State of Chaos (Collapse Series) (3 page)

“Is that what they taught you in the Navy?” I ask.

“Yes.” He pauses. “I’m sizing up the odds, Cassie. They’re not in our favor.”

“But -”

“-They’re not in our favor
yet
. Don’t give up. We’re alive, right?”

“Yeah. Big whoop.”

He frowns. “It is. A lot of people would love to be us.”

I crawl forward and lay my head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. It’s kind of a summary of who Chris is as a person: Steady. Reliable. Confident.

Logical.

“What do we do until then?” I whisper.

“We
stay
alive,” he replies, wrapping his arms around me, tracing his fingers down the curve of my back. “Deal?”

I nod.

“Deal.”

I get a temporary feeling of security with those words. Granted, I don’t really believe that everything’s going to be all rainbows and lollipops if we start thinking positively, but we need to focus on one thing at a time.

I fall asleep snuggled into Chris’s warmth, lulled to sleep by his breathing and the sound of a strong wind slapping tree branches against the trailer roof. At around four in the morning, Chris stirs, stretching one arm behind his head. “Could
be another storm,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with sleep. “You warm enough?”

I shrug.

He gets off the couch, walking into the hallway. Out of respect – and maybe a little bit of superstition – I haven’t ventured into the bedrooms of the house yet. It seems wrong, somehow.

“Where are you
going
?” I demand.

“Getting blankets,” he calls back, and I hear him moving stuff around. Curiosity gets the better of me and I walk across the living room, still sleepy. I poke my head into the first bedroom. There’s a king size bed and a matching dresser. Pictures have been taken off the wall, but besides that, it looks like most of the belongings of the couple that lived here are still intact.

“What I’d give to sleep in a bed,” I remark.

“So do it.” Chris kicks his boots off, rolling onto the mattress. “I forgot what it was like to sleep on a bed. Get over here, Cassidy.”

“I’m not sleeping on a
bed
with you.”

“
In
a bed with me.” He pulls back the covers, waving me over. “It’s warm.”

I roll my eyes, looking over the contents of the dresser. A string of faux pearls is hanging on a jewelry tower. A half-empty perfume bottle is tilted sideways against a wooden box full of earplugs and defunct hearing aids. Apparently whoever lived here was on the older side.

“I wonder where they went,” I say. “If they took all their stuff, maybe they had a working car.”

“Probably.” Chris spreads his arms across the pillows. “Cassidy?”

“Hmm?”

“Come here.”

My hand hovers over a stainless steel bracelet etched with the name
Annalisa
. I slip it over my wrist, realizing how long it’s been since I’ve worn any jewelry. Well, besides the necklace Chris gave me…and I put it back. I can’t bring myself to take anything out of this house. It’s just not
right
.

I walk over to Chris. He’s conveniently propped up on his side, waiting for me to crawl
in bed. “Trying to seduce me or something?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“Obviously.” Chris offers a handsome smile, hooking his thumbs around my belt loops, pulling me forward. “What are you so afraid of?”

I swallow, suddenly feeling
very
warm. I brace myself against his shoulders, Chris leaning up and kissing the bottom of my chin. I close my eyes, relaxing into him, just as he presses his lips against mine. The heat of the kiss is intense – different than when I kissed him earlier – as he pulls me closer, tighter. I link my hands together behind his neck, Chris rubbing comforting circles into my arms.

“Chris,” I say, breaking the embrace.

“Mmm?” He strokes the side of my face with his finger.

“I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“Are you kidding?” He grins, sitting up, holding me in his lap. “And miss out on all this?”

“Exactly,” I breathe, hot. “I just...I’m tired. Okay?”

“Really?” Chris looks amused. “Come on. Stay.”

“No.”

He presses the tip of his nose against mine, closing his eyes.

“I’ve been sleeping beside you for months,” he says. “Whether it’s in the snow or on a bed doesn’t really make a difference, does it?”

I take a shaky breath, my hormones going wild.

“This is different,” I insist.

