State of Emergency (Book) (13 page)

“Are you kidding? I can’t shoot that thing.”

Chris slings both of them across his back.

“Fine. Let’s hustle before he comes back with more rocket scientists.”

“Scary rocket scientists,” I shudder.

Chris pulls me along, tossing me one of their flashlights. I catch it. It almost slips through my fingers because my hands are so sweaty.  Chris and I jog for a long time before we slow to speed walking. It’s freezing, which makes my headache even worse.

“Wait,” I say. “Slow down.”

“We have to keep going,” Chris replies, “otherwise that idiot might bring back a whole gang on us.”

“I just want to get some pain meds,” I plead, trying to find the medicine box in the dark. “My head hurts.”

“Still?” Chris voice sounds concerned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“People get headaches, Chris. It’s not like I got shot.”

I wince with the pain of the migraine, not able to tell if I’m sweating from a fever or from running for a half an hour. I flick the flashlight on as I dig around, finally closing in on the pain meds. I chew several up, much to Chris’s disapproval.

“That’s too many,” he says, looking frustrated. “Don’t overdose.”

“It’s children’s medication,” I snort. “Please.”

I zip the pack up and get to my feet. Shaky, sweaty, migraine-ridden. All in all, considering that it’s the end of the world, I’m in pretty good shape.

Right?

Twenty-four hours later, it’s one o’clock in the morning and foggy. The fog is so
thick
that I can’t see more than five feet in front of me. I keep close to Chris as we follow the road, listening to suspicious sounds or lights. My headache is still around, but it’s not pounding like it was thanks to the pain meds.

Glad I threw them in my backpack a couple of months ago.

We haven’t seen any sign of Main Dude or a comeback posse. Good thing, too. Chris would probably just shoot them all if they showed up. It’s a relief. I’d like to survive this trip without my traveling partner turning into a ninja warrior.

We eventually stop and kick back on the side of the road, deciding that nobody will be able to sneak up on us because nobody can
see
us through the fog. I have my hood thrown over my head because the fog is heavy – almost like a literal blanket pressing down on my skin.

When my headache starts to come back again – and the fever – I take some more pain medication to keep it away. I don’t feel great, but at least I’m not dying or anything. Chris doses off for a little while and I do the same, slumping next to him with my head on his shoulder.

We start moving at three thirty, having covered at least another fifteen miles since last night. “I should have been a cross country marathon runner,” I grumble, wishing we could just stop and hang out at a McDonald’s with a bunch of junk food.

Oh, man. Junk food.

I miss you…

“You’re doing very well,” Chris assures me. “Taking it like a soldier.”

“Thanks,” I say, uninspired.

We stop again at six o’clock, just as the sun is coming up. Only we can’t really see the sun through all the fog, so everything just turns from black to gray. At seven we pick up the pace and I spot a McDonald’s off the freeway.

“I can’t take it anymore!” I announce, feeling my stomach rumble. “I need more food than an energy bar to stay alive. I’m going to see if there’s anything left in there.”

“Cassidy, that’s highly unlikely,” Chris replies. “Besides, we need to stay on the road and out of the cities.”

“This isn’t a
city
,” I point out. “It’s a fast food shack in the middle of nowhere. Nobody lives here but a couple of coyotes and a sewer rat.”

Chris sighs, but he doesn’t argue. Which means he’s getting sick of eating energy bars, too. It’s been six days since we’ve had anything else, and they’re not exactly as yummy as a box of French fries.

I climb over the center divider, cutting across the freeway exit ramp towards the McDonald’s. There are no cars in the parking lot – or at the gas station that’s across the street. A more positive sign is that the windows haven’t been smashed out of the McDonald’s yet.

Hooray.

I jog towards it, envisioning a bunch of greasy hamburgers and calorie-bomb milkshakes. Nothing could be better. Or
sound
better, anyway. I walk up to the front door and push. It doesn’t budge, which means it’s locked. Of course.

Chris tugs on the handle a few times and walks around the building, checking all the entries and exit points. Finally he says, “We’ll have to break in.”

“Awesome,” I say. “I’ll kick in the door.”

“Thank you, but I think I’d better handle this part,” Chris replies, flashing a wry smile. “Excuse me.”

