Текст книги "Day One"

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Summer Lane
DAY ONE
A Short Collapse Series Companion Adventure

For anyone who has survived.

You are a fighter.

Prologue

Elle slipped through the door of the apartment building. It had been raining for hours. Her backpack had rubbed red, raw marks on her shoulders. She could hear the echoes of the Klan’s cries against the buildings, carrying all the way down Santa Monica Boulevard.

She looked at the gun stuffed into her belt.

She couldn’t believe she’d found it. Hidden in someone’s abandoned apartment, in nearly perfect condition. It was a 1911, a Smith and Wesson. Heavy for a girl her size, but better than nothing. It was something Uncle would have liked to shoot. Something classic. Something that packed a punch.

She moved toward the dark staircase in the building. Her backpack clanked. She had filled it with boxes of ammunition. She’d found no food today, but she’d found plenty of ammo.

Elle climbed the staircase, feeling her way down the hall. The building was silent. The quiet was terrifying, stifling. Something in the building creaked. She spun around, taking the gun out of her belt. It was so big—so heavy. But it gave her a sense of security to grip it.

The darkness was comforting, too. In the beginning, when the lights went out and the electricity had died, she was afraid of the dark. Now she embraced it. She could hide in the dark. She could get away from people who wanted to hurt her.

“I know you’re in here.”

The voice was raspy, broken. Slurred.

Elle felt for the safety on the gun, made sure it was off. She held it in front of her, taking a few steps backward, further down the hall. The stairs groaned under the footsteps of the man coming up the steps.

“Come on, girly. Stop playing games. Let’s just get this over with.”

Elle’s gun was loaded. There were five bullets in the magazine. But it was dark, and she could miss five times. That was the worst-case scenario. And the gunshots would bring more of the Klan. She would be surrounded. Dead.

Her hands shook.

“You’re close, I can smell it,” he said.

Elle stifled a gasp. He couldn’t be more than ten feet away.

“Ah,” he said. “There you are.”

Boom, boom, boom.

His footsteps were heavy, coming closer. Elle kicked open the apartment door to her right. It swung open, flooding the hallway with gray, rainy light. She saw his face – weathered, grizzled and beaten. His eyes were bloodshot, a crazed smile on his face. Elle pulled the trigger. The gunshot was deafening in the silent confines of the apartment building.

The gun kicked back, jerking Elle’s hands into the air, making her stumble. But the shot was straight and true. The man toppled to the ground, collapsing in a misshapen heap on the ground. He didn’t scream, didn’t moan. He was just quiet.

Elle lowered the gun, standing near the doorway of the open room, trembling like a leaf. Several minutes passed. She crept closer to the man and tapped his shoulder with her shoe. Nothing. She pushed him on his side. The gunshot had hit him right in the forehead. He’d died with his eyes wide open, glassy and bloody. Shocked.

Elle jumped backward, looking at his dead body.

She let out a strangled sob.

She had killed for the first time, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last.

Part One: The Hunt

Chapter One

California Interstate 5 and Highway 99 Merge – Tehachapi Mountains

It was cold. Fog hung freezing and heavy in the air, pressing down on Elle’s chest. She knelt on the ground and traced her finger along the edge of a tire track. It was clearly imprinted in the mud. She looked around.

Walls of fog were on every side, closing in.

Eating her up.

She kept her eyes on the ground, barely able to follow the tracks without losing all sense of direction. It was eerily silent. There was no noise, no thrum of distant traffic or passenger jets flying overhead.

All was silent.

All was dead.

Elle’s shoes were caked in mud. Her lips were cracked. She was running low on water. For three days she had been following the tracks, hoping that they would end at some point. But no. They had veered off the Interstate 5 highway and into the countryside, zigzagging through country roads and back into the dirt again.

Elle stopped. She put her hands on her knees and coughed, licking her lips. She sat on the ground, hanging her head. Her chest heaved and her eyes closed. She loosened the leather strap across her chest, the one holding the sheath that reached across her back. It kept her katana – her sword – safe and easily accessible.

She was exhausted.

She popped open the water canteen and swallowed the last bit of liquid.

She tucked the canteen back into her jacket and adjusted the straps on her backpack. She had no idea where she was, no idea what time it was. It could be early morning – it could be late afternoon. Halfway delirious, she’d lost track of time.

It wasn’t like her to lose track.

But starvation did that to you.

She forced herself forward, following the tracks. She stumbled and fell on her palms, drawing blood. She stayed there on all fours, tears in her eyes.

She was tired. So tired.

Tired of fighting, tired of tracking.

Tired of surviving.

She remained staring at the ground. Everything seemed to melt together. She was tired. Did she have to keep going? She could curl up into a ball and sleep forever, shutting her eyes to the hollow mess this world had become.

No, I have to get up. For Jay, and Georgia… and Flash.

