Summer Lane - State of Emergency

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.