RYLEE

After two days without leaving the house we haven't heard anything from either the radio or television. No mobile networks or landline phones seem to be working, as well as the internet. Blind to whatever is going on we're torn on whether or not to stay put, but decide that we should prepare either way. We pack all the food that we can find into the CRV, along with some camping gear and bedding scavenged from Jeremy's aunt's house. Our only plan so far is to get some gas into the car, then maybe come back to the house or risk the roads and find our way back to Noven somehow. I just want to find out what's going on and talk to my family, we've waited long enough. 

There seems to be hardly any movement on the street and whatever fallout there had been hadn't come our way, the sky is almost perfectly clear above the town.

At the petrol station we're the only ones, so Jeremy has to break into the building and activate the pumps himself. The town is away from the highway and seems completely neglected by refugees who had also been fleeing the New York blast. Anyone we do see avoids us, afraid of strangers in this confusing time.

After filling up, Caleb parks the CRV on the outskirts of town near a cluster of trees, leaving most of our stuff in it since it is hidden from view - and hopefully safe from thieves. We wander toward the main street, keeping close to each other in case of attack, but we're pretty much alone. Most of the little shops have smashed windows and torn down doors. Even small towns are prone to looters, it seems. Emily drags me into a little clothes shop while the boys try and find more food in a small grocery store opposite.

"You know, I was wondering when something like this would happen," she says, flicking through rows of tops.

"What do you mean? New York being bombed?"

"Yea, well, a war. It's been going on for years in other countries, it was only a matter of time before it really affected us," her blue eyes flick to me, "you must have seen it on the news? Plus, ever since Moore was elected everything's been really tense politically."

"Huh," I never realised Emily's so... aware. I guess I shouldn't have written her off as just another 'Tumblr girl', "so you don't think it's a major terrorist attack?" It's the main theory Jeremy and Caleb have been going on about, a 9/11 attack on an epic scale, in retaliation for all President Moore's focus on the Middle East.

She makes a face at me, "I just agree with whatever Jeremy says so that he doesn't throw a hissy fit. But no, I think for once the war is actually going to be on our soil rather than our Televisions."

We shuffle through the store, I grab a couple of hoodies that seem like they'll fit, but most of the clothes look like they were designed for middle aged woman.

"So, how do you know Jeremy and Caleb?" I think it's best that I fill the silence, both of us probably think too much otherwise.

"Oh, well you know - we have a few classes together, and I've known them both since elementary. Noven's relatively small and we're kind of friends with most of the juniors. I don't know why they asked me to come with you guys to NY, I guess they thought you'd be uncomfortable being the only girl."

"Still can't believe Jeremy's mum shelled out for four of those hotel rooms, I know they're rich but that's ridiculous."

"Yea, she does stuff like that. Last summer she took Jeremy and like, three of his friends to their beachfront house in LA."

"That makes me feel better about all the money I racked up from ordering room service."

"Not like she'll have to pay it now," Emily mumbles, turning away from me. I realise what I've said, but it's too late. Her parents almost certainly died in New York, I can't believe I even brought that up.

She starts laughing about a pair of fluffy green pants, trying to cover her sadness with humor, but honestly, I feel too emotionally exhausted to bother playing along. I should leave before I say anything else that's stupid.

"I'm going to go see what the boys have found," I say, showing her a tight lipped smile which she returns. Maybe she needs some time alone, we haven't had a lot of space in Cheryl's house.

I walk out of the shop with my head down, kicking at an empty beer can as I make my way across the street. I'm halfway to the other side before I notice the police car parked on the roadside.

Does this mean someone's going to help us? Maybe they'll tell us what's going on, or they might have some satellite phone that lets us call someone, and -

"Don't move, hands up," the rough voice booms from my left and I oblige without question, just as Caleb and Jeremy are marched out of the store in handcuffs.

"We've done nothing wrong," Jeremy grunts, but doesn't resist. I guess being partially African American, he knows not to so much as twitch his fingers in front of the cops.

"How many more of you?" the man behind me says in response, yanking my hands from the air to fasten them behind my back, a couple of clicks too tight. Jerk.

"None."

I crane my neck looking for Emily, but there's no sign of her. The cops bundle us into the car, only to drive less than a minute down the road to the police station. Caleb and Jeremy's rapid fire questions cease once we catch sight of the small station which sits surrounded by trucks and large men with guns in their hands. It looks so out of place in the quaint town, like they're protecting a fortress rather than a small 90's style building. 

One of the men opens the gate of the chain link fence and the cop car drives through. The three of us are each dragged from the backseat and in through the front doors, accompanied by wolf whistles - that are unfortunately directed at me.

"Despite the uniform, something tells me you're not who you're pretending to be," I cock an eyebrow and look at the man walking beside me, we're pretty much the same height so I'm probably not as intimidated of him as I should be.

"You a fucking detective girl?" he sneers and nods to the ground as we approach three male bodies, slumped against the wall in their underwear. I look from the dried blood surrounding them, to the badly washed blood stain on the chest of the fake-cop's uniform. My momentary bravado wilts at the sight of the corpses. Like most people, I've never seen a murder victim before. Or smelt one. What kind of sicko doesn't even bother to get rid of their victims bodies?

