State of Emergency (Book) by Summer Lane Page B

cake.”
                “Get your stuff, Cassidy,” Chris says. “It’s time.”
                I stand up from my cross-legged position on the floor and check my pack. I shrug my jacket on, twist my hair into a messy bun, and pull my boots back on.
                “Ready,” I say. “Tah-dah.”
                Chris rolls of the couch and grabs his gear, pausing only to flick a non-existent piece of dust off the collar of my coat. I scowl, wishing he’d stop flirting with me. It’s only making things awkward.
                Isn’t it?
                I shake myself. I can’t think about that right now. It’s escape time.
                Walter puts on an old wool jacket and pulls a crochet beanie over his head. I almost burst into tears when I watch him adjust the hat, recognizing the fact that it’s homemade – probably made lovingly by his wife.
                Walter turns to us, smiling.
                “Let’s go, shall we?”
                Chris squeezes my shoulders.
                “Stick close,” he whispers.
                “Do as I do,” Walter warns, opening the apartment door. I suddenly feel anxious, seeing the dark hallway, realizing that whatever tunnel we plan to drop into will be fifty times darker.
                Chris nudges me out the door, lacing his fingers through mine. I exhale, charged with energy from that one simple gesture. I could get used to life-threatening situations.
                Walter locks the apartment door behind us, walking down the stairs. He’s incredibly spry for an eighty-seven year-old man. When we reach the bottom level, he takes a long time opening the door and security bars. He exits first. Chris pauses at the door, waiting for the go-ahead.
                “It’s safe,” Walter whispers.
                Chris and I walk outside. It’s dark on this side of town. No floodlights, no guards as far as I can see. There is light in the distance, though, probably coming from the Relief Camps on the other side of the city.
                Walter ducks into an alleyway.
                “It’s about a quarter of a mile from here,” he whispers.
                “What is?” I ask.
                “Weren’t you paying attention to everything we said inside?”
                “No. It made no sense.”
                Chris releases a deep, soft laugh beside me.
                “We’re looking for the entrance to the tunnels,” he explains.
                “What does it look like?”
                “You’ll see,” Walter snaps, obviously irritated that I didn’t pay attention to his tunnel strategy/lecture upstairs. That’s a teacher for you.
                We take several left and right hand turns, Walter avoiding lighted areas. He stops at the corner of an abandoned Starbucks. “There’s a guard at the end of this block,” he says.
                Chris nods as I peek around the corner, spotting a blue-uniformed trooper ambling across the street with a flashlight. He does a sweep of the area and takes off to another part of the city.
                “What’s he even looking for?” I wonder.
                “Escapees,” Walter says, chuckling.
                I swallow a huge lump in my throat. Walter starts moving across the street, leaving Starbucks behind. We walk up to the sidewalk, Walter staring at a metal gutter opening.
                “A gutter?” I say, deadpan. “How am I supposed to fit in there ?”
                “It’s a lot bigger than it looks,” he replies. “Trust me.”
                Chris kneels down and wraps his fingers around the gutter grill, popping it out without any trouble. Well, either that or he’s just freakishly