State of Chaos (Collapse Series) (7 page)

I, on the other hand,
am
embarrassed. I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes. I’m too stressed to analyze anything. I’m too exhausted to think about the fact that just last night, I was searching for Chris at the trailer park.

Just last night I was still a free person.

“Goodnight, Cassidy,” Sophia yawns.

“Night.”

I fall asleep.

I’m too tired to do anything else.

Whether or not it’s normal, everybody falls into a routine. Even if you’re a prisoner at a
slave labor camp, picking oranges and being bossed around by a Russian soldier with a long, confusing name. That’s what happens to me: I get familiar with the routine at camp. Our schedule is simple, so it’s not hard to do:

              
It’s the same thing day after day. There’s never any change, and despite the high stress environment and the fact that, hey, we’re
enslaved
, I actually get used to the lifestyle here. Hard, grueling work. Borderline starvation. Bullying, taunting and humiliation from the soldiers. It’s not
a pretty picture. But that’s the beauty of being human, right? We adapt to even the most difficult situations. Plus, I’m smaller than some of the other prisoners, so the paltry amount of nutrition we receive here goes a little farther with me. Big, muscular men quickly become weak and emaciated, but smaller people like me? We last a little longer.

              
Well, for the most part.

              
I can’t keep my overactive brain in check. I keep thinking about Chris. What is doing right now? Is he looking for me? Or did he just give up on ever finding me again? I wouldn’t blame him. How would he track a truck all the way to…wherever I am? Somewhere in the Central Valley.

              
And what about my dad? What’s happening to him? Was he captured and taken to an Omega facility just like this? Is this what happened to Chris’s family? How am I ever supposed to
find
them if I’m stuck in prison?

              
The frustration is a physical force.

              
It’s one thing to be separated from the people you love. It’s another thing to be separated by bars, barbed wire and armed guards. It’s a nightmare. But Sophia helps me keep it together. We compliment each other well. She’s calm where I’m nervous, and I’m strong where she’s weak.

              
“You know what’s ironic?” she asks me.

              
We’re in a new field of oranges, and we’re harvesting as fast as we can. The temperature has risen and the fruit is ripening quicker. Omega wants everything taken off the trees
pronto
, so they can feed their men. But oranges aren’t exactly the kind of food you give an army.

              
Unless the army is desperate for anything they can find…and they’re just taking what’s here before they start planting what
they
want. The question is, what
do
they want, and who are they feeding? Because there aren’t enough
troops in the Central Valley of California alone to warrant a production like this.

              
Right?

              
“Hello?” Sophia waves a hand in front of my face.

              
“Hmm? Oh, sorry.” I shrug. “I was thinking.”

              
“Obviously.” She wipes the sweat off her forehead. Already I can see the effects of severe hunger on her face. Sharper cheekbones, a more angular jawline. I’m betting that if I could see myself in a mirror, I’d notice some not-so-attractive changes in my own face, too. “I said, isn’t it ironic that the only reason Omega needs us to do all this is because of the EMP?”

I blink.

              
“What do you mean?”

              
“I mean
all of this
. Omega needs labor because they destroyed the infrastructure of the country with an EMP.” She holds an orange in front of my face. “They created their own problem
and they’re having us solve it for them. It’s not fair!”

              
“Of course it’s not.” I roll my eyes. “Omega’s got this place pretty well organized, though. Everybody’s got a job. They’re using us to our full potential. It’s transporting and storing the food we’re harvesting that’s got to be hard for them, I guess. ”

              
“What do you mean,
I guess
?” She smirks.

              
“Well…you’re assuming that Omega is behind the EMP.”

              
“Of
course
they are. Who else would be?”

              
I shrug, keeping an eye out for any overly curious listeners. Talking amongst ourselves while working is against the rules, so we try to keep chitchat on the DL.

              
“Think about it,” I whisper. “These troops are Russian. A few months ago I saw international troops in Bakersfield speaking German. There was an officer
that captured Chris and me. His name was Keller. He was
very
not Russian, and he definitely wasn’t American.”

“So what are you saying? Omega is culturally diverse?”

“Yes.” I make a move to pull my hair over my shoulder, and then stop. There
is
no hair to pull. My hands swish through empty space. “Russia, Europe…Omega isn’t just one conglomerate that came out of nowhere. It’s something a bunch of people…maybe a bunch of
countries
are calling themselves to create chaos. Keep us in the dark. If we don’t know who’s attacking us, it’s kind of hard to know who to fight, don’t you think? We don’t have TV or radio to communicate with each other. Everybody’s confused, and in comes a bunch of people calling themselves Omega. It’s kind of genius.”

“So you think Omega is like an alliance of countries?”

I open my mouth to respond, but I’m interrupted by a harsh,

“Of course that’s what Omega is.”

I whip around, almost bumping into a tall
young man with curly brown hair. The first thing I notice about him are his piercing blue eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I snap. “This is Group 13’s area.”

“I was sent here by my Group Leader,” he replies, and that’s when I realize that he’s got a British accent. “Apparently you’re not working fast enough.”

I peek over his shoulder. He’s right. Male workers are moving into the field with sacks. Some of the women look downright terrified to see male prisoners, and I don’t blame them. Sophia and I have had a couple of ugly run-ins with half-crazy men in the prison that have lost all sense of dignity and morality. Keeping the sexes separated is the only thing that keeps this labor camp moving.

Omega must be hungry or they wouldn’t let us work together. This is the first sign of weakness I’ve seen from them.

“Omega
is
an alliance,” the young man says, following us. “You’re dead on about that.”

