “I can see why my brother likes you.”

I shift uncomfortably.

“Yeah? You think he likes me?”

“I know he does.” Jeff looks a little depressed. “I mean, he wouldn’t have stuck with you for a week if he didn’t. Believe me. I know.”

“Huh.”

There is a dirt road that curves up the side of the foothill, right up to the house. It’s extremely well hidden from the main highway. Mr. Young told me that when he saw the Omegatroops rolling through, he knocked down his mailbox and camouflaged the entrance to the turnoff with bushes and trees. It’s like this place was made for a situation like this.

“Chris told me you were doing a charter school,” I say as we walk into the barn. It’s a big wooden building with straw and a couple of animals that stink worse than a litter box.

“Yeah,” Jeff answers. “It was okay. At least I got to get off the property for a few hours every week.”

I don’t respond. If I lived here, with parents like his and a property like this, I don’t think I’d care if I “got” to go to school. Then again, the grass is always greener on the other side. All I wanted growing up was a happy family. I only got half of one. Anyway, I’m sure Jeff has his own reasons for what he wants.

“Cassidy?”

I turn around, watching Chris walk into the barn with a box of tools in his right hand. He’s hauling a couple of pieces of wood over his shoulder. “I’m fixing the leak in the roof,” he announces. “Want to help?”

I think that’s code for “Want to talk?”

I nod.

“Sure.”

Jeff sighs, seeing that he’s been dismissed from the conversation yet again. I smile apologetically but he waves it off. “See you later.”

Chris is already halfway up the ladder.

“How do you do that?” I ask.

“What?” He climbs onto the loft and sets the tools down.

“Climb without using your hands. It’s awesome.”

“Years of practice.” I reach the top and step onto the creaky boards. There’s a bunch of straw up here, and I can see the gaping hole in the corner that Chris is going to fix.

“What happened?” I say. “Did a meteor hit?”

“Nah. Just a couple of weak boards.”

He starts working on patching it up, removing his over-shirt in favor of the black tee. I lean back on the wall and watch him move, not realizing that I’ve been staring until he turns to me. “You’re staring again, Cassie,” he says, a wry grin spreading across this face.

“No, I’m watching you patch a hole,” I reply, embarrassed. “There’s not much else to do around here.”

“Then don’t watch,” he says. “Do.”

“Excuse me?”

He holds out a hammer.

“You hammer in the nail while I hold this last piece of up. Can you handle that?”

“Duh,” I reply, making a face. “If I can survive a week with you, I can do anything.”

“Ha. Ha.” He holds the last piece of wood up to the wall. “Go ahead.”

I take the heavy hammer and pound it against the big nail in the wall. Even with all my muscle power, it’s still hard to drive it through the hard wood.

“Too much for you, Thumbelina?” Chris laughs.

“Shut up,” I say, slapping his chest. “I can do it.”

I pound a few more times, getting the nail in halfway. Enough to hold the board up. Epic win. “Ha,” I say, smug. “See?”

“You’re hitting it at an angle,” Chris replies, rolling his eyes. “That’s why it won’t go in all the way. Here.”

He wraps his arms around me from behind and puts his hands over my hands. My whole body tenses up with his closeness. An alarm bell goes off somewhere in my head.

“Swing back,” Chris says, pulling my arms back, “and hit it head on.”

He slams the hammerhead against the nail and it goes in all the way. In one sweep. What a showoff.

“Lucky shot,” I shrug.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

He draws one hand up my arm, fingering my long hair before tucking it behind my ear. “You know what I think?”

I shake my head, frozen.

“I think you’re stubborn.”

“How enlightening.”

His breath is hot against my cheek. He drops the hammer on the ground, making me jump.“You also won’t admit it when you can’t do something,” he says, and I can feel him smiling against my ear.

“So I have some pride,” I whisper, curling my hands over the top of his, which are now resting on my stomach. “So what?”

“Nothing. I was just making an observation.” He slowly kisses my neck, lingering just long enough to shift his position and brush his lips across the side of my cheek. He stops talking and, miracle of miracles, so do I. I seriously can’t think of any sarcastic, spur of the moment quip.

I must be in love.

He kisses my other cheek, inching his hands up the side of my hips, careful to avoid my bruise. Then, without missing a beat, he tips my head to the right and leans in to press his lips against forehead before dipping his head down. I close my eyes, forgetting about the stupid nail and hammer and end of the world for two seconds, and slide my hand around the back of his neck, bringing his lips down to mine.

I’ve never kissed a guy before, so I’m surprised at how easy it is to fall into. He tastes like coffee and smells even better, filling up every sense in my body. Sensory overload.

Chris turns me around and presses me against his chest, his strong arms caging me in. There’s no escape, and that knowledge sends a thrill through me. He’s holding me so tight that I can’t breathe. Apparently love isn’t only blind, it’s also bad for your health.

Frustrated that I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach him, I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. Chris holds me upright without flinching, slipping his hands under my legs, sinking down into the itchy straw. I break off the long kiss and rest my forehead against his. Chris is breathing hard – no harder than me, at least.

Both of us just study each other without saying a word. Chris’s face is very relaxed, and he’s smiling softly at me with a look of adoration.

Yes. Adoration. I make a mental note to remember this moment.

I cup the side of his cheek with my hand, feeling the rough stubble under my fingers. I gently kiss him on the lips. He snakes his hand into my hair and returns the gesture before lying on his back, tracing his fingers over every angle of my face. He brushes his mouth across the hollow my throat and I roll to his side, tucked underneath his arm and against his chest.

I toy with the fabric of his shirt for a few moments before he finally breaks the silence with his deep, strong voice. “I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time,” he says, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb.

“Was it worth the wait?” I reply, grinning.

“Absolutely. We should have done this sooner.” He kisses me again, sending tendrils of electricity through my body. “Don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know.” I prop myself up on one arm, still buzzing with the rush of such intimate contact. “Hey, you know what?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re an older man.”

“Meaning?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m nineteen. You’re twenty-eight. This is practically illegal.”

Chris sits up, laughing. It’s a deep, slightly seductive sound.

“Last I checked, nineteen was over the threshold of legal adulthood,” he replies, pressing his mouth to my temple. “I think mutual consent is part of the equation.”

“What if I don’t consent?” I raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll convince you,” Chris says in a low voice.

“Do tell.”

Chris chuckles and pulls me against him. I have to admit, if there’s one positive thing about the EMP and the Omega takeover – it’s definitely this.

For the next couple of days, I feel like I’m floating on cloud nine. My health is almost completely back to normal. I spend my time helping Mrs. Young around the property, gathering chicken eggs – which are really breakable, by the way – cleaning the house and gathering and preserving food. At night we sit around the dining room table and eat together. We keep the curtains pulled tight so no light will escape. Of course, our lights are just lamps and candles, but still. We don’t want to give ourselves away.

Chris and Jeff have taken up a “watch.” Jeff goes for five hours during the night, then Chris, and then I finish out the early morning, watching for any signs of Omega or nomadic thugs. Chris usually stays with me for my so-called shift, which is a great excuse to “accidentally” trip during the rounds so he has to catch me. He totally knows I’m pretending, but it’s worth it just to feel those arms around me every once in a while.

I’m such a girl, sometimes.

Living here is a simple, day-to-day existence that’s all about routine. What’s awesome is that everything is self-sustaining. Chickens, cows, horses, plants. All of this is what most people in the world – including myself if I hadn’t run into Chris – are living without. No more fast food. No more sixty-second soup packages. No more ice cream bars. No more obesity.