State of Emergency (Book) (3 page)

            Well, guess what? The world has turned into a freaking Armageddon and I’m going to do what I want. Besides, Chris might come in handy. He’s a military guy. Tough, by the looks of it. This could be a positive thing.

            “So what’s
your
name?” he asks, totally relaxed against the seat.

His voice is deep. Just the hint of a southern accent. “Or are you going to tell me?”

            “Cassidy,” I say. “You can call me Cassie, though.”

            “Alright, Cassie,” he replies, serious. “What’s a kid like you doing with a vintage piece of work like this?”

            “You mean my car?”

            “No, I mean your boots.”

            “Shut up.” I find myself smiling. “It’s my dad’s. I mean, it’s
both
of ours.”

            Silence.

            I turn up the radio, discouraged when nothing but static comes through yet again. “Where are you from?” I ask at last.

            “San Diego.”

            “What were you doing in Los Angeles?”

            “Weekend bike ride.” He looks sideways at me. “And you?”

            “I live in Culver City,” I shrug.

            “Where are your parents?”

            “Seriously? Do I really look
that
young?” I press down on the accelerator a little more, giving into my unconscious habit of flooring it when I’m irritated.

            “Yeah,” Chris says. “You do.”

            I press my lips together, wondering how much I should tell a complete stranger. “I got separated from my dad. I’m going to meet him somewhere.”

            “How far are you driving?”

            “Towards Squaw Valley,” I reply, vague.

            “You’re going to keep it a secret?” He smiles. “You’re what…sixteen?”

            “I’m
nineteen
,” I snap. “Come on. At least
try
to guess accurately.”

            He chuckles.

            “Sorry,” he says, holding his hands up. “I’m just trying to figure you out.”

            “You’re doing a lousy job.” I keep my eyes trained on the road, taking the curves slow and the straightaways like a racecar driver on steroids. “I don’t trust you yet, by the way. Keep that in mind.”

            “Duly noted.” His voice is heavy with amusement. “I’ll try not to tick you off.”

            I snort.

            “Good luck with
that
.”

            “Look.” Chris points to a spot of light ahead on the road. “Turn off the headlights.”

            I open my mouth to make a smart comment but decide to save it for later. I snap the headlights off and we peer into the darkness as I slow the car down. There seems to be a group of people on the road, almost invisible at night.

            “They’re blocking the road,” Chris says. “Turn the car around.”

            “I can’t! I’m doing sixty!”

            “Then slow down and make a U-turn.”

            His words are quick, totally casual.  I take my foot off the gas but we’re moving too quickly towards the group. I lay on the brake and stop just in time, Chris looking out the window as the people start running towards us.

“Keep the doors locked,” he says calmly. “Just drive.”

The people, who are mostly bathed in shadow, are yelling angrily and running up to the car. They bang their fists against the windows. Even though I can’t make out one single discernable statement, it sounds to me like they’re saying, “We’re taking your car and we’re not giving it back.”

Just a guess.

“Alright, punch it!” Chris commands. “
Right now
.”

“I am!” I yell, coiled tight. I hit the accelerator and flip a U-turn, startled out when one of the people in the mob grabs onto the door handle and holds on as we gain speed. His shoes are scraping against the pavement.

“Don’t stop,” Chris warns. “That’s what he wants you to do.”

I look over my left shoulder and see a flash of a young man wearing a beanie in the window. His eyes are wild, desperate. And then he lets go. I hear something smack against the road. I feel bile rising in the back of my throat and urge to to stop, go back, and help him is overwhelming.

“Don’t do it,” Chris says, moving closer. There is no center console so he is right beside me. “That’s a mob out there. People are going to act like this for a long time until the power comes back on. They’ll take what you have if they can and leave you to die.”

I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. Tears spring up in my eyes. Stupid, stupid tears. “Why?” I manage to get out.

Chris studies my profile in the dark cab. Thinking.

“Because civilization as we know it is gone,” he says at last.

 I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I’m a realist. Most people would say that’s the same thing as being a pessimist, but it’s not. Really. I just look at something and don’t expect anything great to come of it. I’m just that way. If you hope for something good, you’re going to be disappointed. I side with reality and most of the time we get along just fine.

So naturally the end of the world as we know it doesn’t come as a complete shock to me, although it does put a serious question mark on whether or not I’ll be able to go bowling next Tuesday. 

“So who do you think is behind this?” I ask Chris.

It’s about four in the morning. We have tried five different roads that lead out of Los Angeles. All of them have been blocked with mobs waiting to hijack working cars. Right now we’re trying the sixth route, and pretty soon I’m going to have to refill the gas tank.

“I heard something about the Chinese on the radio before we lost the signal,” I continue, yawning. “I bet they did it.”

“I don’t know.” Chris props his boot up on the dashboard. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why? Is there a secret love fest between China and America I don’t know about?”

“Look, I was in the military for nine years,” he replies. “I’ve seen a lot of different enemies of the United States around the world. I don’t think China is behind this.”