Familiar names. Friends’ names.

It was what Elle needed to get up and keep trying.

The United States had changed. Last year, a technological attack destroyed the very fiber of modern society. An EMP, they called it. An electromagnetic pulse. It took out computers, cars, cell phones, everything. In a single instant, the entire country was thrown into the stone age.

And then they came. Omega. A foreign army – a shadow invasion force, creeping quickly into the states, enslaving the population, executing whomever they deemed “non-contributing” members of society. Los Angeles and other heavy population centers were exterminated with chemical weapons, leaving nothing but empty husks of cities, taken over by Omega forces and roving, violent gangs – the dregs of civilization.

Elle had been living in Beverly Hills, California, when it all went down. She was a martial arts enthusiast, a gymnast. A freshman at Beverly Hills High School, the daughter of wealthy socialites. That all changed the moment the power went out. Elle’s mother had sent her to live with her aunt and uncle on a ranch in the Tehachapi Mountains, hoping that this disaster – this invasion – would blow over quickly. Surely the United States military would step in and stop this madness.

But they hadn’t.

Eventually, Elle returned to the city on her own, searching for her family.

What she found was a Los Angeles that had turned into an archaic battleground between Omega and bloodthirsty gangs. She learned the hard way what it meant to survive, and to fight. She became a part of the city, a shadow, hardly seen, never heard.

And then she met the bunker survivors. Jay, Georgia, Pix and Flash, juvenile delinquents who had survived the invasion in a bunker deep under a correctional facility. Elle’s alliance with the mangy, unorthodox group of kids was a surprise to her. She had never thought she would become attached to anyone again.

Together, they decided to head toward Sacramento, California. It was a rumored safe haven, a United States military stronghold. California militias and the National Guard were protecting it.

They had been so close to reaching Sacramento when they were attacked by Omega. Pix was killed. Jay, Georgia and Flash had disappeared, and Elle was left to track them down. Somehow, they had been taken by a local militia group – and Elle was determined to rescue them before something bad happened.

Elle had few supplies left in her backpack – limited water and two granola bars. It was more than most people had, but still. The Tehachapi Mountains loomed dark and ominous to the south, rising into the sky. The fog had lifted enough so that it hovered just above the tips of the lowest hills. Plains of golden grassland surrounded Elle as she looked at the freeway lanes, a twisted assembly of concrete and faded signs.

It was early morning. The sun was bright, but the temperature hovered in the low forties. Elle shivered in her dark jacket, looking down at her damp, dirty running shoes. She hadn’t been able to find the road that the trucks took. All of the tire tracks and footprints at the freeway interchange blurred into one smear of mud and burnt rubber. She searched for the most recent overlay of tracks. That would tell her where her friends had been taken.

Empty cars were scattered along the edge of the lanes, but for the most part, the road was empty. It was desolate, a reminder of the fall of civilization.

Elle crouched low behind a guardrail, on the edge of an overpass. An oil tanker had overturned here. The remains of its black, burnt carcass lay on the road. The inferno that had engulfed the vehicle after its fall had melted pavement.

Elle puzzled out her next move.

Which way did they go? Where am I supposed to look now? I’m back at the mountains. This entire thing was a waste of time! I’ll never be able to find them.

She shook her head.

She knew looking for Jay, Georgia and Flash was a fool’s errand. She’d come all this way and still couldn’t find a sure sign that they had passed through. She should turn north and head toward Sacramento and try to find a safe haven. Her chances of survival would be better if she started now, before the most brutal part of winter set in.

Elle knew this. It was the logical choice, the smart choice.

And Elle had learned to play it smart. Emotions needed to be set aside.

She closed her eyes. She could see the smoldering remains of the Suzuki jeep, the dead body of small, harmless Pix. The smattering of golden graffiti on the crashed Omega vehicle. The dead troops.

Elle felt like there was nothing she could do. Wandering around aimlessly would get her killed, too. She had to reevaluate. She had to move on.

Elle shuddered.

She would do what she had to in order to survive. She would head north. She would keep an eye out for her friends. She would hope. And that was all she could do.

Chapter Two

Elle stared at the front door of apartment 1 C. The C had fallen off, a brass letter on the carpeted floor. The hallway was dark, rays of gray light falling through slits in the roof. Elle held the Smith and Wesson in her hand, shivering in the cold.

She pushed the door open. It was unlocked. A bad sign.

A stab of regret shot through her chest as she surveyed the apartment. Familiar furniture had been overturned. Books were scattered across the floor. Glass cases had been smashed. Pictures had been torn from the walls. Anything of value had been stripped from the room.

“Mom?” Elle whispered.

Nobody answered.

California was a primeval wasteland. The dead orchards stretched for miles, branches snapping, dust scattered into the air. Fog hung gray above Elle’s head, making the world around her look colorless and drained.

