Summer Lane - State of Emergency

Chris turns and follows the curve of the fence, going around the shopping center, ducking behind every other abandoned car on the street. So far nobody has noticed us. They’re all staring at the puddles on the ground or sitting motionless with their eyes closed.

Like a bunch of zombies.

Chris raises his hand and makes a fist, the signal to stop.

I almost run headlong into his back just as he drops to the ground in a crouch. We’re on the other side of the parking lot, looking out over the shopping center. The fence covers a lot more ground than I thought, and the weird thing? There’s no open space. No exit, just a gated entrance with a few guards hovering around it. There’s also a lot of wicked-looking barbed wire looped across the top of the fence.

It’s like…a cage.

“Chris…” I whisper, a chilling thought creeping into my mind.

“I know.” All of the sudden his gaze hardens. He swears. “My god.”

“What?” I demand, struggling to see across the street. “What is it?”

“More.” He presses his forehead against his hand, taking a deep breath.

I search the parking lot in frustration, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. All I can see is a bunch of people gathered on the other side of the compound. On our side of the street there’s a big, black plastic covering a bunch of supplies.

“They’re bodies , Cassie,” Chris hisses, turning my chin towards the sheet. “Underneath. Dead bodies.”

I suck my breath in, staring at it. He’s right. The sheet is covering a bunch of objects stacked on top of each other. Little red spots are seen around the corners. Dried blood? I slap my hands over my mouth in order to avoid screaming.

“No. This isn’t happening,” I moan, kneeling like a sick person.

Chris places his hand on the small of my back, smoothing my hair away from my face. He turns my head upward, one hand on each cheek. “We have to get out of here,” he whispers. “Can do you that?”

I manage to nod, horrified.

He smiles like he’s proud of me and grabs my hand. Both of us back slowly away from the camp, but Chris stops me and makes a motion for me to kneel in the bushes and be quiet.

“Who are these people?” I mutter, shaking. “What kind of army does this?”

Chris wrinkles his brow, bowing his head. Both of us listen to the distant chatter of the conversations between the uniformed men.

“German,” he whispers.

“ What ?”

“They’re speaking German,” he replies. “And if I’m not mistaken…” he pauses, concentrating on listening. “There’s a little French in there, too.”

“Is this some kind of foreign invasion?” I breathe.

“I don’t know.” Chris points to the men wearing the dark blue uniforms. There is a black patch on their sleeve, over which is a white O. One of the guards turns around, and I can see a larger insignia stitched on the backside of his jacket. It reads: Omega.The O is significantly larger than the rest of the lettering, designed to hold a picture of the continents of the world inside the sphere. “I’ve never seen a uniform like that.” He rests his arm on his knee. “What the hell does Omega stand for?” He nods towards the guys in the black. “They don’t have any ID at all. They could be mercenaries.”

“Omega could be an acronym,” I suggest, my voice quivering. “I don’t know. Chris, please. Let’s get out of here.”

He studies the scene before us for a moment longer before he puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me down the street, scanning up and down for movement. We reach the Bakersfield sign again and keep walking until we find another freeway onramp, but that’s when we hear the noise.

It’s music.

Chris and I share a glance, surprised. It seems to be echoing down the street. It sounds like pop music. “What’s going on?” I whisper, bewildered.

Chris doesn’t look like he knows. Without a word, be both silently agree to creep down the street and scope out the source of the music. We pass a few empty businesses — some loan companies and a coffee shop — until we reach the corner. I poke my head around the edge of a brick building and stare.

Generator-powered lights are hooked up to the tops of the buildings, and there are people in this area of the city. They are not fenced in, but most of the buildings are covered with weird graffiti. I can’t make out what it says; Chris doesn’t comment. Some more guards in Omega uniformsare patrolling the sidewalks, identifiable by their blue uniforms. There are posters in the window that say something. I can’t quite make it out…I duck back when a trooper turns his gaze towards the corner.

The back of my head presses against a bookstore window. I look up, noticing that a poster is taped to it. I snatch it away, reading the bold lettering in the dim lighting:

State of Emergency

What follows is a list of rules and regulations for dealing with what the article calls the collapse . Confused, I fold it up and stuff it in my pocket just as Chris meets my gaze.

“What?” I whisper.

He shakes his head, motioning for me to follow him. I do, and we both jog down the street, away from the creepy guards and the strange pop music on the city speakers.

“What was that?” I exclaim. “Because it sure wasn’t a bunch of people waiting in line for a Black Friday sale.”

It’s like something you see in the movies, one of those scary films about Nazi Germany. Keeping our backs to the wall of the building, Chris and I exchange glances. This is wrong on so many levels.

“We should leave,” I whisper.

“No argument there,” he replies. “We’ll make a…”

His eyes narrow, staring at something across the street. I follow his line of sight, my muscles seizing up. A man is standing at the entrance of an alleyway, dressed in khakis and a Hawaiian polo shirt. He’s older, with thinning gray hair, a mustache, and round glasses reflecting the harsh floodlights.

He makes a motion to us.

I look at Chris. “What does he want?” I ask.

“He’s not one of them,” he answers, apparently trying to come to a decision about how to respond. Just ten feet around the corner are a bunch of death troopers…we have to play this right. “He wants us to come over there.”

I lick my lips, realizing just how dry my mouth is from anxiety.

“So?”

The man motions again, mouthing the word, “Help.”

Chris immediately takes my arm and sprints across the street without warning. Terror spikes in my system. What if we’re seen?

We make it across the street, stopping to take cover behind the alley wall. Up close the man has an ashy color his skin tone. His eyes are watery, but his expression is tense. “Thank you,” he says, a voice rough and weary with age.

“What’s going on?” Chris asks.

“What isn’t going on, son?” he shakes his head. “Look, you kids need to get off the streets. It’s too late to be wandering around.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“The curfew.” The man looks at me like I’m crazy. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No,” Chris says.

“Then why in…” he trails off, sounding tired. “You’d better come with me. If they catch us out here we’ll all get punished.”

A chill slithers down my spine as the man turns and starts walking down the alley. He has an obvious limp, and as we walk, I notice purple bruises on the back of his neck and arms. “Can you tell us what’s happening here?” I ask. “Why are they killing people? What’s –”

The man whips around so fast I stumble backwards and hit Chris in the chest.