“Then who is?” I say, exasperated. “What if it’s not an attack? What if it’s just an accident?”

“You seriously think an electromagnetic pulse is an accident?” Chris chuckles. “Yeah, it could have been caused by a solar flare, but I doubt it.”

I snort.

“You don’t know any more than I do,” I say. “You’re just spit balling.”

“Who isn’t?” He looks out the window, staring into the distance. “This could be more widespread than we think. What if LA wasn’t the only city hit with this thing?”

I shiver.

“Then there’s no place to escape to.”

“Nah.” Chris turns back towards me. “This is the last route out of here. If it’s blocked…” He lets the sentence hang in the air between us. People are starting to act like maniacal psychopaths on the streets. It’s not safe to go back
into
the city. If there were any working cars, the freeways would be jammed to full capacity.

“Then what?” I ask, voicing our twin concerns.

“Then we find another way.”

I yawn again, feeling exhausted. This road is a two-lane highway that was probably built during the Babylonian Empire. It’s
that
outdated. It winds throughout the little hills that define Hollywood, dodging the freeways and dipping close to residential areas. Off in the distance there are sparks of orange light, signifying fires, explosions and the like.

“I haven’t seen any planes for a while,” I mutter.

“Most modern passenger planes have faraday cages,” Chris replies. “You know. They’re protected from EMPs.”

“Then what about the ones that fell out of the sky in Culver City?” I ask. “Those thing were like bombs.”

“They obviously weren’t protected well enough.” Chris stretches. “I can drive. You look like you’re going to fall asleep any second.”

“I probably am.”

“I’ll take over.”

“Sorry. Nobody drives the Mustang but me.”

Chris shakes his head. After another forty-five minutes we reach the other side of the hills, signifying the break out of Hollywood. I roll to a stop at the top of a rise, looking down over the beginning of the small mountain range separating Southern California from the rest of the state: Total darkness.

I just stare at it, my heart starting to race in my chest.

Who knows what’s out there? The freeway is probably jammed with a thousand accidents. Evacuees will be attempting to find transportation.

“Cassie?” Chris says.

I snap out of it.

“Yeah?” I reply, shaky. “I’m fine.”

But I’m
so
not. The world is coming to an end.

Who could be fine with that?

When late morning hits, I fall asleep at the wheel.  We’ve spent the last three hours navigating some old halfway abandoned roads in the middle of nowhere in order to avoid jammed freeways and populated areas. It was a difficult thing to do, since the maps I have in the car aren’t specific when it comes to the back roads. So by the time the sun is getting warm enough to make me sleepy, I just can’t take it anymore.

My head lolls forward and hits the steering wheel. The next thing I know the whole car is jerking to the left and Chris’s hands are taking the controls as I come to my senses.

I choke on a gaspafter I realize what’s happened. Early morning sunlight is breaking over the road. It’s the kind of lighting that naturally puts you to sleep. I jerk backwards and Chris slams on the brakes, pulling the car to the side of the road.

Chris seems to realize that he’s almost sitting on top of me and draws back, flushing. “Let me drive,” is all he says. No chastisement. No lecture on how falling asleep at the wheel is worse than drinking a Frappuccino before bedtime.

As for me, my heart is beating out of my chest. I think I ruptured my nervous system. I just nod, mumbling something about having to use the restroom, and open the driver door. The air is crisp and cutting. Chris walks around the back of the car and, for the first time, I see my new traveling companion in daylight.

His skin is tanned, a thin scar trails from the inside of his wrist to his elbow. His eyes are green – electric green. I stand and stare at him for a full ten seconds with my mouth open like an idiot before realizing that he’s doing the exact same thing.

And the corner of his mouth is quirking upwards. My hands automatically fly to my face, trying to hide the blush creeping across my cheeks.

Being pale does little to hide emotions.

 “It’s all yours,” I say, avoiding eye contact. “But if you crash or scratch her, I’ll shoot you.”

Placing his hand on the door above my head, he replies, “I’ll remember that.”

For one intense moment we lock gazes. I feel like a two-ton weight is dropped on my chest, unable to breathe, unable to move. Trapped between the car door and his body.

But I’m not, so I exhale and step away.

“I have to pee,” I say quickly.

In retrospect I realize that probably wasn’t the most seductive thing to say after a hot staring contest. But hey. The truth is the truth.

Chris smirks.

“Be my guest. I won’t steal the car.”

I blink. That actually hadn’t even occurred to me. Exhausted and traumatized from falling airplanes and malfunctioning cellphones, I shake my head. “Don’t even think about it,” I warn, grinning.  I pat my gun for effect, grab the car keys and walk off the asphalt.

When I’m done I walk back to the car, half expecting it to be gone. But Chris is still standing there, waiting patiently. I give him a funny look. Surprised, I guess, that he didn’t hotwire the car and supplies, I throw open the passenger door. “I’m impressed,” I mumble.

Chris slides behind the wheel.

“I knew you would be.”