She followed California Highway 99, walking parallel to the road, concealed in the shadows, keeping an eye on everything around her. Listening for voices and footsteps. After months of living in the city, the empty quiet of the vast abandoned Central Valley was eerie. Unsettling.

I should have stayed with Aunt and Uncle at the ranch, she thought. I never should have gone back to Los Angeles to find my family. It was a mistake.

She sighed.

It was all too late. There was no reset button.

Elle paused and opened her backpack, slipping a faded map into her hands. It showed the main highways and roads. She traced the route to Sacramento with her finger. It was a straight shot from here to the city if she could follow the road the entire way. About three hundred miles. On foot.

Elle put the map away and kept moving. At mid-afternoon, she stopped, dropped to her stomach. There was something up ahead. A flicker of movement, a flash of dim color in the gray. Her heart raced in her chest, fingers trembling. It was the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

Movement could mean people. And people almost always meant danger.

She saw the flicker again. It was a flash of orange. Up ahead, to the right of the freeway, a small rest stop sat parallel to an off-ramp. It was an old gas station, and several orange flags were mounted to the awning above the dirty gas pumps. They hung limp in the still air. Elle stared. A group of crows hopped across the awning, one of them pulling at the fabric of the flag.

Elle released a breath.

Stupid birds…

There was an old jeep parked next to the station. Beside it sat a dented blue pickup. They both looked like they’d been sitting there since the EMP.

Elle stood up. She wondered if there was any food or useful junk left inside the gas station store. She was running low on supplies and she was out of water. She had no choice but to look inside. She walked down the off-ramp, using what minimal cover she could find. She paused at the intersection, sinking into a crouch behind an abandoned VW bug. Above the door of the gas station store, a wooden pallet had been spray painted with the words:

TRADE DEPOT

WE BARTER GOODS AND SUPPLIES

It was so… cheesy. Elle blinked. Would someone actually be stupid enough to set up a store in the middle of an apocalyptic wasteland? With the threat of bandits and looters hanging over their heads? Elle studied the building. Most of the windows had been covered with slats of wood. It was already dark outside, and she noticed strips of dull, orange light flickering through the cracks.

People. There are people here.

Elle chewed on her bottom lip.

Stupid girl. You could have been killed!

She hated making mistakes. She needed to get back to the freeway, away from the store. And she needed to do it without being seen.

“All right, don’t move.”

Elle froze. She braced herself for a gunshot, a quick blow to the head.

“Turn around slowly and keep your hands in front of you where I can see them.” It was a woman’s voice. Raspy and demanding.

Elle turned around, heart beating in her throat.

The woman was tall and thin, sinewy. Greasy strands of gray-blonde hair hung down her shoulders, sticking to a loose tee. A long, oversized skirt billowed around her waist.

“That’s right,” she said. “Keep your hands right there.”

The woman grasped a shotgun. The weapon looked bigger than she was, the stock jammed into her bony shoulder, her finger hovering over the trigger.

“You here to barter?” the woman demanded.

Elle blinked. Her breath came shaky. She slowly nodded.

“What do you have?” she continued.

“Um.” Elle cleared her throat. She didn’t have anything of value. Nothing. “I’ve got food. And… well, that’s it.”

The woman stared at her. Elle stared back. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Elle’s hands started to shake. Her gun was hidden just under her coat, holstered in her belt. She could reach it fast, if she had to. The katana on her back would not move quickly enough against the woman’s shotgun.

“You were watching us,” the woman said. “You planning to steal stuff?”

“I don’t steal other people’s stuff,” Elle replied. “I was just looking for supplies.”

The woman kept the shotgun trained at Elle’s chest.

“Please,” Elle said. “Just let me go.”

The woman’s arm began to shake from supporting the weight of the gun with her forearm. “If you’ve got goods to barter,” she said, lowering the barrel of the weapon, “you can come inside and look around. But then you’ve got to be on your way.”

Elle nodded.

The shotgun was now pointed at the ground, and Elle’s fingers twitched.

Grab your gun and make a run for it, she thought. Or…

The woman took several steps forward, limping. Ragged, muddy boots scraped the ground. “Come on,” the woman said. “We don’t have a lot, but it’s probably more than you got in your pack.”

She tromped past Elle, hauling the shotgun over her shoulder. Elle raised an eyebrow. Should she follow her? She thought of her empty canteen. Dehydration was deadlier than going hungry for a few days. Maybe she could barter for something valuable…

Elle cautiously followed the woman into the store. The woman opened the door and stepped inside, into the shadowy building. Elle paused at the threshold, taking a deep breath. A dark, slumped figure sat in a chair in the back, snoring loudly. Rows of shelving were stacked with produce boxes and plastic jugs of water.

Elle stepped inside.

“How do you stay alive?” Elle whispered. “Don’t people try to take this stuff from you?”

