Summer Lane - State of Emergency

I almost tear up because it’s so cute. Two boys bonding over ammo. Classic.

“So what loot did you get me?” Jeff grins.

Chris pulls something from his pocket and flips it into Jeff’s hands. I catch a glimpse of something shiny. Jeff holds it up. It’s a ring.

“Man, this is your senior class ring,” he says, looking completely shocked. “You can’t give me this.”

“Keep it,” Chris replies. “Just because the world went to hell in a hand basket doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be allowed to graduate from High School.”

Jeff’s expression becomes more serious. He looks up at his brother, and I can see how much he idolizes him in just that one glance. “Thank you,” he says, giving Chris a long hug.

I look at their parents. Mr. Young nods his head in approval, looking like an Army drill sergeant who just heard that cake is on the menu for dessert at the chow hall. Pleased, but not touched. Mrs. Young, on the other hand, is dabbing at tears with a tissue.

You and me both, lady.

“And for you,” Jeff says, tossing me a long, slender box. “This is epic.”

I laugh.

“Seriously? You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugs.

I unwrap the cloth and pop open the box. There’s a gorgeous, sharp knife with an ivory handle. I turn it sideways, looking at the carved inscription:

Cassidy Hart

I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. Because I’m about to cry.

“Jeff, this is amazing,” I say, knowing my voice is wobbly. “Thank you so much.”

“You got it,” he smiles. “I carved the handle myself. The knife came from this old shop they used to have downtown. I thought you could use it, sinceOmega took all your gear on the way up here.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him.

“You’re awesome,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else to tell him.

“I know.” He presses the knife against the palm of my hand. “I totally am.”

I laugh. Chris rolls his eyes, and Mrs. Young stands up.

“I have Christmas breakfast, lunch and dinner,” she announces. “Just because times are tough doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate the holidays.” She puts an arm around each of her sons. “As long as we’re all together, we have all we need. I love you boys. You know that, I hope.”

Chris pulls his mom into a strong embrace. He kisses her cheek.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Yeah. I should have brought a pack of tissue and a pillow to cry on. This is just too sweet.

We eat a great breakfast of eggs, bacon, and homemade biscuits with some of Mrs. Young’s raspberry preserves. Nobody works all day. We just kick back and enjoy Christmas. I spend most of my time listening to Chris and Jeff fool around with the new gun, but nobody’s allowed to fire any shots in case dangerous individuals are roaming the area.

Later on we eat an even more delicious dinner of roast chicken, fruit, rolls and salads. Not only is it yummy, but it’s also amazing. Every single piece of food on the table is from the Young farm. None of it came from a store. None of it was purchased.

At the end of the day, when I’m leaning back in the window seat of my bedroom, watching the darkness set in, I have to admit: these are the kind of people that are going to survive this catastrophe.

“Cassidy?”

I turn. Chris walks into the room carrying a dinner roll in his hand.

“What? Seven rolls weren’t enough for you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“I like even numbers. Eight appealed to me.”

“Don’t appeal yourself right into obesity.”

He tosses the roll up and down like a baseball and takes a seat next to me.

“What are you doing up here in the dark?” he asks, curious.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About…?”

“How amazing your family is.” I sigh. “Really. Your family is…unbelievable. It’s not that they’re just nice people, it’s this place. They’re alive because they can do things for themselves. It’s how life is supposed to be lived.”

Chris doesn’t answer for a long time. He stretches his legs across the window seat, leaning against the wall. “Society moved so far away from farming and self-sufficiency,” he answers at last, “that a catastrophe like this will wipe out most of the country. Concentrated population spots are in the cities. The biggest death tolls will be in places like New York or Los Angeles.”

I shut my eyes, thinking of my dad. And my mom.

“Hey,” Chris says, nudging me with his boot. “You’re safe here. That’s all that matters.”

I shrug.

“Yeah, but what about my dad?”

Chris remains silent. I can tell that he’s trying to avoid talking about that, since last time we discussed it things didn’t go over so well. It was more like a verbal boxing match than a conversation.

Instead he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gold chain.

“Here.” He holds his hand out. I reach forward and open the palm of my hand. He drops it into my hand. There is a small object attached to the chain: A shield with a year on it, and on the back, Chris’s name.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s the gold chain that goes with the ring I gave Jeff.” He picks it up and slips it over my head. “I want you to have it.”

“Chris, I can’t take this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not family. I can’t. It’s not right.”

“Cassidy,” he says, fingering the necklace. “You are family now.”

He leans back against the wall, looking straight into my eyes.

“Are you glad I almost ran over you with my Mustang in Culver City?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes. “I’m glad.”

I study his face in the shadowy candlelight of the room. God, he really is a beautiful man. A little rough around the edges, but I’ve always liked ruggedness. Without thinking, I lean over the length of the windowsill and kiss him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He immediately slips his arms around my waist and presses me against his chest. I pull away and smile into the crook of his shoulder. “So…” I say, touching his arm. “What exactly does this cobra tattoo represent?”

I pull up his sleeve just enough to glimpse the ugly, vicious-looking head of the snake. “It obviously doesn’t represent peace, love and good karma,” I observe.

He kisses my forehead, sighing deeply.

“It’s a Gadsden,” he replies, stroking my hair.

“Pardon me? A what ?”

“A Gadsden,” he chuckles. “It’s a snake. Common military tattoo.”

“Bet your mom’s gonna love that,” I mutter, curling up against his chest.

“Yeah.” He rests his head on top of mine, and we just stay there for a little while, until practically all the wax from my bedside candle is pooling onto its glass plate.

It’s such a perfect way to end Christmas day. But as I’m laying there in his arms, totally content and love struck, I know deep down that this won’t last. Because sooner or later, I’m going to have to leave all this behind. I’m going to have to hike up to the cabin and find my dad.

That was the whole point of leaving LA, after all.

Something I’ve learned over the years — and particularly in the last few months — is that it never hurts to be prepared for the worst. Hope for the best, get ready for the crappy. Why not? It saved my life when the EMP hit the world.

So now I’m wrapped in three layers of clothing plus a heavy wool jacket. My hair is tied up underneath a scarf and wide brimmedhat; my fingers are covered with leather gloves. I’m wearing socks that weigh enough to sink a dead body in a river, so it’s kind of a challenge to take a step because my feet weigh more than I do.