And it is. If there’s one thing I know about Chris, he does things
all the way
. He doesn’t stop. He’s the logical, steady man when it comes to any situation except…well,
this
. I may – possibly (probably) – be in love with the man, but I’m only nineteen. He’s twenty-eight, he’s ready for this kind of thing. And I’m not.

Not yet.

“Sorry,” I say, kissing his forehead. “But it’s the couch for me.”

“Cassie,” he replies, laughter rumbling in his chest. “I’m not going to-”

“-Don’t even say it!” I cut in. “Please.”

“Say
what
?”

Thank God it’s dark in here. I’m blushing fire engine red.

“I’m not talking about
that
with you,” I say, shifting back.

“You’re too easy to read, Cassie.” He grins again. “
Extremely
easy.”

“Not that easy.” I swing my legs around and sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m just saying…I don’t…” I rub my temples. “Never mind. Goodnight.”

Unperturbed, Chris keeps his arms around my waist.

“Trust me,” he says.

I turn around to face him, his voice getting soft. He’s making it hard to say no to him. “Fine,” I reply, squeezing his hand. “I trust you.”

I slip under the heavy quilt of the bed – having a blanket is almost better than having hot food – and Chris lays his arm across the pillow. I rest my head against his bicep, comfortable just lying close enough to take in his scent of spice and coffee.

“Goodnight, Cassidy,” he says, his voice teasing. Fingering my shirt.

“Goodnight.”

As I fall asleep, all I can think is,

One of these days I’m going to get the hang of this love thing
.

The next morning I wake up alone in bed. Groggy, I sit up and make a note of the fact that it’s gray and foggy outside. For the fifty-millionth time. “Chris?” I slip out of the covers and place my feet on the floor, yawning. I glimpse my reflection in the dresser mirror. Bad hair day.

Bad hair
month
.

“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping into the living room. Chris is dressed in his jacket and boots, checking his weapons – or as I like to call them, his “arsenal of awesome.”

“Hello?” I fold my arms over my chest, glancing at his face. “What’s wrong? Are we in trouble?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Cassie,” he grins. “Relax.”

“Then what’s up with all the weaponry?”

“I’m hungry.” He gestures towards the kitchen. “I need more than veggies and soup to
keep alive. I’m going hunting. You stay here, okay?”

“Are you kidding? You could be gone for hours.”

“Most likely.”

He slings his gun over his back, picking up a few more, leaving me with a couple of knives and a rifle that’s about twice my size. “Go back to bed. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

“Can’t I come?”

Chris shakes his head, fighting a smile.

“No. You’re a little too impatient for hunting.” He moves in to press a kiss against my cheek. “See you later. Do
not
leave the trailer. Don’t draw attention to yourself. I’ll be back by sundown.”

“And if you’re not?”

“You stay here and wait for me until I show up. Period.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Stick to the plan.”

“Be careful,” I warn.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gives me a Boy Scout salute before heading out the door. I lock it behind him, uncomfortable being alone in an
abandoned house by myself. So I start digging around in the kitchen, searching for the rest of the canned goods.

Bavarian sauerkraut.

Okay. Not exactly an appetizing name.

I set the can aside and decide that I’ll only be eating the contents if it’s the
only
food I can find in the kitchen. Thankfully, I come across some cans of fruit and vegetables in one of the cupboards, sparing me the misery of eating the sauerkraut. I eat it cold, feeling a rush of energy come with the sugar.

The day is long and boring without Chris around. I’ve got nobody to talk to besides myself - which makes me feel like I’ve gone crazy- so I resort to reading some of the books lying around the home. Whoever lived here had really dull taste in books. Nothing but poetry about forgotten love and a framed magazine article from Reader’s Digest. Inspirational stuff.

I actually
do
end up taking a nap through the afternoon. I guess I’m more tired than I thought I was. By the time evening rolls around,
I’m antsy, bored and in dire need of a television or computer.

It’s sucks to be a survivor of an EMP. There’s nothing to
do
.

“This is riveting,” I mutter, flicking a crumb across the kitchen table.

But when nighttime comes, I start to get worried.
Tick, tock
. My mental clock is ticking – loudly. Chris said he’d be back by nighttime. With dinner. I pace the living room a few times, playing with my knife, fiddling with the ends of my hair. Reading poetry again. Cleaning the living room window with a rag.

