And then she met the bunker survivors. Jay, Georgia, Pix and Flash, juvenile delinquents who had survived the invasion in a bunker deep under a correctional facility. Elle’s alliance with the mangy, unorthodox group of kids was a surprise to her. She had never thought she would become attached to anyone again.
Together, they decided to head toward Sacramento, California. It was a rumored safe haven, a United States military stronghold. California militias and the National Guard were protecting it.
They had been so close to reaching Sacramento when they were attacked by Omega. Pix was killed. Jay, Georgia and Flash had disappeared, and Elle was left to track them down. Somehow, they had been taken by a local militia group — and Elle was determined to rescue them before something bad happened.
Elle had few supplies left in her backpack — limited water and two granola bars. It was more than most people had, but still. The Tehachapi Mountains loomed dark and ominous to the south, rising into the sky. The fog had lifted enough so that it hovered just above the tips of the lowest hills. Plains of golden grassland surrounded Elle as she looked at the freeway lanes, a twisted assembly of concrete and faded signs.
It was early morning. The sun was bright, but the temperature hovered in the low forties. Elle shivered in her dark jacket, looking down at her damp, dirty running shoes. She hadn’t been able to find the road that the trucks took. All of the tire tracks and footprints at the freeway interchange blurred into one smear of mud and burnt rubber. She searched for the most recent overlay of tracks. That would tell her where her friends had been taken.
Empty cars were scattered along the edge of the lanes, but for the most part, the road was empty. It was desolate, a reminder of the fall of civilization.
Elle crouched low behind a guardrail, on the edge of an overpass. An oil tanker had overturned here. The remains of its black, burnt carcass lay on the road. The inferno that had engulfed the vehicle after its fall had melted pavement.
Elle puzzled out her next move.
Which way did they go? Where am I supposed to look now? I’m back at the mountains. This entire thing was a waste of time! I’ll never be able to find them.
She shook her head.
She knew looking for Jay, Georgia and Flash was a fool’s errand. She’d come all this way and still couldn’t find a sure sign that they had passed through. She should turn north and head toward Sacramento and try to find a safe haven. Her chances of survival would be better if she started now, before the most brutal part of winter set in.
Elle knew this. It was the logical choice, the smart choice.
And Elle had learned to play it smart. Emotions needed to be set aside.
She closed her eyes. She could see the smoldering remains of the Suzuki jeep, the dead body of small, harmless Pix. The smattering of golden graffiti on the crashed Omega vehicle. The dead troops.
Elle felt like there was nothing she could do. Wandering around aimlessly would get her killed, too. She had to reevaluate. She had to move on.
Elle shuddered.
She would do what she had to in order to survive. She would head north. She would keep an eye out for her friends. She would hope. And that was all she could do.
Chapter Two
Elle stared at the front door of apartment 1 C. The C had fallen off, a brass letter on the carpeted floor. The hallway was dark, rays of gray light falling through slits in the roof. Elle held the Smith and Wesson in her hand, shivering in the cold.
She pushed the door open. It was unlocked. A bad sign.
A stab of regret shot through her chest as she surveyed the apartment. Familiar furniture had been overturned. Books were scattered across the floor. Glass cases had been smashed. Pictures had been torn from the walls. Anything of value had been stripped from the room.
“Mom?” Elle whispered.
Nobody answered.
California was a primeval wasteland. The dead orchards stretched for miles, branches snapping, dust scattered into the air. Fog hung gray above Elle’s head, making the world around her look colorless and drained.
She followed California Highway 99, walking parallel to the road, concealed in the shadows, keeping an eye on everything around her. Listening for voices and footsteps. After months of living in the city, the empty quiet of the vast abandoned Central Valley was eerie. Unsettling.
I should have stayed with Aunt and Uncle at the ranch, she thought. I never should have gone back to Los Angeles to find my family. It was a mistake.
She sighed.
It was all too late. There was no reset button.
Elle paused and opened her backpack, slipping a faded map into her hands. It showed the main highways and roads. She traced the route to Sacramento with her finger. It was a straight shot from here to the city if she could follow the road the entire way. About three hundred miles. On foot.
Elle put the map away and kept moving. At mid-afternoon, she stopped, dropped to her stomach. There was something up ahead. A flicker of movement, a flash of dim color in the gray. Her heart raced in her chest, fingers trembling. It was the adrenaline pumping through her veins.
Movement could mean people. And people almost always meant danger.
She saw the flicker again. It was a flash of orange. Up ahead, to the right of the freeway, a small rest stop sat parallel to an off-ramp. It was an old gas station, and several orange flags were mounted to the awning above the dirty gas pumps. They hung limp in the still air. Elle stared. A group of crows hopped across the awning, one of them pulling at the fabric of the flag.
Elle released a breath.
Stupid birds…
There was an old jeep parked next to the station. Beside it sat a dented blue pickup. They both looked like they’d been sitting there since the EMP.
Elle stood up. She wondered if there was any food or useful junk left inside the gas station store. She was running low on supplies and she was out of water. She had no choice but to look inside. She walked down the off-ramp, using what minimal cover she could find. She paused at the intersection, sinking into a crouch behind an abandoned VW bug. Above the door of the gas station store, a wooden pallet had been spray painted with the words:
It was so… cheesy. Elle blinked. Would someone actually be stupid enough to set up a store in the middle of an apocalyptic wasteland? With the threat of bandits and looters hanging over their heads? Elle studied the building. Most of the windows had been covered with slats of wood. It was already dark outside, and she noticed strips of dull, orange light flickering through the cracks.
People. There are people here.
Elle chewed on her bottom lip.
Stupid girl. You could have been killed!
She hated making mistakes. She needed to get back to the freeway, away from the store. And she needed to do it without being seen.
“All right, don’t move.”
Elle froze. She braced herself for a gunshot, a quick blow to the head.
“Turn around slowly and keep your hands in front of you where I can see them.” It was a woman’s voice. Raspy and demanding.
Elle turned around, heart beating in her throat.
The woman was tall and thin, sinewy. Greasy strands of gray-blonde hair hung down her shoulders, sticking to a loose tee. A long, oversized skirt billowed around her waist.