Summer Lane - State of Emergency

“Look, I don’t know!” Chris finally shouts. “If you have any ideas, I’m game!”

“We need to find shelter! Like, right now!”

I notice that Chris is bent over like he’s going to faint. I kneel next to him and put my head close to his face so he can hear me. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you alright?”

“Just got nicked,” he replies, his voice breaking off.

Oh, great. He’s hurt. Looks like I’m going to have to save the day. I slide my arm under his shoulders, realizing that he’s not fighting me. He’s actually letting me take the brunt of his weight.

It’s a good thing I’m in shape, because he weighs about ten tons.

“Trust me on this,” I mutter.

My entire body is completely numb with cold. My face is frozen, my mouth is dry from the cold wind, and it hurts to blink. Chris’s breath is warm on my cheek — and that’s the only warmth I’ve got. If we don’t find shelter soon, we’ll both freeze to death. And I seriously don’t want to turn into some kind of preserved wooly mammoth parallel. With my luck I’d end up in a museum a hundred years from now on display as a prehistoric Neanderthal.

Not happening.

I slough through the snow, taking the whole thinking warm thoughts thing Chris is always nagging me about seriously. If I think warm, I will become warm. Right? Tell that to the snow. Eventually I drop to my knees, bringing Chris down with me. His breathing is labored, and I can feel his body tight under my hands.

“Where are you hurt?” I ask.

“Stomach. I think. Got…stabbed.”

He’s been stabbed ? God, what am I supposed to do? What’s going to happen to us? We’re going to die, that’s what.

Shut up, Cassidy , I snap. Chris is always the one who takes control of the situation. Now it’s your turn. Man up and save both of your butts before you turn into snow sculptures.

I can’t really explain what happens, but all of the sudden I feel angry about our situation, and that gives me the energy to press on. We keep walking until we literally walk headfirst into some kind of giant boulder. I slam my fist against it and cuss it out before I realize something: It’s blocking the wind.

I drop, trembling from head to toe like a Chihuahua, and zip open my backpack. I find my flashlight and flick it on, shedding some light on the subject. It’s almost impossible to make out anything, but I set the flashlight on the ground and start digging with my hands. I dig and dig and dig until I have a trench about five feet wide and seven feet long. By that point it’s been about thirty minutes and Chris is still breathing hard.

I pull out our portable blankets and a couple of those cheap hand warmer packages you can get from dollar stores. I snap them on and shove a few of them down my shirt and Chris’s. I shine the flashlight over his coat, but I don’t see any wound. I can’t move my fingers enough to unbutton his coat, so I just roll it up. There is a bloody spot on the right of his stomach.

Feeling nauseated, I manage to see enough of it to realize that although it might be painful, the cut isn’t that deep. I look at Chris’s face. He’s pale, and his eyes aren’t focusing.

What he’s really suffering from is a concussion.

“Chris…come on,” I pant, easing him into the trench. He lies down on his back and I curl up beside him. He slips his arm underneath me and holds me close.

“You know more about survival than you let on,” he breathes, his lips curving upward.

I would grin if I could move my facial muscles.

I take the blankets and spread them out over us, snuggling into the miniature snow trench I’ve created. That, combined with the giant boulder or whatever it is, keeps the biting wind from killing us.

We should conserve just enough heat to make it through the night.

I hope.

Freezing to death was never on my list of top ten ways to die. No, my number one way to die was being wrapped in an electric blanket with Food Network on in the background.

This is so not as comforting.

The good news is, it’s morning. I can actually see the trees and the snow. I can still feel my limbs, and Chris seems to be recovering from being smacked in the head by those crazed thugs from Tasha’s. The snow is falling softly now. The wind let off during the night, and now I’m lying on my side, propped up on one arm.

Chris is smiling at me, which means he’s got to be feeling better. And while it may not be anywhere near sunbathing temperature, I don’t feel as cold as I did last night.

“You scared me,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were dying.”

“I probably was.” He grins. “But you knew that.”

“Shut up.”

He lifts himself up, wincing a little bit. Other than that, he looks as sexy as ever. “You perform well under pressure,” he remarks. “The trench was smart. I’m sorry I couldn’t help. I felt like I was immobilized.”

“You got your bell rung,” I say dryly, echoing my dad.

One time I’d fallen off a playground slide and slammed my head against the cement. My dad had told me I’d gotten my “bell rung,” and I had no idea where I was or who I was for a couple of hours.

I take a good look around. A few snowflakes fall on my nose, reminding me that the cute little pieces of fluff can turn vicious in just a few minutes.

“I know where we are,” I say, shocked. “My dad and I hiked here from our cabin last year.”

I stand up, stiff, and Chris follows my lead. There’s no logical reason for me to recognize one grove of trees from the other, but I know this place. Because the big rock that saved our lives is the same one I took my picture on last year.

“It’s Lizard Rock,” I say, awed.

“Excuse me. Lizard Rock?” Chris repeats, giving me a weird look.

“During the summertime it’s crawling with little lizards,” I reply. “You know. Miniature Godzillas.”

I climb up the side of the rock, careful not to slip on any of the ice.

“I’m king of the rock,” I exclaim, feeling playful. “And I know how to find the cabin from here. Follow me, please.”

Chris doesn’t look as amused as I am, but he follows me anyway. We walk through the bushes and undergrowth, trying to avoid leaving footprints behind. The new snow will cover the tracks eventually, but if there’s anybody still actively hunting for us, it’s better to play it safe.

We make a long hike uphill. Chris still seems a little off, concentrating more on his steps than me.

“What did you get hit with?” I ask. “Was it more than one guy?”

“It was three guys, and it was their fists,” he replies.

“Yeah, but you kicked their butts, didn’t you?”

He ghosts a smile at me.

“Ha. I knew it. You did kick their butts,” I laugh. “I did, too. Kick butt, that is.”

“How many did you bring down?”

“Well, we can’t all bring down seven in one blow, oh mighty tailor,” I quip. “But I got away from one of them. Jeff’s knife saved my life.”

Chris gives me a strange look.

“You’ve changed.”

“What are you talking about?”

He doesn’t answer.

“How much longer, Cassidy?” he asks.

“We’ll be there by nighttime,” I reply. “We must have walked miles in the storm. We’re a lot closer to it than we were at Tasha’s death trap.”

“I think that place is a front,” he muses. “Refugees trying to get away from Omega camps and the military executions are going to run to the mountains. She’s using it as a way to turn people in toOmega.”

“That’s sick,” I say, disgusted. “I can’t believe any of this is even happening.”

“But it is.”