“Tried and failed,” the woman replied. She walked behind the main counter. About a dozen packs of cigarettes were beneath the protective glass. “If you know the right people, the wrong ones stay away and let you mind your own business.”

Whatever that means.

“What about Omega?”

“Like I said, if you know the right people, you can do what you want.”

The store smelled of wet dirt and rotting feed. Odd, considering there were no animals in sight. Elle walked straight to a small aisle of metal shelving. There wasn’t much left here, except a few thin blankets and containers of sealed crackers.

“I need water,” Elle said.

“What have you got?”

The woman leaned over the counter, and it occurred to Elle then how young she actually was. She couldn’t be older than twenty. Her skin was pale, eyes sallow.

“I’ve got a map,” she shrugged.

“A map is useless to me,” the woman replied. “Got food? Bullets, maybe? Everybody wants bullets.”

Elle had bullets. A limited amount, and she wasn’t about to trade those for anything. Even water. Ammunition was almost more precious than food.

“No,” Elle said. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have anything I want, then,” the woman said. “You’d best be on your way.”

The snoring figure in the back of the store choked, coughed, and continued snoring again. Elle looked at the small jugs of water. Her parched throat and bloody, cracked lips wanted them so bad.

“Hey, you’re not one of those kids what got picked up by the Slavers, are you?” the woman asked. There was suddenly fear in her eyes. She backed up several feet from the counter.

“Slavers?” Elle narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t heard of them.”

“You’ve never heard of…” the woman trailed off, raising an eyebrow. “You come from the South?”

“Los Angeles,” Elle replied carefully.

“That would explain the clothes.” The woman gave Elle a once-over. “You should be careful, girly. They’re everywhere, looking for lone travelers. Picking them up, one by one.”

“Who?”

“The Slavers.”

“Who are the Slavers?”

“You’re from L.A. right?” the woman says. “You’ve got big gangs down there. We’ve got Slavers here. They round up the weak ones and take them off.”

“Where do they take them?”

“The desert.”

“Why?”

“How should I know?” she shrugs. “Why do people enslave each other to begin with? Power, I guess. There’s a rumor going around that there’s something big in the desert. Something the militias can’t stop.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Nobody really knows.” The woman shakes her head. “They’re dangerous though. Better be on the lookout for them. They dress like local militias, draw people in. And then they take you.”

Elle shuddered.

And then she thought of the overturned jeep and of Pix’s dead, bloody body. The haphazard golden star spray-painted across the chassis of the charred vehicle. Militia, she’d thought. Now… she wasn’t so sure of that.

“Where exactly do the Slavers take their prisoners?” Elle asked.

The woman pushed a greasy strand of hair behind her ear.

“You don’t want to go there,” she warned.

“I didn’t say I was going there.”

“I can tell.” The woman placed her hands on her hips, exhaling heavily. “Who are you looking for? It’s written all over your face, girly.”

Elle blinked. “I’m just asking a question.”

“The desert. San Jacinto Mountains,” the woman replied. “You know. By Palm Springs and all that. Pretty much abandoned, so I’ve heard. Slavers took it over. The real militia doesn’t have time to worry about what’s going on in a dried-up area of California and Omega sure as hell don’t care, either. So it belongs to the Slavers.”

A bolt of electrified adrenaline shot through Elle’s body.

So that’s where Jay, Georgia and Flash had been taken. No wonder she’d lost their trail. They weren’t in Los Angeles. They weren’t in the Central Valley. They were in the desert.

“How far is it from here?” Elle asked.

“A few hundred miles, at least.” The woman raised an eyebrow. “Don’t go, girly. You’ll wind up dead.”

“Thanks, but I can handle myself.”

Elle swung her backpack around and dug down, reaching for her map. She pulled it out. It was a crude depiction of the California Central Valley and the highways running in and out of the southern area of the state.

“That won’t do you any good,” the woman said. “Here.”

She reached under the counter and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Elle took it. It was a bigger map – a detailed one.

“I don’t have anything to trade for it,” Elle replied.

“Just take it.” She smiled. “And the name’s Sienna, by the way.”

Elle nodded, but she didn’t offer her own name. It didn’t feel right.

Not yet, anyway.

“Thank you,” she said instead.

“That’s Bob,” Sienna continued, gesturing to the snoring figure in the back of the darkened store. “He doesn’t notice anything these days.”

Elle looked at Bob, the silhouette of a man slumped forward in a chair, surrounded by empty bottles of booze. “Husband?” Elle asked.

“Brother,” Sienna answered.

Elle opened the map and spread it across the floor, kneeling down to study it. Sienna was still behind the counter, watching. Elle felt a twinge of fear, being alone in a building with two people who could very well be plotting her death… but despite that fear, she stayed where she was. She had a gun and a katana. If something happened, she was well prepared for it and she could move faster than Sienna.

She would win any fight they brought to her.