At around eight o’clock, Chris still hasn’t returned. I’m not
worried
in the normal sense. More like
concerned
. Maybe he got hurt and it’s taking him a long time to limp back to the trailer. Maybe he ran into a gang. Maybe there was nothing to hunt so he decided to travel farther away from the trailer park to find food.

All possible scenarios. All things I imagine to keep myself from panicking.

Another hour drags by.

I throw on my boots.

Twenty minutes.

I put on my jacket.

Fifteen minutes.

I grab my knife and strap it to my thigh.

Five minutes
.

I open the front door.

There’s no light coming from inside the trailer, other than the tea lights I lit on the kitchen counters. I take a cautious step into the cool night air, clicking the door shut behind me. The sky is shrouded with rainclouds, making it difficult to navigate the trailer park without moonlight. I swallow a nervous lump in my throat before walking. I’m not really looking for Chris. I’m not going to find him. I just feel cooped up…and yeah. I’m
worried
.

I walk around the outer fence of the park, studying the ghostly appearance of the abandoned houses. Everything from children’s toys to spare tires are scattered around the front lawns. Grass is growing around one tricycle, twisting through the tires. It’s creepy on a number of levels.

“You stay here and wait until I show up. Period
,”
Chris said.

I wince, feeling guilty for leaving the trailer. I should go back. So I turn on my heel and head back to the trailer, making up my mind to sit and wait this one out. I’ve been through too much to run outside and get into trouble like this. I know better. I’ve seen the dark side of society on more than one occasion.

When I reach our trailer, I open the door and slip inside. Chris hasn’t come back yet. Major bummer. I sink down on the sofa and sigh, trying to relax. Get in a yoga peace moment or something.

Chris will come back. He
always
comes back.

And
bam
. Just like that, everything changes. It happens so quickly that I don’t even have time to scream. The picture window at the front of the living room shatters into a million pieces. The glass simply
explodes
, coinciding with a shrieking, ripping sound right next to my head. I roll to the ground, instinctively covering my head with my hands. I feel shards of glass cutting
through my jacket, stinging the skin of my fingers.

What the…?

The explosion – if that’s what it is – stops. I look up, head spinning, pushing off the floor with my hands. I wince as glass digs into my palms, drawing blood. Another ripping sound fills the air and the lamp on the coffee table shatters. I snap my gaze to the kitchen, instantly finding the source of the noise: a gun. And a man holding it. He’s wearing a dark blue uniform. A white O is clearly visible on his shoulder sleeve.

Omega.

I freeze. Terror momentarily roots me to the spot. This is exactly what I’ve been scared of for
weeks
. Being found. And now I’m staring straight into the face of an Omega soldier, his gun trained right at me. He’s apparently just as stunned as I am to make eye contact – and I’m even
more
stunned that he shot at me twice and
missed
.

Strangely enough, my first thought is:

Chris would never miss.

The guy snaps out of it, raising his weapon again. No dice. I turn on my heel and sprint outside, running as fast as I can. I weave between trailers, shaking from head to toe. I could have been shot dead the instant I walked into the living room. God, what if the trooper was already in the house before I left the trailer? I could have been killed sitting at the kitchen table.

Those kinds of thoughts only make me run faster. I skid around a corner and spot another guy in uniform, barely visible in the darkness, his head bobbing in my direction. He yells something along the lines of, “HALT!” but of course I ignore him. I turn around and run the other way, rounding another corner, finding two more guards.

What is this? An ambush? How did they find us?

WHERE IS CHRIS?

I dart frantically across dead lawns, through backyards, underneath picnic tables and through flowerbeds. I can hear footsteps and voices now, sounds that are getting closer as
they pursue me. I run to the edge of the trailer park, eyeing one of the breaks in the chain link fence. I need to lose these suckers in the woods, but I can’t bring myself to step away from the trailer park without Chris. He’s tactically brilliant, and I can’t see him stumbling into the lap of some Omega soldier. Maybe that’s why he’s not home yet. Maybe he ran into a patrol, too.