They take us to the back of the station where the holding cells are and I'm hit with a musty, damp smell. There's three, divided by bars and pretty much shrouded in darkness as the light from the hallway only reaches so far and there's no electricity. It's obvious this room doesn't see much use in this small town - before now.

"You get one to yourself, my love," the man with the blood stain whispers loudly in my ear, his breath tickling my cheek before he shoves me in to the middle cell. With my hands cuffed behind me I fall hard onto the damp concrete, pain shoots through my shoulder which gets the worst of the impact. 

There's nothing I can do but watch from the ground as Caleb and Jeremy struggle to get away, but another guy comes in as backup and they're locked into the next cell, puffing and swearing after their failed attempt at escape. I push myself to my knees and stand on unsteady legs, trying to regain a little dignity.

"Who are you with?" blood stain asks the boys as they glare at him through the rusty metal bars of their door.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The man grunts, "don't play dumb, you're on our territory."

Jeremy shakes his head, "it's been three days, and you're saying this whole town is yours?" He asks skeptically before mumbling, "psycho."

The simple words insult the man so much he snatches the handgun from his belt and aims it straight at Jeremy, finger slipping toward the trigger.

"Foley, not so soon, the boss'll want to talk to them first," a greasy looking guy says, the buttons on his shirt barely holding his stolen uniform together.

Foley spits on the ground and puts away the gun, "He better at least let me kill one of 'em this time," he glances around us again and winks at me.

The men swagger away down the hall, with promises that they'll return soon. I've started shivering, and it's not just from the cold.

"You okay Rylee?" Caleb asks through the bars.

"Wonderful," I pull at the cuffs, trying desperately to slip them over my wrists. To try and avoid letting them see me freaking out I lean against the back wall on the far away side from the boys, sliding down it to sit on the ground as my head spins.

"Fuck!" I yelp and lurch away, a face has appeared without warning behind the bars next to me.

"People normally just say hello," taunts a snide male voice.

"Get away from her!" Caleb growls, unable to see who's lurking in the shadows.

"Chill bro, I'm not doing anything," the man in the third cell stands up and so do I, ignoring my throbbing shoulder.

The rays of light from the small windows above us illuminate him from the chest upwards and I blink, trying to accustom my eyes to the dim. His hair is dark and tousled, held in place by blood and sweat which is also dried onto his lightly tan coloured skin. There's a scab along his pronounced jawline and dark bruising around his left eye. Damn, he looks like he's been through it.

"These guys are power hungry sociopaths," he states with an odd – almost bored - tone of calm, "I heard they stormed here as soon as shit hit the fan, now they think they should run the country."

"They didn't cuff you?" Caleb says after a tense pause. My eyes dart to the boys arms, leaning casually against the bars between him and I.

"Yea, they did," he kicks something on the ground and I can just make out the silver metal by his feet. I can't help being a little impressed - and a little hopeful.

"Listen, you can't be here," the boy directs his words at me.

"Well, it's not exactly by choice," I scoff, trying to shake off my fear.

"You're in your own cell for a reason."

That sends a shiver down my spine. Yea, thanks dude, as if I wasn't already aware of my dire situation. The other two are leaning against the bars when I turn my gaze to them, looking right back at me, helplessly.

I notice Jeremy glance at something, blatant fear on face. Following his gaze I step to the front of the cell and squint at the ground opposite.

"Don't," the stranger in the other cell warns, but I've already figured out what it is. A woman, wearing a pale yellow sundress that is torn down the front and hitched up to her waist. She lies in a pool of coagulated blood, half her head caved in.

My stomach drops and I feel like I'm supposed to cry, but I physically can't. My whole body is numb and I stumble to the back corner of this cage, away from the fresh corpse. I thought I still had the smell of the dead police officers lingering in my nostrils. I guess I was wrong. 

"Do you know her?" I ask the man on the other side of the bars, but he shakes his head.

"They were... in there with her when I was brought in."

"Why didn't you stop them?" I grit my teeth and close my eyes, trying to breathe.

"I tried," he snaps at me, followed by a dull thud and a string of swear words as he slams his fist into the concrete wall. Apparently he's not as composed as he seems.

"What if they get Emily too?" I look over at the boys in despair. It's over for me, but maybe she won't get caught.

Jeremy shakes his head furiously, "they won't, and she's going to get us out of here, she's smart. No one is going to touch you."

Something tells me that she isn't getting past a dozen armed men.

"Give me your arms," the stranger says, but I just look at him dumbly, "cuffs, remember?"

Considering what I'm sure is about to happen, I think if I'm to have any chance of getting out of here it won't be while my arms are restrained.

Warily I do as he tells me and back up to the bars. He begins scratching away at the lock with a tiny bit of wire as voices in the corridor grow louder.

"Could you hurry this up?"

I've never been as thankful as I am when I hear the pop of the lock just as two of the men from before round the corner, in intense conversation. They aren't looking at us yet and the lock-picking man begins whispering instructions in my ear. His outrageous proposal sends my mind into a tailspin and I can't conjure up a response.

"Trust me," is the last thing he says, and I'm still debating on whether or not I can as I move toward the door.