Summer Lane - State of Emergency

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.”