He pulls his Bowie knife out of my belt and slips it between the glass double doors. It takes him a couple of minutes to pop the lock, but because there’s no electricity, there’s no alarm. Sweet.

“After you,” Chris says, holding the door open.

I walk inside, impressed with his thief-like skills.

“You should have been a professional bank robber,” I tell him.

“Yeah, my mother would have really loved that.”

I laugh and take a look around. The whole place is pretty much untouched. The trash hasn’t been taken out so it stinks. It’s dark inside, but no place is darker than the kitchen behind the front counter. Chris twirls the Bowie knife around a few times and jumps over the counter first.

I crawl after him, not wanting him to reach the freezer before me. If there are hash browns in there, I claim them all. I flick on the flashlight we took from the thugs last night and shine it around the kitchen. There’s some gross food scraped along the floor, like people were running around and got it stuck all over their shoes. Probably when the EMP hit.

“There’s the freezer over there,” I say, pointing to a big steel box in the wall. “Let’s raid it!”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Chris warns. “It’s been a week since the electricity went out. If there’s anything in there it’s probably rotten.”

“Party pooper,” I snap.

Chris rolls his eyes. I keep the flashlight trained on the freezer as I tap the door. It’s halfway open. I frown. “Go ahead already,” Chris says.

“I’m going, I’m going.”

I open the door and look inside, seeing a bunch of empty steel shelves and melted icepacks. There are some disgusting packages of hamburger meat rotting in the back of the freezer. “Gross,” I mutter, shutting the door. “Great. It’s back to energy bars again.”

“Tried to tell you,” Chris shrugs.

“Forgive me for holding out some hope that there was still junk food left in the world.”

“You have the weirdest hopes.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

Ding
.

Both of us freeze at the same time. Something metal hits the tile of the kitchen flooring and makes a noise like a bell. I whip my flashlight around, spotting a metal spoon spinning on the floor.

“What the…?” I mutter.

At that moment a shadow moves across the back of the kitchen, headed for the rear door. I can hear light footsteps. Chris immediately vaults over the counter and tackles the shadow. I scurry after him, buzzing with adrenaline.

Man. How many times are we going to have people sneak up on us?

I shine the flashlight and wrinkle my nose, shocked. Chris is holding a skinny kid by the shoulders. A girl. She’s got scraggly blonde hair with a bunch of clips in it, knee-high combat boots and rainbow fingerless gloves. “Wow, dude,” she says, looking angry. “You just tackled me? You weigh like three hundred pounds. Let go, will you?”

She kicks Chris in the leg. It doesn’t hurt him, but he let’s go anyway.

“Geez,” I say. “You’re just a kid.”

“You and me both, sister,” she shrugs, turning to face me. Her skin is extremely pale, almost cherubic. She looks about eleven or twelve. “What’s the big idea tackling me?”

“Sorry,” I say. “We thought you were dangerous.”

“I am,” she sniffs. “Anyway, this is
my
McDonald’s. Leave already.”

“Where are your parents?” Chris asks, frowning.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She only comes up to my shoulder. She’s got on long black leggings underneath a pink skirt. “Hellooo. Leave. Now.”

“Answer the question,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Where are
your
parents?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you alone?” I press. “Who’s taking care of you?”

“I can handle myself,” she answers, looking proud. “Bye.”

She turns to leave, but Chris catches her around the waist and holds her there. “You’re alone,” he states. “How long have you been hiding out here?”

The girl tries to wrestle herself out of Chris’s grip, but not even a sumo wrestler could break those iron arms. “I don’t know. A week, maybe? Everybody left when the electricity went out. I came here to find food.”

“Why didn’t your parents take you with them?” I ask, horrified.

“I don’t
have
parents, genius,” she replies. “I’m a foster child, okay?”

I sigh.

“I get it.” I look around the kitchen. “So. Is there any food left?”

She laughs.

“Like I would share it with
you
.”

Chris gives her his death stare and she swallows.

“Fine. This way.”

She shoves past me and tromps into the other half of the kitchen. She opens up a sliding door underneath the counter and pulls out a few boxes of cookies and sealed apple slices. “Happy now?” she demands.