“Look, we probably shouldn’t be talking,” Sophia replies, nervous.

“I’ve been here for three months,” the man answers, cracking a smile. “Trust me, if you keep your voices down and close your mouth when the guards walk by, you’ll be fine.”

I climb up the ladder and crane my neck to see how many oranges we’ve got left. After five days, I’m sick of seeing oranges. I’ll never be able to eat one again.

“Okay then,” I say, careful. “What do you know about Omega?”

“Well,” he replies, “I know what you know. But I’ve heard different rumors, so I have a slightly different theory.”

“Do tell,” Sophia says, folding her arms across her chest.

“Omega is like an umbrella,” he explains. “Underneath it are several different forces working together, but only one of those forces are responsible for the EMP. You know that an EMP is caused by a nuclear explosion in the atmosphere, yes?”

We nod.

“You have to ask yourself, who in the world today has the firepower and the gall to do
something like that to the United States?” he pauses. “I’m from London, but I was living in Hollywood when the EMP struck. Omega is probably an alliance of countries, and one of those countries sent out the nuclear blast that destroyed our technology.”

“That’s kind of what I was already saying,” I deadpan. “Just…with a little more detail.”

He chuckles.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he says. “Harry Lydell, but who cares about your last name these days, right? Who are you?”

“I’m Cassidy and this is Sophia,” I reply. “Welcome to the club.”

“Club?”

“Yeah. Our club.” Sophia and I share a secret grin. “You’re in.”

Harry looks confused, but he doesn’t question us. He ends up being a good worker. Fast, quiet, observant. Smart. The guy has some interesting theories about Omega and the source of the EMP, which makes my curious ears perk up. Anything is more interesting than manual labor, anyway. And to be honest, I’m glad to have
somebody else to talk to. It’s been just Sophia and me since we were smashed together in the semi-truck, and it’s nice to have a newbie to get to know.

The three of us stick together through the day, trading conspiracy theories and complaints about our crappy environment. It makes the long hours more bearable, and it gives me hope. At least
somebody
besides Sophia and I are actually trying to figure Omega out. Most of the prisoners here are zoned out. Desperate and terrified.

I might have plenty of fear to go around, but I haven’t given up yet. Omega might be scary, but they’re also infuriating. They make me angry. This is our
home
, and they have no right being here, treating us like dirt.

I want them taken down. Hard.

And the first step towards taking down an enemy is familiarization. Know what you’re up against. That’s what Chris would tell me. Learn everything you can about your opponent, their strengths and weaknesses, and then attack. Not that I’m planning on taking down the entire Omega army, of course, but it gives me a sense of
security to know that Omega is
very
human and very
real
. If they can be figured out, then they can be destroyed.

And that wouldn’t hurt my feelings.

Not one bit.

Chapter Five

Omega should go ahead and give classes in world domination, because they’ve got the formula down to a science. I don’t know how far their invasion extends – or whether or not the United States is the only one affected by it – but I do know this: they’re smart. Organized. Utilizing resources that are already here, enslaving the population that was already in place. Things are working out fine and dandy for them, while the civilian population is being forced to march through cold showers and do manual labor.

Yeah. I’d say people like me could have been better prepared for a situation like this. It’s weird, too. I was probably the only person in Los Angeles with an emergency go-bag, a getaway car and a pre-planned emergency rendezvous point when the EMP hit. I was ready and prepared. Naïve? Yes. Scared? You bet. But I was actually
ready
. Apparently somebody needs to write a survival manual about labor camps, because now I’m
not
prepared. I’m at Omega’s mercy, and that seriously ticks me off.

I hate being bossed around.

So yeah. Enslavement isn’t my fantasy job.

But there are things I can do to keep myself alive and well while some of the other prisoners shrivel up and waste away. For one thing, mental stimulation is a big part of keeping myself sharp. I play games with myself. I solve riddles. I recite memory verses. Whatever I can do to keep my mind working. Sophia and I tell each other stories, everything from the
Three Little Pigs
to
Goodnight Moon
just to avoid going crazy. Or maybe the fact that we’re reciting
Goodnight Moon
out loud is a sign of our insanity. Whatever. It helps the time pass quicker.

The food that we get around this place isn’t enough to keep me healthy and strong, either, so Sophia and I have started eating some of the oranges we pick. It’s a potentially lethal situation, because if we get caught eating the food that we’re supposed to be picking, we could very well be killed. Just like that. And I have a feeling Kamaneva would dance a Russian jig over my grave.

The oranges are full of Vitamin C, though, which keeps us healthier than the rest of the prisoners. But I’m sure we’re not the only ones bending the rules. I mean, if you
don’t
fly under the radar, you’ll die. You’ll burn out and turn into a hollow shell of yourself. I’ve seen it happen.

An older woman named Jenna arrived at the labor camp a few days ago, and she’s already wasting away. She’s retreated far inside of herself, refusing to talk to anybody or eat anything. She worked until she dropped unconscious in the fields and the guards kicked her awake, forcing her back to her job. She’s given up hope. She’s already dead.

I don’t want to turn into that.

I want to
live
.

I want to see Chris again. And my dad. And the Youngs.

It’s not like it’s the ultimate dream to hang around a death camp for the rest of my life. More like the ultimate nightmare. Because a labor camp will eventually get you to one place: an early grave. Chris would agree with that. He’d tell me to figure a way out of this mess.

Well, I’m
trying.
There’s not a lot I can do with Kamaneva and her hyperactive guard dogs stalking our every move. It’s not like I can just smuggle in the back of a pickup truck and sneak out the front gate, either. Omega checks and double-checks every vehicle that goes in and out of the camp.