A few strands of hair have escaped from his ponytail, accentuating the angles of his face. I’m tempted to reach out and brush them into place but I don’t. We’re not
that
chummy.

“So what’s in Squaw Valley for you?” I ask, closing my eyes.

He doesn’t answer right away. I curl up and lean my head against the window. “Family,” he replies.

“Don’t tell me. They’re doomsday preppers,” I quip.

“Something like that.” Chris raises an eyebrow. “You’re quite a prepper yourself.”

“Thanks to my dad,” I say, fighting the annoying tears that threaten to squeeze out every time I think about dad fighting his way out of Los Angeles. “He always believed we should be prepared for a national emergency.”

 “Your father is a very wise man,” Chris nods. “Was he in the military?”

“For six years,” I reply. “Then he was a cop for thirty. Now he’s a private detective.”

“Impressive,” he says. 

I close my eyes.

“Maybe.” I sigh. “Wake me up if you see anything alarming.”

“Like…?”

“Like an airplane dropping on our heads or a band of marauders on the side of the road.” I shrug. “Little things like that.”

Chris smirks.

“I’ll do that.”

“Good.”

I go to sleep.  I nod off for about two hours. Fortunately, I’m so exhausted that I don’t have any nightmares – ironic, because I can’t help from waking up to one. One in which Los Angeles is without power and passenger airplanes are the new bombs of the 21
^st
century.

At around 9:15 a.m. Chris suddenly shoves me on the shoulder. I slap his hand away, irritated. “What?” I slur. “Did I miss something?”

“You’ll want to see this,” he says, his voice calm.

I rub the crud out of my eyes and sit up. After a few blinks to clear my vision, I notice how slow Chris is driving. He’s watching something on the road straight ahead. We’re driving on the
old
highway that was pretty much abandoned after the massive Interstate was built into the Grapevine, the unofficial name for the mountains we find ourselves in. It’s like driving through the countryside, beautiful trees and tall grass swaying all around us.

And an object on the side of the road.

“Oh, my god!” I gasp. “It’s a baby carrier!”

It’s tilted sideways on the lip of the old road. There is also a diaper bag and an open suitcase. A dead car is sitting near all of it, its windows smashed out.

“We have to see if there’s a baby in there,” I say.

“It could be a trap.”

“A
trap
?” I roll my eyes. “Come on. It’s a
baby
! We can’t just drive by and not try to help.”

“Cassie…”

I open the door and step outside. Chris yells at me to stay put, swearing like a sailor. Appropriate, I guess, for a Navy Seal. I jog down the side of the road. Chris opens his door and runs after me, telling me in explicit terms to get back in the car.

“Cassidy, get the hell back in the car!” he yells.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

I run up to the baby carrier and kneel down, pulling back the blanket. It’s empty. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank god,” I say. “See? It’s okay.”

“Get back in the car,” Chris growls. “Now.”

“Sheesh. Whatever.” I stand up, dusting off my jeans. “You’re a little high-strung, you know that?”

Chris scowls.

“Don’t piss me off, kid.”

I glare at him.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

Chris steps forward and grabs my arm, half-walking, half-dragging me back to the Mustang. “Let
go
of me!” I say, angry. “That hurts.”

“It would have hurt worse if you were the people who were in that car.”

I look over at the wrecked car.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think they stopped for, Cassie?” he points at the baby carrier. My eyes travel to the ravaged vehicle. I see the tip of a limp, white hand lolling out of the backseat. Droplets of blood are splattered across the broken glass on the ground. I gasp, hands darting to my mouth to keep from gagging.

“Oh, my god… what happened?”

“It’s called carjacking,” Chris says, walking me back to the car, physically turning me away from the horrible sight. “They use the baby carrier to get people out of their cars and onto the side of the road.”

I find myself choking on an embarrassing sob, more from the horror of the last fifteen hours than anything else. “How can everything change so fast?” I ask, a tear squeezing out. Chris opens the passenger door and catches the tear with his thumb, green eyes sad but serious.

“Nothing’s changed,” he says softly. “This crisis will just bring out the worst in people.”

He gestures for me to sit. I don’t argue, just sit down like a numbed zombie and snap the lock into place. Chris gets back in and pretty soon we’re picking up speed again. “Why didn’t they take the car?” I whisper. “Why did they lure them there if they were just going to kill them?”

Chris sighs.

“Their probably wasn’t enough gas left in the car for it to be useful,” he replies, his voice hard. “So they just killed them.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Why do you act so shocked?” he says. “Wasn’t your dad a cop for thirty years? Stuff like this is common in his world. Especially in LA.”

“This is different,” I answer, making a Herculean effort not to burst into erratic tears. “This is…
psycho.”

Chris doesn’t answer. If he agrees with me he doesn’t show it. Everything about his body is tense, like a metal spring just waiting to be released. It makes me wonder how he would react if we end up getting jumped.

And killed.

 “Is your brother a Seal, too?” I ask, feeling his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. Trying to turn the conversation to something remotely normal