Summer Lane - State of Emergency

“Never break an emergency plan,” Jeff advises, leaning against the counter. “You should go.”

I find myself smiling.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agree. “I guess I’m just worried that he never made it out of LA.”

That maybe he’s stuck in some concentration camp somewhere.

I shudder and stuff another potato chip in my mouth, which I’m sure Jeff finds charming. “You have no idea how good this greasy crap tastes,” I say, laughing. “I’ve been living on energy bars for a week.”

Jeff chuckles.

“I understand that.”

“So do I.”

Both of us turn at the same time. Chris walks into the room. He’s wearing dark wash jeans, boots and a tight black tee under an open tan shirt. His hair is hanging loose, and he looks like he’s been sweating it out doing something physical. It’s a really good look for him.

“Hey,” I say. “We’re still alive.”

“ You’re still alive,” he corrects, wrapping his arms around me. He pulls me into a warm, fantastic hug. I lay my head against his chest — or, because I’m way shorter than him, his stomach — and sigh. He rests his chin on top of my head, swaying back and forth. I don’t even remember that Jeff is in the room until he says, “Where’s mom and dad?”

“In the barn,” Chris replies, gently easing away from me. He doesn’t remove his arm from around my waist, though. Score. “My mother’s going to want to check up on you, Cassie.”

“Good, I want to meet her.”

He studies my face for a long minute, probably making sure that my sanity is intact after the tears/puking incident on the way up here. “How do you feel?”

“Better. Did you run into any trouble while I was out in the car?”

“No, we were lucky,” he says. “They cleared out the whole town and didn’t leave anybody behind. I guess there’s not enough of a population here to warrant their time.”

He slides his hand on top of mine and brings it back down to my side.

“I need to talk to you.” He glances at Jeff. “Privately.”

“You and your private chats,” Jeff huffs. “Why do I have to go?”

“Just get out of here,” Chris replies, cocking an eyebrow.

Jeff ignores his brother and squeezes my shoulder.

“Glad to see you up, Cassidy,” he says, smiling shyly.

“Thanks.”

He walks out of the room, mouthing something to Chris that I don’t catch. Chris looks annoyed, but the hard lines of his face relax once his little brother leaves the room.

“Okay,” I say. “So what’s the scoop?”

“Have you been outside?” he asks.

“No. I just got up.”

He folds his arms.

“We’re almost thirty miles out of town,” he says. “Everybody’s gone. I think we’re safe here for a long time.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point? My point is that I think you should reconsider heading up to your cabin in the middle of nowhere. Stay here, you’ll be taken care of.”

“I can take care of myself.”

That’s always been my first instinct. Denial. I always deny things. Especially embarrassing accusations that are true.

“You need help,” Chris replies, looking unmoved. “Obviously. You were hemorrhaging internally, did Jeff tell you that? You’ve been bleeding every day since you got hit with that crowbar in Santa Clarita.”

“That would explain the headaches,” I shrug.

“If you hadn’t had pain meds, you wouldn’t have lasted as long as you did,” he says. “My mom was able to help you, but you’ll be weak for a few days. Maybe even a couple of weeks. You need to rest and by the time you’re even ready to head up the hill it’ll be snowing.”

“So? I’ll take a sled and a couple of huskies,” I quip.

“You know what I mean.” Chris narrows his eyes. “You’re not hiking forty miles to a cabin by yourself, Cassidy.”

“I’m not?” I smirk. “I don’t have a choice. My dad’s waiting for me.”

“You don’t know that. And there’s no reason you should die trying to get there. Wait it out. Go up in the spring.” He grabs my arm right when I make a move to walk away. “Your dad would want you to be safe.”

“You don’t know my dad,” I reply, shaking him off. “This is the master plan, Chris! This was what we were supposed to do if an emergency happened and we got separated! The only reason I left LA was because we agreed on it. Otherwise I would have stayed.”

“If you would have stayed you would have died, just like a million other people,” Chris states.

I run a hand through my hair, realizing that it’s been more than a week since I’ve washed it. Totally gross. “Can we discuss this later? I’m tired.”

“Discussing it later won’t change anything.”

“You’re right. I’m not going to change my mind on this.”

“Cassidy, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I laugh beside myself.

“I survived this far,” I say. “I can make it to the cabin. That was always the plan, and I’m going to carry it out. And by the way, I’m not going to die doing it.”

Chris cringes when I use the word die .

Man, he has no faith in me at all. Even after all this time. I turn away and stomp up the stairs, upset that he thinks he can boss me around like his little sister or something. Chris doesn’t bother trying to follow me. He knows I’m in a bad mood.

But it doesn’t last long.

It’s weird how it’s taken the collapse of society as we know it for me to make friends. Growing up I always had an acquaintance or two, but nobody I could call my “best friend forever.” My mom was too busy to take me on play dates and my dad slept during the day. I was shy, so I didn’t make friends like normal people. I was my own best friend, and if I needed somebody to talk to, I had a stuffed rabbit named Charlie who was a really great listener.

Unfortunately, Charlie wasn’t a great conversationalist.

So, yeah, it’s interesting that all of the sudden I’ve got Isabel, Jeff, Chris and their parents as my buddies. The Young property is nestled on the backside of a big foothill, hidden behind lots of trees and fields of grass. There’s a creek that runs through a miniature canyon at the bottom of the property, where the whole place is fenced in with tall barbed wire. There’s not a ton of history floating around about the Squaw Valley area, but from what Jeff has told me, the name “Squaw” obviously came from a bunch of Indians who used to live in the area. Funny. How they were living back then isn’t much different than how we’re living right now: day-to-day.

The Young house is two-story. It gives off an old-fashioned farmer vibe. There’s a barn with a couple of cows and horses, a bunch of chickens, some pigs and Mrs. Young has a big garden behind the house big enough to feed a small army.

In other words, we’re living in a survival junkie’s paradise.

Mrs. Young is a short, slender woman with gray hair. She wears high top jeans and plaid button-ups along with rubber boots because she’s in the dirt all the time. She’s a sweet woman, if not a little tough. I guess living with three macho men would make you that way.

Mr. Young looks a lot like his sons. He’s got overgrown blondish hair, he’s strong and he doesn’t waste time making small talk. He just gets right to the point. For example, when I first met him I had some hay stuck in my hair from checking out the barn and he just said, “Kid, you got straw in your hair.”

And that was it. We were introduced.

It’s been one day since I’ve woken up and Jeff has been showing me around the property. I’m wearing my jeans and boots with one of Mrs. Young’s button-ups. I feel a little shaky, but overall a lot better.