“What’s your name?” I ask, dumping a bunch of apple packages into my pack. “How old are you?”

“Twelve. Almost thirteen,” she replies, picking at a cookie.

“And your
name
?” I say, putting my hands on my hips.

“Isabel,” she replies.

“I’m Cassidy,” I smile, shaking her hand whether she wants me to or not. “And this is Chris.”

“He your boyfriend?” Isabel asks.

I flush, glad I can’t see Chris’s face.

“He’s my friend,” I reply. “Do you have any family or friends around here who can help you?”

“No. The whole area’s empty,” she shrugs. “I just got left behind.”

“How?”

“My foster family left without me.” She bites down on a cookie, propping her legs up against the wall. “There are like, two people in the whole county around here so it’s not like it took long for everybody to disappear.”

“Have you been living off cookies and apples for a week?” I ask.

“There were French fries and hamburgers and stuff at first,” she answers. “Then everything started getting yucky.”

I nod.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what’s happening everywhere.” I turn to Chris, who’s putting a few cookies in his backpack. “Don’t overdo it there, pal. Chocolate melts.”

He stuffs one more in his bag before shooting me a you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do look. I turn back to Isabel. “Look, we can’t leave you here alone,” I say. “We’re headed north. You can come with us.”

Behind me, Chris heaves a sigh.

“She’s a
kid
,” he mumbles.

“She’s coming with us,” I say, making it clear that I won’t take no for an answer. I’m not going to look back on my life a hundred years from now and have to remember that I left twelve year-old girl in the middle of an empty McDonald’s when the world ended.

“Seriously?” she says, looking surprised. “I can come with you?”

“Sure,” I smile. “You’ll be safe with us.”

“That’s debatable,” Chris remarks.

“Shut up, Chris,” I say.

Isabel suddenly jumps forward and hugs me around the waist. It takes me by surprise, since just a minute ago she was kicking Chris in the shins. Then again, I would be a little defensive, too, if I’d been hiding out in a dark kitchen for a week.

“Okay,” I say, squeezing her shoulders. “We should move. You up for this?”
“Totally!” she beams. “Where are you going?”

“The mountains,” I answer, not wanting to dump too much important information off on her. “It’s safe there.”

“That’s also debatable,” Chris says.

“Go away,” I say, shaking my head.

“Hey, I found these, too,” Isabel says, pulling open another drawer. There are some small water bottles inside. “Want some?”

I clap my hands together. “Water!” I exclaim. “Awesome. Good job, Isabel.”

We fit as many as we can into our packs. Isabel stuffs a few into a backpack she pulls from underneath the counter. It’s a pink with sparkly rhinestones all over the top. “Nice,” I comment.

            “Thanks,” she replies. “It’s for school. I’m in sixth grade.”

            “Wow.” We hop over the front counter, walking out of the McDonald’s. The fog isn’t as dense as it was during the early morning, but it’s still pretty cold. And wet. And depressing.

             “I haven’t been outside since it happened,” Isabel remarks, skipping along beside me. “There were a lot of weird people hanging around for a few days.”

             “What kind of weird people?” Chris asks.

             “Like gangsters or something,” she replies, making a face. “They came inside the McDonald’s and stole all the money from the cash register. Then they left. I didn’t want to go outside because I thought they might still be there.”

             “That was a good idea,” I say, sharing a concerned glance with Chris.

             “Yeah, I know!” she kicks a rock down the road. “So where are we going again?”

             “The mountains,” I repeat. “There won’t be any weirdos up there.”

             “Cool. Do you have, like, a secret fortress or something?”

             “Or something.”

             “Why won’t you tell me?”

             “When you need to know, I’ll explain it to you, okay?”

             “Okay,” she sighs. “So are you like, in High School?”

             “No. College.” I tilt my head. “Chris was a Navy Seal.”

             “A Navy
Seal
?” she laughs. “What’s
that
?”
  I raise my eyebrows at Chris. He shifts the rifles and the backpack before launching into a convincing explanation about the awesomeness of his former Seal team. Even I get into it, asking him if he’s ever pulled a James Bond and worn a tuxedo under his diving gear.